The man and I were (once again) rolling around naked yesterday. He had been working and then hanging out with his dude friends prior to coming over for the night. Usually he strolls in and quickly inquires if I'm hungry. This is largely due to the fact that he's an eating machine. Last night was different. We started recapping our days out loud and while I was talking about random shit that happened to me, he was talking about random shit he had eaten.
So he tells me that he had a roast beef sandwich for dinner. Who cares, right?
Moving on....
So chatting quickly turns into heavy petting.
It was at this point that I began to feel a burning sensation in my nether regions.
I grabbed his hand from my crotch and holding back a moan of pain, I asked him if he had opted for jalapeno peppers on his roast beef sandwich that he had eaten for dinner.
He said, "Yes"
I asked, "Did you wash your hands afterward?"
Before he could even say anything I shouted, "I'll answer that! NO! You didn't...and now my VAJAYJAY IS ON FIRRREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"
I ran to the bathroom and quickly hopped in the shower. I came back to bed and proceeded to sit spread eagle for about 20 minutes after that.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
So this is love....(la da da daaa)
I’ve been out of the blogging loop. Sue me.
I met a dude I really like. He really likes me too. (Cue: Applause)
This man is pretty much the most socially awkward dude I’ve ever met. You know it’s bad when you find yourself comparing his behavior to that of Napoleon Dynamite. But all the same, he’s my socially awkward man.
He’s really quiet…..almost mute. I question what he’s thinking most of the time. We’re polar opposites. I feel like I’ve always been searching for someone as loud and as outrageous as myself, and always seemed to find myself terribly heartbroken and disappointed in the end. So, needless to say, I’m quite surprised that this little love affair has been going on for over 4 months already.
I was even more surprised when this dude uttered the phrase, “I love you” the other day.
I admit, the last time I said that to someone it ended up pretty disastrous, so I hesitated and stayed silent. My first thought was, “Oh shit…..just kiss him….maybe he won’t notice that you didn’t respond”.
Then he said it again…..and again.
SHIT!
I had to just come right out and say it, “I feel the same way but I’m not ready to say it back yet.”
I thought I had certainly just broken this guy’s heart, but he looked me in the eyes and said, “I don’t need you to say it back right now. I don’t want to pressure you into saying anything. When you feel it…..if you ever feel it…. just say it. But you should know that I don’t say things like this….but I do….I love you. ”
Note: If we weren’t already naked, this would be the point where clothes would fly.
You guys…..seriously…..I think I’m in love with Napoleon Dynamite.
I met a dude I really like. He really likes me too. (Cue: Applause)
This man is pretty much the most socially awkward dude I’ve ever met. You know it’s bad when you find yourself comparing his behavior to that of Napoleon Dynamite. But all the same, he’s my socially awkward man.
He’s really quiet…..almost mute. I question what he’s thinking most of the time. We’re polar opposites. I feel like I’ve always been searching for someone as loud and as outrageous as myself, and always seemed to find myself terribly heartbroken and disappointed in the end. So, needless to say, I’m quite surprised that this little love affair has been going on for over 4 months already.
I was even more surprised when this dude uttered the phrase, “I love you” the other day.
I admit, the last time I said that to someone it ended up pretty disastrous, so I hesitated and stayed silent. My first thought was, “Oh shit…..just kiss him….maybe he won’t notice that you didn’t respond”.
Then he said it again…..and again.
SHIT!
I had to just come right out and say it, “I feel the same way but I’m not ready to say it back yet.”
I thought I had certainly just broken this guy’s heart, but he looked me in the eyes and said, “I don’t need you to say it back right now. I don’t want to pressure you into saying anything. When you feel it…..if you ever feel it…. just say it. But you should know that I don’t say things like this….but I do….I love you. ”
Note: If we weren’t already naked, this would be the point where clothes would fly.
You guys…..seriously…..I think I’m in love with Napoleon Dynamite.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
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..
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..
Friday, November 5, 2010
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.
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.
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