Archive for February, 2010

I would proudly wear this necklace, or this pin.  The word cunt should not be a bad one.  Actually, it’s silly that there are bad words at all.  It’s the way it’s used that makes it bad, not the word itself.   Words have connotations, and “cunt” has a negative one on Urban Dictionary.  But I like it.  Because it’s only one syllable with very short, clipped sounds it can sound harsh.  And it can sound dirty.  I like it.

I also like that some people don’t like it.  I like that it’s a shocking word to say in public.  Every once in a while I like to throw out a good “cunt” when I think people are listening in on my conversation.  Serves them right, the nosy fuckers.

Finally, I like that I have a cunt.  A cunt that can take a lot.

I swear.  True story.

I taught acting and musical theater for in Korea for three years. Mostly to kids, but one of my classes, twice a week, was an adult class for Koreans – mostly in their mid-twenties – who spoke various degrees of English. It was the first week of December and I was going to take my class of five out to dinner and drinks after class. That same day, two new students – a guy and a girl – signed up for the class.  They were friends, but not too close.  The girl spoke more English than the guy; both were talented, had good voices, and looked like they could be cast in soap operas.

After class, we all walked to the local Korean BBQ restaurant; the two new students had been invited to join. Along the way, I started chatting up the new girl, whom, I was starting to realize, had a pretty large rack under that tight sweater of hers.  She revealed to me that she LOVED to drink soju, and got drunk every night.

And, low and behold, by then end of the night, we were all drunk and ready to go.  The group went its separate ways.  I asked the girl if I could walk her to the bus stop. She said, “Absolutely,” (well, “Absorutetry,”) and we walked to the nearest one. It was cold and rainy, and as we faced each other, I asked if I could keep her warm.  She said ok and I slipped my hands around her, under her sweater in the back, feeling her soft skin and her bra. Boldly, as I talked to her about random shit, my hands slowly moved from under her shirt in the back, to under her shirt in the front. I started squeezing her breasts, neither one acknowledging what I was doing until finally, I grabbed her and kissed her.

As we kissed, her hips kept grinding against mine. I knew the people around at the bus stop were starting to watch. I whispered in her ear, “Let’s go somewhere private,” but all she could do was moan her affirmation and nod her head while she kissed me.  I pulled her by the hand and we went back to the main street. I knew exactly where we were going. I took her to Black Angus, which was below street level and had stairs leading down to the entrance.

We walked down the stairs and sat on a bench in front of the closed Black Angus.  People above on the street were still walking and talking, with us in a dark corner, just steps away. I sat on the bench, unzipped my pants, pulled it out and she pulled her pants down.  She turned around and sat on my lap with her back to me.  As I slipped inside her, she bounced up and down on my cock, moaning as she rode me.

A picked her up and put her on the bench, kneeling in front of me.  I stood behind her.  I took her hair in my hand and gave her ass a few nice slaps and started pounding her from behind.  She moaned and took it and didn’t mind as I pushed her face into the wall, her cheek pressed up against it as I kept nailing her.

Since we hadn’t had the foresight to use protection, when it was time to cum, there was nothing else to do, but pull out and finish on her face.

I took her back to the bus stop, sent her home and went back to my apartment for a well-deserved night of sleep.

[Continued from "Prague, Israel (Part 1)."

Staying with my mother turned out to be a disaster.  When I worked at the bar on the weekends I was often too amped to go right to bed.  When I lived alone this was not a problem; I'd invite coworkers over to hang out.  When I stayed with my mother, one night I invited one coworker, a close friend, Laura, over and my mother threw a fit.  Apparently, we made too much noise heating up food and talking.  My mother and I got into a huge shouting match right there in front of Laura.  I think she began to understand why I lived on my own when my mother lived so close and had an extra room.  That night I called my mother a cunt.  I called her a cunt because I knew she hated the word.  My mother and I knew how to push each others' buttons.

That fight made me realize that I could not stay with my mother for much longer.  My trip to Prague was not for a few more weeks; I hadn't finished paying for my plane ticket yet.  But I had to get the fuck out of my mother's place.  Laura had been talking to me about how crazy it was for me to go to Prague with Israel, a guy I'd only met (and fucked) once.  I know now that Laura wasn't and would never be an adventurous person; to this day she's never lived more than 20 miles from her parents and "long distance" travel – from LA to Hawaii – is a harrowing experience for her.  But I didn't know that then; at the time what she said made sense.

I got an apartment in Pasadena.  It was a cute studio apartment with hardwood floors, a separate kitchen complete with a milk door into the building's hallway, and a Murphy bed (in which I did not sleep).  Though it was a studio apartment it was much larger than the tiny place I'd been living in for years.  I felt like I was moving up.

Israel and I kept in touch.  He made it to Prague.  He said it was fucking cold.  He said it was damn cheap.  He told me he was getting a lot of writing done.  We sent each other post cards.  The ones I received had photos of beautiful buildings and bridges; the ones I sent were written with dirty things I wanted to do with him if we ever again saw each other.

I quit working at the book store.  I was really tired of the idiots who shopped in the mall.  I began working as many hours as I could in the bar.  Before I had a chance to worry about paying my new, higher rent, Israel returned to Pasadena.

He had tired of the cold, and had had his share of beer, and freaked the fuck out when he saw a dead body on the street.  He had also run out of money.  I'm not sure if we bothered to discuss it, but he moved in with me.  He picked up shifts waiting tables at Q's.  After all, he was the favored son there.  So favored that he got me some shifts waiting tables.

The day shifts were not particularly hot commodities.  I had to ask the cook what the specials were, and write them on the board we posted in front of the place.  While Q's was open for lunch, it really was a bar and a pool hall and did much better business at night; it just happened to be open during the day.  Any bartenders the boss was trying out would be given a few day shifts to see if they could cut it, and if they could put up with making no fucking money.

It was working one of the day shifts that I saw John Ritter.  He played pool but I don't think he bothered to try to choke down the mediocre bar food.

So Israel and I lived together.  He was the first guy with whom I attempted to live.  Since we hadn't discussed that we would be living together, we had no idea what our expectations of each other were.  At such a tender age I certainly didn't know what to expect.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued ….]

Cinqo De Mayo, 7:51 pm

The breeze dances over my skin.  The cat ate the tuna.  I just got a


I think my lungs are deteriorating.  Henry hasn’t called me – he hates me.  I’ve made a fool of myself.  The night is warm – the kind you

T.V. is depressing.  Jeffrey turned off the light switch last night when he left so now my clock is off and flashing.

He hasn’t called and I don’t expect him to.  Everything’s over before it started.  Shit.  He doesn’t care about anything.  The inside of my arm aches.  I want to yell at him.  I want to go for a walk at night with him and stop somewhere and then kiss him and then … shit, here I go again.

I got Shilo some rawhide bones.  They’re very tiny and cute like she is.

Shit.  Last weekend he was on me like flies on flypaper.  this week I have the plague.  What the fuck?  Did he get some in that period of time or just lose interest for no reason?  Did he have to “act cool” around this friends or does he actually hate me?  Is life totally stupid and unfair or what?

I think I did get some color today.  And I’m going to lay out again tomorrow.  With my noisy neighbors, I’ll be up at seven to assure me plenty of sunlight hours.  I guess I’ll get up and fall back asleep outside.

Why are boys so stupid?  Why ask why?  Try But Dry.  I just want a chance to talk to him once before he actually stops speaking to me.  I want my tape back and he’ll be sure to get his.  I need my jacket – shit, it has my paycheck in it.  Damn, maybe I’ll have to call him.  All boys are simpletons.  Why does this crap have to happen to me?  What have I done?  Was I a bad child?

I believe that I am getting a cold.  I hope that I already have it and this is the worse it’ll get.

Ya know, I keep expecting the phone to ring.  Why don’t I just give up?

Why can I so clearly see us together?  And [Step-Sister] said I didn’t have an imagination.  Ha.  It runs wild with the best of them.  It barks with the big dogs.  Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry why how what for Henry call me talk to me tell me something for once have you ever really told me anything do I really know anything about you not minor “personal” stuff but feelings Henry reactions thoughts are all guys like this it’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with one they’re such a pain.  Jeff’s a masochist, what about me.

I would like to sleep outside but I haven’t a sleeping bag and I’m sure my neighbors would look at me kind of funny.

Why didn’t Henry defend my honor?  He could have at least said, “Hey, dude, shut up man.”  It would’ve been easy and would have said something to me about his manliness (is that the right word?)

Maybe I should make some bread ’cause the phone sure as fuck isn’t ri(ya, so I just checked to make sure the ringer was on)nging.

At least Jeff had the good fortune of getting the minutes right on the clock.  I think he left around four in the morning.  My god.  Should I was or Epilady?  Deanna has and Epilady that I’m sure she would let me use.

When I was 18 or 19 I met Israel.  His reputation had preceded him.  People at work had been talking about him for some time.  “Israel’s in France.”  “Israel will be back soon.”  The general consensus was that he was a great guy.

He was charming and cute and tall and had just gotten back from France.  That meant he was interesting.  That meant he had more to talk about than acting and LA.  At the time I lived and worked in Pasadena.  A good portion of the staff at Q’s – a bar/pool hall/restaurant – was trying to be in the entertainment industry in some way.  It was true, they were actors by day and waitresses, bartenders, and bouncers by night.  We had a soft-core porn actress, a bikini model, a few Groundlings wannabes, a screenwriter, someone who had been in Platoon, and of course “musicians.”

Israel, however, was an aspiring writer of deep, meaningful stuff – books, not movies.  He was well-read.  He knew things.

The night we met he went with me back to my tiny studio apartment.  We fucked.  But before we fucked he licked my armpit.  It was the most unusual and hottest thing anyone had ever done to me up to that point in my life.  I was smitten.

Only Israel was not back from France for long.  Within the week he went to the East Coast.  He had a plan to go there to visit some distant family member and save up money (or possibly get some money from the family member) while spending time writing.  He was then going to go to Prague.  It was the early 1990s; there was still this country called Czechoslovakia.  Communism was in the very recent past there and the city was supposed to be super-cheap and beautiful, both of which made Prague a very attractive destination for artistic types.

Israel wanted to go to Prague to have new experiences about which he could write.  But before he made his way there he invited me.

We had been talking on the phone since he left.  We had been having phone sex.  This was way back in the day before the Internet or the ubiquitous use of cell phones so we had to talk on land line phones, and for money.  Kids, there used to be this thing called long-distance charges, back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth.

Israel talked to me about Prague, about how interesting it would be.  At the time I had not ventured out of North America.  I don’t think I had been to Mexico yet.  I had been to British Columbia and Alberta with my family when I was a kid.  I had lived in California my whole life.  I was ready for something different.  I wanted an adventure.

He said I should go to Prague with him.  He said I should move to Prague with him.

I began the transition.  At the time I was making a lot of cash at work.  I was not an official tipped employee so all of my “tips” were tax-free and under-the-table.  I got tips for racking balls – pool balls, get your minds out of the gutter.  I was tipped – well, bribed – for moving people up on the waiting list for the best pool tables.  On Friday and Saturday nights it was not unusual for me to make $100 in cash.  On the way home from work I’d stop at an ATM and deposit my tips so I wasn’t tempted to spend the cash.

I was also still working at B. Dalton Books during the days.  The bookstore job covered my regular expenses, and the bar job’s earnings went toward my move to Prague.  I ordered a heavy coat from J. Crew.  That it was damn cold in Prague was one of my biggest fears.  I contacted a travel agency and set up a payment plan to buy the plane ticket to Prague.  (I didn’t have any credit cards at the time.)  I began selling off my cassettes to my friends.  I gave away other things.  I stored my stuff at my mother’s.  I stayed with my mother for a short time just before I was to leave.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued ….]

[Continued from "I'm Merely a Tool Here for Your Pleasure, Part 1."]

With his hand guiding me I eventually got all of my fingers into her pussy.  Then the tough part, the base of my thumb, went in.  Pussies feel so fucking wonderful enveloping my hand.  We gave her time to get used to my hand, then he grabbed my wrist and we fist fucked her pussy, hard.  She was screaming.  He and I were grunting with our effort, because though it was my hand in her cunt she was being fucked with the force of both him and me.

I was amazed that she could take such a pounding.  But she was taking it.  And it looked fucking hot.  My right hand was fucking her while I supported myself on my left elbow so I could have a view of my hand going into, and out of, and into, and out of her pussy.

She was still screaming.  We were still pounding.  And then she squirted.  A lot.  All over my face.  It was fucking great.

We were all exhausted.  He let her out of her bondage and she sat at the head of the bed below an open window and smoked a cigarette.  He went to his desk.  I sat at the foot of the bed.  We chatted.  At least he and I chatted; she smoked her cigarette.

Then it was time for round two.  Cool.  She was no longer bound to the bed so there were even more ways for the three of us to become entangled – without his cock going into my pussy, of course.  I licked his ass while he fucked her.  I licked her pussy while he fingered me.  I sucked his cock while she sat on his face.  It was all fun.

I had the most fun, however, when he was fucking her.  She was on her hands and knees.  He was on his knees pounding her from behind.  My head was below them.  I licked her clit while his cock was sliding in and out of her cunt.  While I was down there I also licked the shaft of his cock.  I sucked on his balls, because that’s just fun.  My mouth was all over their parts while he fucked her.  Then he came – on my face.

Yes!  I love come on my face and that night I got both girl come and boy come all over it.  I was a very happy girl.  I left in a sex daze.  I walked home as the sun was coming up.

A few weeks later they again requested my presence.  On the second visit I fell off the bed.  Theirs was the highest bed I’ve ever encountered.  It came up to my waist when I stood next to it.  I had to make a running start to get on it.  So falling off the bed was rather a big deal.  Luckily, there was a wall for me to hit before my body impacted the floor.  I came away with multiple bruises.

He showed me how to find a man’s prostate.  Well, he didn’t really show me so much as let me know by moaning when I located his.  That was fun, but overall the second visit wasn’t nearly as hot as the first.  I think they requested my presence a few more times but I was never available and I’ve not seen them since.

A friend, however, has seen them.  Based on my description of the couple (which I’ve not included here), my friend picked them out at a local sex club.  San Francisco is such a small city.

On neither one of the visits did she ever say a word to me.

I swear.  True story.

Back when I used Craig’s List, I used it a lot.  I both placed ads and responded to ads.  One to which I responded was placed by a couple who wanted a lady to participate in threesomes with them.  Actually, I responded to several such ads.  This couple, however, I actually fucked.

The guy and I exchanged emails.  He told me they were a professional couple.  They all say they’re a “professional” couple.  Frankly, I don’t give a shit what the people I fuck do for a living, but in the Online casual sex world “professional” seems to mean “not creepy.”  Or at least that’s what it’s supposed to mean.

I don’t know if this couple was creepy per se, but I certainly didn’t see them do anything professional.  In the emails I exchanged with the guy he said their only rule was that his penis could not go into my vagina.  Other things could go into my vagina, and all sorts of things could go into my mouth, but him fucking me was off-limits.  I don’t recall us discussing anal sex at all prior to our first meeting.

Our first meeting wasn’t planned.  I was home alone late one night when I received an email from the guy.  He requested my presence that night.  They lived relatively close and he assured me that my cab fare would be covered.  Usually it’s best to meet in public first to see if there’s chemistry, but I’d gotten a decent vibe from the guy via email and, well, I was horny and up for an adventure.

I got dressed and called a cab.  I was a tad worried when I arrived at the address he had given me, since it was definitely not a house or apartment building.  But there was a man waiting out front, and he paid the cabbie, so I assumed he was the guy.  He was tall and blond with some facial hair.

He let me in their place, which had been converted from a less residential use.  It was dimly lit but I could tell the place had some serious square footage.  While San Francisco isn’t quite like Manhattan, real estate is definitely pricey, so a big place is unusual.

We walked to the back of the building where there was a living room area set up.  I sat on the couch, which was facing a rather large television, which was not on, and a curtain.  While I still sat on the couch he went through the curtain.  I heard that he was talking, but not what he was saying.  I figured he was talking to her, but wasn’t at all sure.

Eventually, he bid me behind the curtain.  Beyond the curtain was a “bedroom.”  The bedroom had a large office area with a very large, multi-winged desk.  He and I sat at the desk while he said all the things we’d do to her.  I heard not a peep from her, and began to wonder if “she” existed.  But then I peeked over and sure enough, there was a woman bound spread-eagle to the bed.

We made our way over to the bed.  He kept up a constant chatter about what was going on.  After all, she couldn’t see so he had to keep her updated.

He directed me to do various things to her.  I was fine; I follow direction well and I was having fun.  I licked her pussy.  I fingered her pussy.  I sucked his cock.  I watched him fuck her.  I do so like watching couples fuck.

The whole time she made clear she was enjoying herself.  She didn’t talk, but she did moan.  He interpreted.  He assured me that she liked what was going on.  I, too, liked what was happening.  We continued with our ministrations, focusing mostly on her pussy, as there it was open for us.

I did whatever he told me.  I licked.  I sucked.  I fingered.  Then he grabbed my wrist.  He whispered in my ear that he wanted to fist her but that his hands were too big.  He said my hands were just the right size.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued, of course.]