tales of a shit bag

GUEST POST

Some days you’re just so thirsty for some pussy, that you’d do or say anything just to get your tip in. Or maybe that’s just me?
(My tendency is to want what I can’t have.)

So when a girl I’m dating dry humps me 'til the veins on my cock are about to burst, refusing to fuck me until I take an STD test, I’ll lie.

I’ll tell her how I set up a doctor’s appointment. A few days later I'll text to say that I made it to said appointment and a few more after that, another text apprising of the green light for some good old fashion fucking.

When she asks to see the results, I’ll let her know “I’ll bring them buy tomorrow, framed and matted”. Then instead, I’ll ignore her calls/texts and never speak to her again.

Or maybe a girl really wants to fuck but I refuse to use lifestyles condoms because I rip straight through them; I’ll lie and inform her that I had a vasectomy. Luckily, I have this wicked scar that trails from my taint to my balls, crediting my deception.

But come on, you should see these girls (!) with their gloriously monstrous asses and tits the size of my head, spewing suggestions of things they would do to me.
Purring lines you’d only hear in Hustler editorials.

They had it ‘cumming’.
(Did you see what I did there?)

I'm a scumbag.

get out that tiny violin for me and start playing now

So I'm on a date the other night and we're drinking bourbon in hot mulled cider -- it held my regard, my date however did not.

He talked a lot which helped because he didn't notice that I wasn't paying attention.
The bartenders laughed, I rolled my eyes, they engaged me with videos on their phones. I got drunk enough that I thought I was entertained.
We went for dinner after that. I paid.

After I'd dropped enough money and was ready to go home he kissed me, shoving his mustache hairs in my nose. It was early and I was bored so I decided I'd take him home to see how big his penis was.

I couldn't find it.
Sigh.
Never again.

leave zoo sex to the french

Tuesday begins, guest posts!
The first in this series by a male friend, a self-proclaimed, lovable-scumbag.
...........................................................................................................................

At the peak of my pussy-pursuing days, online dating sites were my number one source of guilt-free sex. For every ten messages I’d send out there would be at least three or four replies to work with. Pretty good odds if you ask me. Not only that, but every so often I’d get an unprompted message, which would of course do tremendous things to my (already inflated) ego.

The number of women I’ve bedded through my online conquests remains unknown to me; although I'm sure I have a list somewhere.

Let's begin.

I’m not the biggest animal lover in the world.
My love for creatures can be summed up to simply, cats, turtles and hamsters.
That’s it.

I especially hate dogs.
HATE DOGS.

I especially hate little dachshunds.
Little dachshunds whom you insist should stay in the room while we’re trying to get it on.
Yup, you insist on leaving it the room while I’m trying to go down on you.
You want to know why I hate this? Sometimes, it invites itself in on the (oral) fun.

You know what makes it worse? What I especially hate?
I hate that you let it happen.
You say, "Oh it's ok, I let him do that sometimes"
Fucking really?

Threesomes are cool.
Threesomes with your hot dog are not.

full release

DEEP IN THE ARCHIVES
The beginning of a series about a man I call Indy. Formal introduction to this period of my life and our relationship still to come.

It's summer of 2007 and we're hanging at his house one afternoon, playing video games and drinking. I soon bored of the tv, like I do, and began undressing us before straddling him on the futon.

I love riding men on futons because the bar in the back allows for a sort of leverage, allowing me to lean into them in ways my core muscles aren't robust enough to. While mounted and riding cock in bed, I often wish there was a bar was installed on the wall so that I could accomplish this same acrobatic feat without having to own that horrid piece of furniture that is, the futon.

Anyway, we're listening to Aesop Rock's All Day mix for Nike, which I should add is a fabulous 45 minute track for fucking, if you're not familiar, try it out. I gave him a zealous ride, easing into him and then bouncing us hard depending where the beat took us. I love a good soundtrack, it picks the rhythm for you, takes you to places.

He leaned his head back at one point and said, "you're so crazy". I remember this distinctly, not because of what he said but rather the voice he said it in. He had a tone when I fucked him right that I never heard any other time. It was like a cookie to me; you've done good pig.

After I'd come several times and he'd blown his load between our bodies, I smashed against him, sliding my body against his chest, feeling his cum drip down between us. We enjoyed the requisite post-coital make out and then jumped in the shower.

When we came back to the living room refreshed and ready to play some more katamari, he noticed a stain on the couch.

I fucked the man so good he shit his couch.
Yup, shit on his couch.

to be continued..

ah, everyone loves a good black out

So I drunk dialed someone I haven't talked to in about 3 years the other night. He popped back into my life about a month ago but interaction was mostly mid-day IM'ing about not wanting to be at work.

He called me the next day to follow-up on a date we had planned; I didn't remember anything about it. I also apparently said some pretty explicit things, he didn't even want to repeat them.

Him: You were ridiculous last night. I laughed for an hour straight and then you were gone.
Me: Sooo, I said...?
Him: Well for one, you said that you weren't going to have sex with me, probably. However I could fuck you with your dildo and if you squirted on my face, you'd lick it off.
Me: Sounds like me.

go bold or go home

I actually met someone on the train this week.

(Scenario)
We catch eyes. We smile.
Repeat.
I typed "call me, xxx-xxx-xxxx" on my phone, tapped him on the shoulder and held it up.
With a smirk and a nod, he clicked at his phone.

A short while later I was walking into work when I got a text, "This is _______, that was ballsy. What made you do it?" I replied, "It was a 'just do it' moment"

Around lunchtime he calls to tell me that he has a girlfriend, who lives with him but his intrigue was too strong to ignore me. He was excited that something 'interesting' had happened.

Later in the week, he met me on the train platform, with coffee. Kinda sweet. I have this strange, totally platonic breed of adultry going on, it's called 'the train date'.

new era

Sorry readers! My portion of the blog has been on hiatus.
The majority of the missing time was spent in a brief but wonderful love story, a subsequent shattered heart, followed by a super fun stint with the most colorful village bicycle on this side of town.

I've been both brazen and a hussy since May.
Lessons have been learned and here I am, more jaded, more guarded, and more emotionally unavailable than ever before.

The two most important things I learned:
1. Don't fuck your friend's ex
2. Don't fuck your readers

This begins the 'go bold or go home' initiative where I take life, men, and my projects by the balls.
Anyone in the mood to be spanked? I just waxed my paddle.