Archive for April, 2010

Dolores Park on a sunny Saturday or Sunday is great for people watching; not so good for dog play.  I took Isis on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon.  This was the scene.  Lots of lovely bodies.  The day reminded me of a friend I’ve not seen in a while.  We met via Twitter and have mostly hung out in Dolores Park.  I called him, but he had to work.  Too bad, such a gorgeous day.

I found a tennis ball and threw it down a hill for Isis.  She excitedly ran after it … and lost it in the grass.  Isis isn’t the brightest dog, but she is cute.  She found the ball and thereafter would not come near me.  She’s not too good at playing catch.  Well, she does catch, but only once.  She lie in the grass and chewed on the tennis ball.  I sat and relaxed.  The grass was tall and cool.  The air was still.  The sun was warm.  I had put on sunscreen, per usual, so I felt it wasn’t too, too harmful to get a bit of sun.  Besides, I need vitamin D.

I lie back, shut my eyes, and felt the sun on my face.  After a bit of time the sun’s heat penetrated my clothes.  I was warm all over.  I began to fantasize about having someone on top of me, inside me, fucking me, his body blocking out the sun.

Then I watched people.  The guy next to me was also alone.  He had his shirt off.  I appreciated very much the tattoo he had down his right ribcage.  I also appreciated his muscular torso.  There was a growing group of people down the hill.  One-by-one the group got larger, with each addition being brought in by an existing member on a cell phone.

Isis had obliterated the ball, and without anyone to talk to, sitting in the park for an extended period of time was kind of boring.  We walked home, admiring the Mission folks on the way.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Jade (Part 2)."]

I guess it was that little grin from across the parking lot that made me get my hopes up that the afternoon was going to be special. She had changed for our afternoon meeting.

She was wearing a little pale blue number that just barely swallowed those D-sized melons of hers and the shorts were just short enough to make me want to beg her to lean over and get something out of her car. She held up her keys to show me that she had them as she closed the door and started toward where I was sitting. 

Her heavy breasts were supported in a sports bra I assumed, but still swung in tempting come-fuck-me motion. I glanced around at the other men who were close by and grinned to myself as I watched each of them bobbing his head to the rhythm of her tits and hips. I could even hear a couple of them whisper, “Damn, I would love to fuck her,” under their breath … or maybe it was just me talking to myself.

As she was almost to where I was sitting, a man in basketball shorts motioned to her from the side and she smiled at him as he walked along beside her. They seemed to be sharing some chitchat as they walked and I was thinking he was probably eyeing her tits like the rest of us were. They stopped at the curb for a few moments and continued talking before she stepped off in another direction toward the mail box that was by one of the kiosks.

The man walked over toward me and then turned to watch her swaying hips and seductive fuckable thighs as she walked away. He shook his head and then looked at me with a wide grin as if he knew what I was thinking.

“Damn,” he muttered as she looked back at her ass again and then back at me with a sheepish smile.

“Built for fucking,” I offered boldly as I let my eyes fill with her curves too.

“Nice,” he replied as he nodded in agreement. “I have not heard that expression before … but it sure does fit … I guess … what does it mean exactly?” he quizzed as he pressed his hands onto the back of the chair across from me and flexed his tan triceps into a rigid bulge.

“Just how she looks … the tits … the ass … the thighs … the lips and eyes …. Everything about her would make a man want to fuck the shit out of her,” I continued with somewhat of a vulgar shrug.

“Oh yes … I can see that,” he continued as she glanced around at the others sitting in the proximity. “So you think the other men think that way too?” he quizzed as he began wiggling his foot back and forth as if to keep his basketball shorts from clinging to an obviously semi-hard cock.

“Hell, they would all love to fuck her, man,” I replied as I nodded toward the eyes that were aimed in her direction.

“She is wearing a big ring, looks like she is married, or at least taken …. Would you still want to fuck her?” he continued with that boyish grin.

“Hell, I would suck her hubby’s cock just to taste her pussy on it,” I bragged wickedly in reply as I blew off the married obstacle quickly.

“Damn … that is hot,” he replied as he blushed into deep red and then grinned even wider.

She was coming toward us now and I was hoping that the talker would hurry up and leave so I could have a chance to continue the conversation with Jade from earlier.

Just as she walked up she smiled wickedly wide at me and her swollen mountains of breasts flesh were ignited into nice erect nipples that cast suckable shadows over her shirt.

“Baby, this is the nice man that helped me with the car. David, this is my husband John,” she chirped as she motioned back and forth and then looked at me with a puzzled expression as she watched my face turn red.

[To be continued ….]


I got very burnt today at Laura Lee’s house so now I hurt a lot.  I want to write a book based on my bad dream.  Henry came to see me at work yesterday.  I don’t think it was too successful ’cause we just sat in the back room.  I should have been at info. working – it just would’ve been better.  But I can’t dwell on the past.  He likes me, that should be enough.  He probably doesn’t even notice the geeky things I do anyway.  I’m all red – and it’s not from embarrassment.  Oh well.  I want to have sex – soon.  I guess I’ll just have to wait.  There was a loud, excuse me, is a domestic quarrel

[Continued from "The Day of Fuck (Cock No. 4)."]

In 24 hours I fucked four different guys, individually.  Three of them I fucked in my neighbor’s apartment.  I told a friend this and she freaked out.  She said that if she found out someone else had fucked on her bed she would be livid.  Clearly, I don’t share this sentiment.  I don’t care who fucks on my bed.  I don’t like finding hair, used condoms, and other evidence, but that’s because I find that rude – clean up after yourselves, people.

I cleaned up after myself.  My neighbors have no reason to suspect I did anything in their bedroom, much less their bed.  I removed from the premises any used condoms.  I washed all the bedding and remade the bed.  They’re none the wiser.  And she wouldn’t mind anyway.  She likes hearing the stories of my exploits.  He would probably be pissed.

Three of the four cocks were Geminis.  I, too, am a Gemini.  I get along well with Geminis, obviously.

The Day of Fuck began and ended with the ‘Mate.  The ‘Mate, who is quite understanding of my need for a lot of cock.

My pussy took some time time to recover from the Day of Fuck, which really is a shame, as I had gotten used to daily fucks.  It was also a shame that I had to keep my pants on when I had a threesome with a lovely couple from Washington, D.C., the following Sunday.  The three of us still had fun, as there was one cock and one pussy and three mouths available for action, but it would have been a whole different threesome if my pussy were available.

The threesome was a shit ton of fun.  The guy of the couple had originally contacted me through OkCupid.  He said he and his girlfriend were to be in San Francisco and they’d like to spend an evening with a local lady.  Great.  I like fucking tourists.  I’m like a fuck ambassador.  A fuck welcoming committee of one?  Anyway, we agreed to meet at Rye.  There, we each had a drink and chit-chatted.

He had a thick Italian accent, she was a redhead.  They had gone to Alcatraz that day, which was unusually sunny and nice.  She had a severe sunburn on her chest to prove it.  After a round of drinks we stopped in a liquor store for a bottle of wine and then we went to Shalimar.  Shalimar has some good fucking food.  And it’s cheap.  We polished off the wine and the food and then walked to their hotel.

Hotel Vertigo is hip.  Their room was cozy but very smartly decorated; the bases of the bedside lamps were horse heads.  We chatted some more.  And then I’m not sure how things got started, but they did.

I went down on her while he watched.  Her clit liked my tongue’s ministrations, and she soon came.  She had a nice, squeezable, juicy ass that I grabbed while I lapped at her clit.

Then I watched them fuck.  While they were fucking I pulled her hair a bit.  She seemed to like it.  I checked in with her; she seemed to really like it.  Then I slapped her face.  I checked in with her again; I didn’t want to go too far.  She liked getting slapped on the face while his cock was pounding her pussy.  Oooh, fun!  Slapping a girl’s face is up pretty high on my list of sexy/dirty things to do.

She and I sucked his cock.  Mostly her.  It was her who said intact cocks are like puzzles.  I was pretty much directing the action.  I told them I wanted him to come on her face.  She looked very happy at that prospect.  While she sucked his cock some more my tongue once again found its way to her pussy.  I really need more pussy in my life because they are fun to lick.

He came on her face.  I missed the money shot because my face was in her pussy, but she looked lovely with come on her face moments later when I came up for air.  She had come, he had come, I wasn’t going to come, so our night was over.

They offered me taxi fare but I opted for the bus.  It was a lovely warm night and I ended up walking a lot farther than I anticipated in pursuit of a bus that was running that late.  No matter, I made it home safely.

My pussy soon recovered and I was back to the vigorous fucking I like so much.  The hard fucking that my pussy needs.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "TT, Part 1."]

TT and I became good friends.  He introduced me to his group of friends, whom he picked up over the years at prep school, Yale, and beyond.  I was the youngest of the group, and the least educated.  I liked being the youngest because everyone seemed to treat me like a shiny new toy.  At the time I was going to junior college and had designs on college and beyond so I didn’t feel particularly inferior, even to the guy who was literally a rocket scientist.

I tagged along on various outings with TT and the group.  A few members of the group either had attended or were attending Caltech so we went to the Athenaeum for brunch and drinks on a few occasions.  We went to parties at houses with gorgeous views of downtown LA.  When TT’s parents were out of town he had a party at his childhood home, a gorgeous brick number in the old money section of Pasadena.

The parents of one of the group members had a beach house in La Fonda, Baja California, Mexico.  We drove down with supplies, stopped in Rosarito for fish tacos, fresh tortillas, and alcohol, and then ensconced ourselves in the house for a few days.  The house was more like a cabin.  It was small and rustic, but it had a working kitchen and electricity.  Our days consisted of hanging out on the patio that had a footprint as large as the house proper.  Sometimes we’d go down to the beach as well, but the patio was much more attractive for a number of reasons.

There was almost always someone in the kitchen making some sort of creative quesadilla to share with everyone.  Between snacks – and, to be fair, with the snacks – there were drinks.  Lots of drinks.  TT prided himself on making tasty cocktails that once we knew the ingredients we were loathe to drink.  But we always drank them because they really were good, and, you know, had lots of alcohol.  But he put in some nasty booze, like rompope.  Finally, the patio was surrounded by a low wall that provided us with a bit of privacy so we could spend most of our time at least partially undressed.

TT wanted to be naked all the time and wanted everyone else to be naked as well.  Actually, he didn’t much care if the other men got naked.  He wanted the ladies to lose their inhibitions and their clothes.  Alcohol helped, of course, but that wasn’t enough for TT.  He also created situations where clothing had to be removed.  We played strip hearts.  If you’ve ever played hearts then you know it’s not very conducive to stripping.  I suppose if someone successfully shoots the moon then everyone else could be made to strip, but otherwise it’s a little tricky.

However, TT was not to be dissuaded.  He instituted a set of rules that practically guaranteed that he’d see some tits, ass, and bush (because in the early 1990s people still had bush).  If the dealer accidentally dealt more than one card at a time?  Take something off.  If a player had a card of the suit that was in play but didn’t play it (which is cheating, by the way)?  Take something off.  If a player unsuccessfully shot the moon?  Take something off.  It was humid there at the beach in Baja California, Mexico, so the cards often stuck together, making dealing an extremely dangerous notion – if one wanted to keep her clothes on, that is.

Eventually, I became TT’s tenant.  He owned a duplex in Altadena.  Each unit had two bedrooms.  TT lived in his unit alone, and later with the girlfriend who first met me when TT was wooing me; I moved in with Chris, who, at the time, was getting a Ph.D. from Caltech.  The fun continued after I moved in.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "The Day of Fuck (Cock No. 3)."]

Cock No. 4 on the Day of Fuck was the Russian.  The Russian … has a very nice, very thick, very uncircumcised, very sexy cock.  The man attached to Cock No. 4 is sexy, too.  He is – you guessed it – Russian.  He has a Russian accent.  I love foreign accents.

I love most foreign accents.  I don’t particularly like to hear native French speakers speak English.  Same for Italian.  I know, I’m an asshole.  Whatever.  I have my preferences and that’s that.  I like German accents.  Thai accents hold a special place in my heart (loins?).

What I like more than foreign accents, though, are foreign languages.  I like hearing things I can’t understand spoken in a sexy manner.  That I can’t understand allows me to listen to the rhythm of the sounds rather than the content of the words.  That means so long as I can’t understand what the person is saying, he can talk about any subject provided it seems sexy to me.  I have asked a number of sexual partners to speak to me in their native tongue.

Spanish is nice, though I don’t like that the Spanish word for “sex” is “sexo.”  Sounds too much like a word I know (“sex”).  French spoken by someone who speaks it very well works because he can speak French far beyond my comprehension level, three years of high school French.  But the languages I can’t understand at all are my favorite.  The Russian has spoken to me in Russian while we were fucking.

On the Day of Fuck, however, there was no Russian spoken.  There was vodka, of course, because … he’s Russian.  We always have vodka together.

He arrived at my neighbor’s apartment with vodka and orange juice in hand.  We quickly made our way, with drinks in hand, to the bedroom.  Cock No. 3 had left not too long before so I didn’t have a chance to make the bed, or even straighten up a little bit.  The Russian didn’t care.  I didn’t care.  His cock was soon enough in my mouth.

A sexy new friend and I were agreeing on the greatness that is the uncircumcised cock when she said they were like puzzles.  Fun, sexy, thrilling puzzles.  One of the fun things to do with one’s mouth on an intact cock is to slide the tongue under the foreskin all the way around the cock head.  It provides an interesting task – a puzzle if you will – for the tongue and, from the responses I’ve gotten, makes the cock feel pretty damn good.

The Russian’s cock is big.  I had already had three rather vigorous fuck sessions that day.  My pussy had begun the day tender; by the time the Russian’s cock went in it it was downright sore.  The Russian and I had a history of hard fucking, so it was understandable that he went at it in that way.  But I couldn’t take it.  I’m ashamed to admit that my pussy was worn the fuck out.

I told the Russian he had to take it easy on my pussy.  He said my ass would do just fine.  Unfortunately, Cock No. 3 had also done quite a number on my ass so that was off-limits.  I felt bad for not being able to give – and take – as good as I usually did with the Russian.  He, however, did not leave unhappy – he came on my tits.

I swear.  True story.

[Epilogue to follow.]

[Continued from "Jade (Part 1)."]

“We are together Jade, for the next few moments anyway…ok?” I suggested as I caught up to her. She looked at me blankly and then nodded in understanding and allowed me to do the talking regarding the situation.

I reached inside the open door and clutched her keys in my hand as I savored the scent of her lingering perfume. My mind imagined her driving with her knees partly open and the rich leather upholstery absorbing some of her sweet nectar.

After the tow guy left I felt my opportunity dwindle as I handed her the keys and watched her become suddenly anxious again.

“How can I thank you for this?” she cooed with innocent eyes letting me know that saying a few hours of hard fucking would be payment enough.


Just keep looking the way you do,” I replied in my most sincere gentlemanlike manner.

“Oh my!” She sighed as her nipples popped into hard-ons again and this time she didn’t do the arm cross to cover them.

“That was so sweet and you are such a gentleman,” she continued as she glanced around for a convenient reason to escape. It was obvious that she was not used to the bold approval of her charms and was becoming more in need of time to consider the intentions.

She saw me looking at her ring again and grinned a quick comment, “You like my diamond?”

“I was more thinking how it might hurt if it got into the wrong places,” I countered quickly as I imagined it slicing a gash across my balls.

“Oh my ….” She blushed and then turned. “I better get going on that one.”  

I laughed and she did too as we both let our thoughts stay in the same place for a few moments.

“Do you always come here at this time?” she quizzed quietly as she tossed her cup into the receptacle.

“Yes, usually here or the one over on harbor by the marina,” I replied.

“Oh wow, that one is right by my house. I go there in the afternoons sometimes,” she offered as almost an invitation.

“Maybe if I see you again I can buy you a coffee at least,” she continued as she stopped just long enough for my eyes to rest on her soft pillow lips.

“I will be down at the marina this afternoon around 3:00,” I told her as I dared her to give me another chance.

“Ummm, maybe,” she teased as she smiled at her conquest and hurried out to her car.

Her hips were not ladylike now. The flirt skirt was swaying and even when she slipped into the seat she let her hem ride up as if to give me one more moan for the road. She smiled and waved as she drove by me and it almost seemed her eyes dropped to where my hand was resting on my throbbing groin.

[To be continued ….]