[Continued from "OkStupid, Part 1."]

I had another OkCupid date scheduled.  The guy told me that he was going on a long trip so I’d better get to him beforehand.  Ok, whatever.  The day of the date we confirmed the location, Herbivore on Valencia, and the time, 7pm.  It’s always nice when the date is confirmed in writing.  And because we had confirmed in writing, when I dreaded leaving the house that evening, the shame of flaking forced me to go.

I stood in front of the restaurant for a bit.  I walked into the restaurant and asked if there was anyone there alone.  No.  I went back outside and waited.  And waited.  Finally, at 7:27 I began walking home.  I was very glad I’d not bothered to get dressed up or makeuped.  When I was a few blocks from my house I received a text from a number that wasn’t programmed into my phone.  I figured out pretty quickly who it was, since the text indicated the sender was three minutes away and then had to find parking.

Yeah, I’m the stupid one.  I walked back to the restaurant.  See why I make them come to me?  I sent a text saying that we had agreed to meet at 7pm.  He apologized via text and then called to explain that he really and truly did think our date was at 7:30.  We had confirmed earlier that day.  For 7pm.  He said to make up for it he’d buy me dinner.  I assured him that he was already going to buy me dinner.

He scoffed a bit, but I made it clear that he was most definitely buying.  We sat down.  We ordered.   We talked.  I said my usual charming things.  My dinner was tasty – grilled veggies and fake chicken over quinoa.  He ate oddly – with his hands but didn’t use a napkin.

He asked if I wanted to play a game wherein if I won he’d owe me double of whatever it was that he owed me, and if he won he’d buy me dinner and nothing else.  Fine.  He’d ask me five questions and I had to answer each of them falsely.  The first three questions were easy to answer incorrectly, but then he got lost and asked me if the last question was the third or the fourth.  I completely fell for it and told him that that was the third question, meaning I answered that question correctly, thereby losing the little bet.

He claimed that that indicated that I was helpful and trusting of others.  I told him that I didn’t like the game, but if he wanted to get out of making up for being over a half an hour late by tricking me then that was his prerogative.

The bill came and he – I so wish I was kidding – said, “I forgot my wallet.”  I told him to empty his pockets.  He was sure it was in his car, or at home in San Rafael. I had my wallet.  I paid.  I paid money I don’t have.  I paid for a meal, that while tasty, was not worth my $50.  It certainly was worth his $50 though.

He asked if I’d go back to San Rafael with him so he could pay me back.  When I asked how I’d get home he promised to drive me home – in the morning.  I told him I had a dog to care for; he offered to bring her along.  I declined.

He promised over and over that he did not do it on purpose.  He also promised to mail me a check.  Yeah, right.  I gave him my PO Box address.  I don’t think I’ll ever see a check and I told him as much. He promised again.  He said he was telling the truth and that his was an honest face from which only truth emerged.  Whatever.

He then pulled a couple off the street.  He wanted to ask them if he looked honest.  Jesus Christ, guy, get over it.  I told them to run away while they could.  I told him not to get them involved.  But they got involved.  He told them the story; that he forgot his wallet.  The guy said that they were in a similar situation because he didn’t know the restaurant they went to was cash only so she had to pay.

I looked at her.  Yeah, I could tell.  I said, “You two have already fucked though, right?”  She blushed.  Yeah, they had.  “And he’s got a big dick, doesn’t he?”  She wanted to get the fuck out of there.  “I told you you didn’t want to get involved,” I yelled.

My date told me he had a big dick.  I suggested he take a picture of it and include it with the check to cover dinner.  He never asked how much dinner was.

My date walked toward his car.  I walked the opposite way only so I didn’t have to walk with him.

I’ve not yet checked my PO Box.  I don’t hold out much hope.  I’m the stupid one.

I swear.  True story.

I had my first threesome with two guys. I was 18.  Or maybe 17.  Either way, it was when I lived in my first apartment alone, a very small studio.

My boyfriend at the time had finally admitted to me that he found men attractive. Actually, after months of me teasing him he finally acquiesced.  I knew he liked guys, I just knew it.

I’m of the opinion that everyone is a little bisexual, pansexual, whatever; everyone likes cock and pussy to a degree.  My boyfriend at the time was certainly no exception.  He liked guys but had all sorts of shame and guilt about it.  I hope I showed him that he needn’t be ashamed about being attracted to someone of the same gender.  I was openly bisexual, I told him my mother was an out lesbian, and I had plenty of friends who were gay and/or bi.

One such friend was a bisexual guy with whom I had fooled around previously.  As soon as a broached the subject of a threesome he was in.

My boyfriend, on the other hand, had to be talked into it.  He was so fucking far into the closet that he was very secretive and constantly scared of being “discovered.”  I assured him that the person I had in mind was cool and that he didn’t know anyone my boyfriend knew.  I also assured him that he was his type.  My boyfriend had admitted he had a crush on his neighbor, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, and – to me – white trash-looking guy.  My bisexual boy was blond and blue, but not white trashy.

After much cajoling my boyfriend agreed.  But then we had the scheduling issues.  One of the most difficult things with threesomes is coordinating the schedules of not two but three people.

Finally, the day of the threesome came.  My boyfriend still lived with his mother and the bisexual guy had a roommate so it was agreed that we’d have our threesome at my place.  My very tiny place.  Really, it must’ve been about 200 square feet.  Maybe.  The “kitchen” was a corner of the room with a sink and counter, tiny freestanding stove, and college-sized refrigerator.  There was also a walk-in closet and a bathroom that wasn’t large enough to accommodate a bathtub, just a shower.  I paid $395 per month including utilities.  Ahh, the good old days.

The furniture in the apartment/room, other than the stove and refrigerator, consisted of a dining table that served as a tv stand and a desk, three dining chairs, two stacked orange crates that served as a entertainment center – meaning they held my CDs and “stereo,” a boombox – and bookshelf, and a queen-sized futon that was always in bed position.  I was a slob at the time so most of the time my floor was covered in dirty clothes, magazines, and other household detritus.  At the time I was not the type to clean up for company.  It was my first apartment on my own and no one was telling me what to do so I did whatever the fuck I wanted.

The three of us sat on my bed.  It was awkward.  So my boyfriend pulled out the pot.  He smoked a lot of pot.  A lot.  It was rare that he wasn’t high.  The three of us smoked pot.  It was still awkward.

Finally I did what I had to do – I kissed the bisexual guy.  This was the first of many sexual instances in my life where I knew if I didn’t just fucking go for it that nothing would happen.  Sometimes I like it, sometimes I resent it.

Then I kissed my boyfriend.  Then I kissed the bisexual guy.  It was fun.  I definitely liked going back and forth between the two men, noting the contrasts between their kissing styles.

Eventually they kissed each other.  And then they forgot about me.  Really.  From then on I was completely and totally ignored.  Ignored.

They kissed.  They got naked.  They sucked each others’ cocks.  Their bodies writhed.  I read a magazine.  As we were in my apartment and I had no car I had little else to do.  As my apartment was so tiny I had little else to go.

I sat on one side of the bed reading my magazine while they went at it.  I wasn’t even fascinated enough to watch.  I was bored.  And annoyed.  And irritated.  How fucking rude of them not to include me in the threesome that I set up?!

Eventually they finished.  I’m pretty sure they didn’t fuck, but they definitely sucked.  I have no clue if either or both of them came.  I didn’t care.

I never saw the bisexual guy again.  My boyfriend and I continued to go out, and thereafter were friendly, for some time.  My first threesome was most definitely a disaster.

I swear.  True story.

I am extremely sick … still. I’m sure the stress of dealing with the stupid pettiness of the Ex isn’t helping.

This is what the Ex’s stupid cunt of a girlfriend did to me.  Nice, huh?  The yucky face is just because I’ve been sick for over a week.  And now because the Ex is a shithead my mattress isn’t on my bed, which is from where he originally took it, but in my garage.  So that’s something fun I get to do tonight before I go to sleep.

But first to Bawdy Storytelling.  I’m a unicorn, dammit, and I need to pick the lucky person who gets to go on a date with me.  The date will take place after I’m no longer bruised or sick.  It’s only fair I give my date a good time since s/he/they will have paid good money for me.

I swear.  True (lame) story.

As I wrote yesterday’s post the Ex’s girlfriend was going on about her pregnancy, about how she may not be able to work with certain chemicals at work (a major oil company in the East Bay) so she doesn’t put her precious cargo in danger. I informed her that one of the things she most definitely should not do whilst pregnant is cocaine.

Because not less than two weeks ago she did just that. No, I did not see her do it, but she and the Ex got home around 8am and then stayed in bed until around 4pm, and then he later admitted what they did.

Then I said something that angered the Ex and his girlfriend and she proceeded to talk about me as if I weren’t in the room – from about ten feet away. I called her passive-aggressive and told her to just fucking talk to me already.

She claimed I was passive-aggressive, a hilarious notion, and I told her she tricked her boyfriend into getting her pregnant.

Apparently that hit a nerve. She got up off the couch and came at me. I remember thinking that it was funny that she was so mad because either it’s true and she just has to admit it to herself, or it’s false and it doesn’t matter what the opinion of the ex-wife of the baby’s daddy is. And I also remember thinking that she’d get to me – sitting in my desk chair, not being threatening in any way – with her fist banished and say something like, “You make me want to hit you.”

Instead, she actually hit me. I don’t remember where or how, but she did. She definitely grabbed and scratched my left arm.  Then the Ex pulled me away.  I kept yelling, “She came at me.”  He eventually got me down on my back on the floor (well, on Isis’ bed), but not before I attempted to kick him in the balls twice and actually tore his t-shirt off him.

She went upstairs from whence she threw down a full-length, leather-handled umbrella, and continued screaming how angry she was.  She yelled that he came inside her – a nausea-inducing notion.  She yelled that not every child is planned and asked rhetorically how I came into the world.  (Much the same way as her shitty kid – my mother planned for me, my father did not.)  She screamed that no one has anything nice to say about me.  She had the nerve to say that Jesús didn’t like me before he died.  She never fucking met Jesús.

I tried to call 911 but the Ex unplugged the phone.  I still can’t find one of the phones.

The whole time she was screaming like a banshee I was calmly leaning against the wall, under the loft bedroom so I wouldn’t get hit with any projectiles.  Then the Ex went on about how his mother told him I would take advantage of his kindness.  This is the same mother who – while we were together and getting along fine – called me a white whore, so I’m not sure that her opinion of me was ever good.  I guess now she can gloat.

I told them to get out.  He told me to do so.  I told him I didn’t trust them in my house with my animals and my stuff.  Really, I wouldn’t put it past the girlfriend to hurt the animals or take a knife to my furniture. Poor Isis was so scared.  I sat on the couch and tried to comfort her.  The Ex and the girlfriend were upstairs where she was telling her tale to her sister on the phone.  The tale included something along the lines of it being a good thing the Ex intervened because I’m so much bigger than she is.  Yeah, my tits are bigger than her little, creepy areolae pads.

While she talked to her sister I talked on the phone to my friend in the downstairs bathroom.  I really was afraid to leave the animals.  As I talked to my friend my left arm really began to hurt.  I took off my shirt and the entire triceps was bruised and scratched, though not enough to draw blood.  My friend told me to get out of there and have my neighbor take pictures.

I went to my neighbor’s place where she took pictures of me looking rather dismal.  Then I talked to her and her husband and they suggested I call the police.  The police – four officers in all – showed up rather quickly and said the usual – that I could press charges, that she could also press charges, that I could get a restraining order, etc.

The officers then went to talk to them, and returned to tell me that they had a friend picking them up, and that they were advised that any damage to my property would be a felony.  I finished watching a movie with my neighbors and then went home.

The Viking (a nickname he both knows about and has approved) came over and spent the night.  He was very sweet to be here at a time when I didn’t want to be alone and when I really wasn’t sure of my safety.

I swear.  True story.

After a delightful French-themed dinner I had a  delightful (French-themed?) threesome. I really do enjoy threesomes. Of course the quality of partners is very important.

Then today I went to the first day of the Winter Fancy Food Show. First I stopped at the store to buy more cough syrup. I still have this horrible cough.

During the course of the day my cough continued, and I continued to treat it with cough syrup. I’m getting really tired of the taste of cough syrup. However, since I was at the Fancy Food Show I was able to quickly mask the cough syrup taste with some tasty morsels.

I actually got tired of chocolate, and foie gras, and pâté, and cheese, but I kept on eating. I kept on taking samples, too. I took a lot of samples of things that I don’t particularly like but that I knew my roommates would like because we recently agreed to keep our food separate. I can be petty as shit.

At one point during the day I got dizzy and had to leave the convention hall to sit down to get some air.  It was when I was sitting on the floor catching my breath that I saw some interesting-looking people.  Some very fat people.  Some people dressed poorly.  Some of the fat people were dressed in such a way that their fat was highlighted and made to look odd.

I felt a little better and continued on my journey of eating and taking samples.  It was quite a day.  Eventually I lost most of my hearing in my right ear.  Clearly I’m not getting better, but quite a bit sicker.

Then I got a text message from the Ex asking for the password to my computer.  It is my computer and I don’t want him or his girlfriend using it when I’m not home.  Like I said, I can be petty as shit.

The reason he wanted to use the computer?  To look something up because his girlfriend is pregnant and he was “freaking out.”  Rightfully so.  I explained to him that that is what happens when birth control isn’t used – pregnancy.  He claimed they sometimes used condoms.  It only takes one, moron.

After I got home and dumped out my take from the Fancy Food Show on the kitchen counter the girlfriend was very interested and threw out that it wasn’t her idea that we keep our food separate.  That’s fine, but I have no problem with keeping our food separate as I am currently the one with the “better” food.  She then said that I had to be nice to her because she is pregnant.  To which I responded that I did not get her pregnant and that I know how to use birth control so no, I do not have to be nice to her.

She was incredulous.  Did I mean to be that bitchy?  Absolutely.  It’s pretty fucking easy not to get pregnant.  She informed me that she obviously was not trying not to get pregnant.

I did not say, because it really isn’t worth my breath, was that it was pretty shitty of her not to tell her boyfriend – her underemployed, broke boyfriend – that she was trying to get pregnant.  That she’s a fucking moron if she thinks a child is going to change him or make him grow up in any way.  That she is sad and pathetic to trick a guy into fathering her child because her lame-ass biological clock is ticking.

She liked the Fancy Food Show booty quite a bit.  She wanted some.  She asked nicely.  I told her it was all for sale.  She took a few things and she gave me $2.  I can be very petty indeed.

I swear.  True story.

I didn’t know he was Meth Boy right away. Maybe because I’m naive or ignorant or lame, but what I thought at first was that he was an adult child.

He was a spazzy guy who couldn’t stop moving. He always had a skateboard with him.  We met in a bar.  I knew right away I wanted to fuck him but he was with friends.  So we exchanged numbers and parted ways.

Then on Halloween 2009 we got together.  I hate wearing costumes but there he was in a fairly detailed devil mask.  We had a couple of drinks.  He talked about how much he wanted to fuck me.  Great, let’s fuck.

We went to Kinky Salon.  It being Halloween it was packed, but we found a place to lounge in the back room.  There were people sexing it up all around us.  I took off my shirt and then my bra.  I kept on my skirt, but I wasn’t wearing any panties.  We kissed.  He had a nice mouth.  He took off his shirt.  He pulled out his dick.

There it sat, a sad limp thing.  He pulled on it.  A lot.  Nothing happened, though it did appear to be quite flexible.  He told me that he had too much speed.  Yeah, any amount of anything that prevents erections is too much.

We were taking up valuable real estate in the back room of a sex club just chit-chatting since there wasn’t a dick that was useful.  Of course there are other things, but I didn’t have any with me, and I didn’t trust his hands to go near my pussy.  He was sweating a lot and those hands were all over the place, running through his hair, pulling on his clothes, and generally picking up the kind of bacteria that throws the properly balanced pussy environment out of whack.

We left the sex club and went to the Tenderloin so he could get some food.  We finally parted ways well after 3am.

The next day I was planning on going to the California Academy of Sciences as it was free for people in my zip code.  He texted me, claiming he was fully capable of getting his dick hard.  That was nice, but I had plans that did not involve his dick.  He went with me to the museum.

We had a nice time, after which we walked to the Park Chalet where we had a couple of drinks.  It was a nice day so it was packed.  We ended up sitting in the wooded area beyond the Park Chalet’s grassy area.  He told me where he was the night before, after we parted ways:  In a porn booth pulling his pud.

We took the bus back to my house.  My roommates were gone for the evening so we had the place to ourselves.  First was a shower for him.  He had been sweating continuously since the night before and he did not smell nice at all.  Smell is very important to me.

Once out of the shower he smelled good and looked cute and clean.  His dick found its way into my mouth.  But it still wasn’t hard.  We hung out some more.  Then I sucked on his dick some more while we were on the couch.  His cock was starting to get hard.  Yes, finally.

And then my roommates came home.  The roommates grabbed the dog and walked her around the block while we dressed.  So that was that.

I told my friend Ramona about him.  She asked if he seemed surprised that he couldn’t get it up.  No, actually, it seemed par for the course.  She said that’s because that kind of guy can never get it up.  He never had a hard dick.  Ever.  I didn’t want to believe it.  I gave him two more chances.

We saw each other again about a month later.  He came over and crawled in bed with me.  It felt nice but he didn’t even try to fuck me.  I’m pretty sure that’s because his dick wouldn’t get hard.  Then he asked to take a shower.  He had arrived early in the morning and should have showered beforehand.  I was irritated.  Then something came up so I didn’t have the whole day to spend with him, for which I was grateful.

Our final meeting involved drinks and dinner.  But I could tell right away that he was again spazzy.  He couldn’t hold still.  And over a rather tasty dinner it became clear that chances were very high that he would once again not be able to get it up.  I told him I liked him a lot, that his mouth really was lovely, but that I couldn’t handle hanging out with someone who was so much of a mess.  I left him in the restaurant.

He was not my first meth boy, however.  The “adventure” reminded me that a while back I’d been up and horny well into the night.  I resorted to Craig’s List.  I did not think that the most of the other people up at that time were not night people like me but high.  The guy who showed up was very young.  He arrived on his bicycle.  Not a bicycle that most people use for getting around town, but a BMX-style bike for doing tricks and such.  What is it with guys who do meth and their childish modes of transportation?  Anyway, he was most definitely able to get it up.  He had very soft skin, but when he offered to go get me some meth I declined.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Phone Sex? (Part 1)."]

Months later I emailed the phone sex company woman to inquire about working IMG_0387cropfor her.  Eventually I submitted a bio, a list of WILLs and WON’Ts, and photos.  I used my real name and my real photos, including the one here.

My WILLs and WON’Ts weren’t honored at all, and I ended up role playing incest and age play despite my wishes.  I found I actually didn’t mind so much because the men on the phone weren’t real to me, and I figured it was better they talk about their fantasies, which were for the most part out of the realm of possibility.

I did a little girl voice when my “brother” was fucking me and we feared getting caught by our parents.  One guy told me that when he was younger he got into the trash after his mother banged some guy and ate the come out of the used condom.  That guy worried me a bit because he also told me he thought his teen daughter was hot, but I had no clue where he was, who he was, or if he’d done any more than think about his daughter.

Some of the guys just wanted to hear me come, some were nervous.  I kept records of the guys’ names, what we talked about, and how long the calls lasted.  The latter because I wanted to make sure I was paid properly for my calls.

Once I was in the company’s chat room along with some other girls who were also available for calls when the creepy, nebbishy guy came in and in the chat room fired one of the girls.  That was uncomfortable and very unprofessional.

One day I tried to log in but my password wouldn’t work.  I IMd the dorky guy, I emailed him.  I DMd the woman on Twitter.  I received no responses at all.  I checked the company Website.  My bio and photos were gone, but my name and blog posts (of the “I’m hot and horny and want you to call” variety) were still up.

I DMd the woman and emailed the guy, asking both to remove my name and any of my writing from their site.  She tweeted this, “Unprofessional- telling your boss to fuck off. Stupid- then expecting a quick response to demands. Especially when you SUCK on the phone.”  I believe it was directed at me.  Or maybe not.

I NEVER told anyone to fuck off, but when my repeated attempts to contact either owner of the company were ignored, and when it was obvious from the company’s Website that they no longer wished to utilize my services, I didn’t want my actual name, my actual face, or my actual written words anywhere near them.

Anything having to do with me was removed from their site.  I checked back periodically and noticed that the number of girls available for calls was dwindling, and fast.  There was a strange blog post on the company’s site that I can only describe as nutty:  The nebbish wrote that several of the girls, myself included, were no longer associated with the company, that the company’s clients were “high minded assholes,” that some of the girls’ photos were not really them (which is common for phone sex), and that if the clients were “helping” out any of the girls they were being duped.  [I would have a complete and direct quote if WordPress hadn't inexplicably deleted this story the first time I wrote it.]

The company is now down to one phone sex worker, the woman who owns the company.

I have not been paid at all.

I told a clean version of the story in my Examiner column.

I swear.  True story.

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