Things that eat vomit:
Pigeons (peck in a shocked sort of way)
Dogs (lap it up happily)
Japanese crows (tear through thick plastic to get at it, then thoroughly enjoy it)
Rats (find it very sensible a source of nutrition)
Cats (crouch in ever so persnickety a fashion as they munch)
Babies (will also eat poos and dirt if you don't watch them)
Me (when it's too public a moment for releasing vomit, so I gulp it back down and feel horrified and beast-like on top of my nausea)
Saturday, 21 June 2008
Friday, 6 June 2008
In and out...
Ladies and gents, we have penetration!
TWICE!!
I was beginning to think my vagina was going to grow over.
Also, we went to a Love Hotel. It was awesome! I will write more about it some time this weekend. The train-grope-rape porn on the huge LCD screen at the end of the bed was really something else, and the vibrator vending machine next to the fridge was a lovely touch too.
Yeah OK, less talking about sex toys and train rape and more teaching small children. Gotta go!
TWICE!!
I was beginning to think my vagina was going to grow over.
Also, we went to a Love Hotel. It was awesome! I will write more about it some time this weekend. The train-grope-rape porn on the huge LCD screen at the end of the bed was really something else, and the vibrator vending machine next to the fridge was a lovely touch too.
Yeah OK, less talking about sex toys and train rape and more teaching small children. Gotta go!
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Blurgh
Today was frittered away on the worst hangover I've experienced in a long time. I was hung. WAY over. I do not like feeling like this!! It's a waste. Sometimes we all need a day of staggering around in our undies, lying down on the futon and thrashing about gently with some whimpers, reading random blogs, and not having to stand up straight when we do decide to try going upright for a few minutes. But on fine-weather days I'd much rather be doing something else. I feel restless and a bit snarky at myself for staying inside all day. I could have averted it all with just a few glasses of water before bed, but did I? I did not.
I did, however, make a delicious burger. With two months left to go til I depart these sweet shores, I've realised I have WAY too much food lying around and not much time left to use it all up. I am going to have to do some serious legume/pulse dishes in the next few weeks. Chick peas/lentils/random dried beans galore! Too much soba! More spices than one girl ever needs! Nine different types of flour! I do believe I am about to do something useful and make a two-month meal plan!
So, anyway, tofu and homemade (by somebody else at somebody else's home) bread were pulled from the freezer, and all the last flaccid veges from the fridge came out, much like my manfriend's penis does from his pants (I am getting slightly less cool with no proper sexings, it must be said). Most of the veg sadly went in the bin (you know how lettuces just suddenly melt on the bottom but look fine on top for ages?! whyyy) but I had fresh basil and wasabi, which I chopped up, and an avocado, which I mashed and added the herbs to, followed by a blob of honey. I also had teeny tiny tomatoes and cucumbers, which I sliced up, and yuba, which I salted, peppered, and laid across the second slice of bread (the first had the delicious avo-herb mash on it). I fried onions with the tofu, and added sake, vinegar and shoyu in the last few seconds. Some finely-sliced carrot went in a small heap with blanched spinach and sesame seeds mixed in.
Last, not to be mistaken for least, came the pickles. Three types - tiny bumpy sour whole cucumber, yellow salty-sour daikon, and delicate fragrant cabbage. Oh, my.
It was a magnificent lunch, and I ate it reading a book, with chilled barley tea, YUM, and a headache that squeezed one eye shut until I gave in and googled the name on a packet of pills I found in the cupboard that blessedly turned out to be painkillers.
Yessss.
It's 6pm as I write, and all I've gotten done today, from a long potential list, were the dishes, my lunch, a round of touching myself, and two emails. Drink and the devil did for the rest.
I did, however, make a delicious burger. With two months left to go til I depart these sweet shores, I've realised I have WAY too much food lying around and not much time left to use it all up. I am going to have to do some serious legume/pulse dishes in the next few weeks. Chick peas/lentils/random dried beans galore! Too much soba! More spices than one girl ever needs! Nine different types of flour! I do believe I am about to do something useful and make a two-month meal plan!
So, anyway, tofu and homemade (by somebody else at somebody else's home) bread were pulled from the freezer, and all the last flaccid veges from the fridge came out, much like my manfriend's penis does from his pants (I am getting slightly less cool with no proper sexings, it must be said). Most of the veg sadly went in the bin (you know how lettuces just suddenly melt on the bottom but look fine on top for ages?! whyyy) but I had fresh basil and wasabi, which I chopped up, and an avocado, which I mashed and added the herbs to, followed by a blob of honey. I also had teeny tiny tomatoes and cucumbers, which I sliced up, and yuba, which I salted, peppered, and laid across the second slice of bread (the first had the delicious avo-herb mash on it). I fried onions with the tofu, and added sake, vinegar and shoyu in the last few seconds. Some finely-sliced carrot went in a small heap with blanched spinach and sesame seeds mixed in.
Last, not to be mistaken for least, came the pickles. Three types - tiny bumpy sour whole cucumber, yellow salty-sour daikon, and delicate fragrant cabbage. Oh, my.
It was a magnificent lunch, and I ate it reading a book, with chilled barley tea, YUM, and a headache that squeezed one eye shut until I gave in and googled the name on a packet of pills I found in the cupboard that blessedly turned out to be painkillers.
Yessss.
It's 6pm as I write, and all I've gotten done today, from a long potential list, were the dishes, my lunch, a round of touching myself, and two emails. Drink and the devil did for the rest.
Saturday, 10 May 2008
Ahh.
I think I am as big a fan of cocksucking as you can get. I often have sex dreams about it, and find myself unconsciously putting things to my mouth when I am attracted to somebody. But the worst is when I fall asleep on aeroplanes. I'm bored on aeroplanes, so I think about sucking cock, which I find very relaxing. So I fall asleep, and then wake up with my mouth cocked open (so to speak), my tongue sliding around, and one or both of my hands near it. I am serious. It's very embarrassing! When my mouth and tongue suddenly feel oddly empty my jaws click shut and it's the sound that wakes me up.
Anyway, the guy I'm seeing is getting really into having his cock sucked. It's getting much stiffer, especially if he's standing or sitting back, with me kneeling between his legs. It just feels right, that way, eh? He loves to mash his cock and balls into my face and grab me by the back of the head and really fuck my mouth hard, too, coming in giant spurts down my throat, only releasing me when I have drained him of the last drops. I am giddy with pleasure during these episodes.
Anyway, the guy I'm seeing is getting really into having his cock sucked. It's getting much stiffer, especially if he's standing or sitting back, with me kneeling between his legs. It just feels right, that way, eh? He loves to mash his cock and balls into my face and grab me by the back of the head and really fuck my mouth hard, too, coming in giant spurts down my throat, only releasing me when I have drained him of the last drops. I am giddy with pleasure during these episodes.
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Response to Fat Chick.
I've been having this argument about these comments on this blog over this post. It's not very pleasant.
To summarise: FC took issue with me saying I don't think being morbidly obese is a very good idea. I initially said it less than kindly, granted. And I apologise for that.
My point in the original was that it annoys me to see people writing things like, "I'm 300 pounds but right now I'm stuffing my face with ice cream out of the container. Why can't I stop eating like this?" and so on. I don't like whiners, and I especially don't like to read or listen to whiners whining about things that are absolutely within their power to change. However, FC's comment that my use of the words "horribly fat" was vicious and prejudiced is perhaps true. Unintentionally vicious, which I feel sorry about and wholly regret, but intentionally prejudiced.
I had no desire to be cruel - exasperation can bring out the worst in us, eh? However, I also have no desire to change my stance on the issue of morbid and needless obesity, either. FC and others can wax agitatedly all they like about how there's no proof that morbid obesity in and of itself is bad for you - there is sufficient evidence for me, personally, to believe otherwise. And, I don't think that believing diseases and health complications related to obesity are ACTUALLY related to obesity makes me "stoopid" and "ignorant." A commenter talks about how she's massive and yet has no health problems. Well, that's kind of like saying "my grandma smoked a pack a day and lived to 85." Not really related, taken case-by-case, is it?
Anyway, I take issue with cutters, heavy smokers, and anorexia, too, and shan't hesitate to say I think all those things are harmful, unnecessary, and done by choice. They're less visible than fatness, which is perhaps why it's easier to bemoan such ridiculous things as obesity and anorexia, but to please FC, who thinks I should display all my prejudices at once, here you go:
Prejudices - we've all got them, whether we want them or not, and challenging them is always a good idea. But I feel slightly compelled to defend my prejudice against some things because, frankly, they're just not very ideal. I am prejudiced against the wasting of resources, in particular. Somebody three or four hundred pounds will logically use more water, food, petrol and - eventually - medical services than the average healthy-weight person would. I DO feel slightly indignant about it, just as I do about bulimic people hoffing down so much food then hurling it back up into the loo. How wasteful! If it's a disease, an illness, then get help. If not, then stop!
And that was my original point: I'm not talking about people who are "overweight" or just plain fat. That's no concern of mine. I'm talking about dangerously, extremely unhealthily obese. if you're happy being that way, then fine, go about your business. But if you're not, then for crying out loud, don't just complain about it; do something! Change what you don't like, as this brave woman did.
A good point that FC makes in a roundabout way is that talking negatively about obesity seems to give a small minority of people the idea that it's fine to abuse and assault obese people - here are some of her experiences. It's disgusting and I am horrified that people can be so terrible to complete strangers. What sort of a person throws cigarette butts and full nappies at somebody they see in the street? So, I understand that she feels my point may give some idiots the wrong idea. Something to mull over, for sure.
FC also asks why I chose the photo I did to illustrate the blog post. I chose it because it illustrated what I was, in part, talking about - somebody huge, eating irresponsibly. Nobody needs a whole cake. I can barely eat one SLICE of cake. Perhaps the photo wasn't necessary, though, eh? And I feel ashamed that I said a couple of pretty hurtful things - I used the words "horribly fat," and titled the the post "Lard, and Arses." But though I'll try harder to be less harmful from now on, I don't think it's right that I should just keep silent altogether about things I don't agree with. SUVs, unnecessary bottle-feeding, self-cutting, binge-drinking - in addition to these silly luxuries, eating to the point where you weigh more than three of me and are grinding your joints away as you walk is just one more thing I believe in avoiding, if you can.
A commenter on the post says I sound like the type of person to veil my prejudice by saying "I have fat friends." Well, it's no veil. I do have fat friends. They're absolutely terrific people and it makes me even more agitated about obesity - I don't want to lose such dear friends early, to things as stupid as, say, heart disease, bowel cancer and diabetes, which are all closely linked to dangerous weight/shape combinations.
To conclude, for heaven's sake, I do not hate fat people. I do not hate any people. Hate is not a feeling I feel when I see or talk to other human beings, whatever they look like. Just because FC says my reluctance to accept morbid obesity as just another variation on the scale of healthy lifestyles is hatred, doesn't mean it is. I don't wish FC, or any other human being, any harm or ill feeling.
I just truly, honestly, genuinely believe that in this case, my prejudice - for lack of a better word - is founded upon something pretty concrete.
To summarise: FC took issue with me saying I don't think being morbidly obese is a very good idea. I initially said it less than kindly, granted. And I apologise for that.
My point in the original was that it annoys me to see people writing things like, "I'm 300 pounds but right now I'm stuffing my face with ice cream out of the container. Why can't I stop eating like this?" and so on. I don't like whiners, and I especially don't like to read or listen to whiners whining about things that are absolutely within their power to change. However, FC's comment that my use of the words "horribly fat" was vicious and prejudiced is perhaps true. Unintentionally vicious, which I feel sorry about and wholly regret, but intentionally prejudiced.
I had no desire to be cruel - exasperation can bring out the worst in us, eh? However, I also have no desire to change my stance on the issue of morbid and needless obesity, either. FC and others can wax agitatedly all they like about how there's no proof that morbid obesity in and of itself is bad for you - there is sufficient evidence for me, personally, to believe otherwise. And, I don't think that believing diseases and health complications related to obesity are ACTUALLY related to obesity makes me "stoopid" and "ignorant." A commenter talks about how she's massive and yet has no health problems. Well, that's kind of like saying "my grandma smoked a pack a day and lived to 85." Not really related, taken case-by-case, is it?
Anyway, I take issue with cutters, heavy smokers, and anorexia, too, and shan't hesitate to say I think all those things are harmful, unnecessary, and done by choice. They're less visible than fatness, which is perhaps why it's easier to bemoan such ridiculous things as obesity and anorexia, but to please FC, who thinks I should display all my prejudices at once, here you go:
Prejudices - we've all got them, whether we want them or not, and challenging them is always a good idea. But I feel slightly compelled to defend my prejudice against some things because, frankly, they're just not very ideal. I am prejudiced against the wasting of resources, in particular. Somebody three or four hundred pounds will logically use more water, food, petrol and - eventually - medical services than the average healthy-weight person would. I DO feel slightly indignant about it, just as I do about bulimic people hoffing down so much food then hurling it back up into the loo. How wasteful! If it's a disease, an illness, then get help. If not, then stop!
And that was my original point: I'm not talking about people who are "overweight" or just plain fat. That's no concern of mine. I'm talking about dangerously, extremely unhealthily obese. if you're happy being that way, then fine, go about your business. But if you're not, then for crying out loud, don't just complain about it; do something! Change what you don't like, as this brave woman did.
A good point that FC makes in a roundabout way is that talking negatively about obesity seems to give a small minority of people the idea that it's fine to abuse and assault obese people - here are some of her experiences. It's disgusting and I am horrified that people can be so terrible to complete strangers. What sort of a person throws cigarette butts and full nappies at somebody they see in the street? So, I understand that she feels my point may give some idiots the wrong idea. Something to mull over, for sure.
FC also asks why I chose the photo I did to illustrate the blog post. I chose it because it illustrated what I was, in part, talking about - somebody huge, eating irresponsibly. Nobody needs a whole cake. I can barely eat one SLICE of cake. Perhaps the photo wasn't necessary, though, eh? And I feel ashamed that I said a couple of pretty hurtful things - I used the words "horribly fat," and titled the the post "Lard, and Arses." But though I'll try harder to be less harmful from now on, I don't think it's right that I should just keep silent altogether about things I don't agree with. SUVs, unnecessary bottle-feeding, self-cutting, binge-drinking - in addition to these silly luxuries, eating to the point where you weigh more than three of me and are grinding your joints away as you walk is just one more thing I believe in avoiding, if you can.
A commenter on the post says I sound like the type of person to veil my prejudice by saying "I have fat friends." Well, it's no veil. I do have fat friends. They're absolutely terrific people and it makes me even more agitated about obesity - I don't want to lose such dear friends early, to things as stupid as, say, heart disease, bowel cancer and diabetes, which are all closely linked to dangerous weight/shape combinations.
To conclude, for heaven's sake, I do not hate fat people. I do not hate any people. Hate is not a feeling I feel when I see or talk to other human beings, whatever they look like. Just because FC says my reluctance to accept morbid obesity as just another variation on the scale of healthy lifestyles is hatred, doesn't mean it is. I don't wish FC, or any other human being, any harm or ill feeling.
I just truly, honestly, genuinely believe that in this case, my prejudice - for lack of a better word - is founded upon something pretty concrete.
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Reasons to be glad Bill Hicks is dead, and about smoking.
1. He will never utter the words "Lindsay Lohan" or "Harry Potter" (aaargh now they're on my blog)
2. Watching him smoke - especially when he was slim-hipped and thick-haired - was toooo sexy.
Smoking is something I find pretty gross in general and don't have much patience for - it stinks, it's expensive, it does your body grievous damage and causes you to grow cancers blar blar blar - we all know it's crap and you must be mad if you think it's a good idea.
But when a hot guy - one who reeeaaally enjoys smoking - smokes while looking at me, I find it irresistible. Oh, man. I can't look away. I get wriggly thighs and find myself unconsciously touching my mouth and body and imagining him smoking while fucking me... putting a cigarette in his mouth so his hands are both free to shove me back and forth on his cock while he squints through the smoke...
The guy about whom I was quite lovesick earlier this year was practically a chain-smoker. His teeth were stained, his fingers were callused, and he coughed like a blocked grenade launcher. But oh, to watch him smoke was a thing of beauty.
The guy I'm seeing now gave up smoking a couple of months ago because once he heard me say I thought smokers smelled awful. Secretly, though, I'd be stoked to watch him smoke one more time.
Don't passive-aggressiveness me, you ghoul
Gave a person a lift, twice, for four hours each way. Four hours! Though she's nice, I don't particularly adore spending much time with her so it was well beyond the call of duty. But she was going to the same place as me, and came to my house first, so I didn't have to go out of my way to pick her up, so I didn't really mind. On the way back, though, this is the conversation we had:
Her: Hey, so, you don't mind dropping me back in my town, right?
Me: Uh... yeah...
Her: Great, thanks!
Me: Wait, that was more a "yeah...nah," than a "yeah sure." I've just... I've been driving for six hours already today and not really keen to drive for another hour, you know? Sorry, mate. I'm a bit knackered.
Her: Well, I just honestly don't think it would take an hour.
Me: ...About half an hour there, half an hour back, right? Honestly, I have [hobby] class tonight and would really like to eat something and relax a little bit before I go.
Her: OK, well, it's just that I'm quite tired too.
Me: ...
Her: It's OK, I can ride my bike. It only takes forty-five minutes. I've got blisters and a heavy bag, but I don't mind, it's OK.
Me: Sweet then.
Her: [large tired-sounding puffs of air come out of her nose and mouth and I can feel her looking at me] Oh, wow, my knee really hurts. I think I sprained my ankle on the weekend!
Me: Oh.
Her: Yeah, I don't know if I should be riding.
Me: [Tight smile] I'm not driving to your town. Sorry. It's too far out of my way and I don't have the time or energy.
Her: No, that's FINE. It's FINE.
Such repulsive behaviour! I even waited two hours to pick her up earlier that day without so much as a "sorry to have kept you" from her.
MANNERS please, you peon.
Her: Hey, so, you don't mind dropping me back in my town, right?
Me: Uh... yeah...
Her: Great, thanks!
Me: Wait, that was more a "yeah...nah," than a "yeah sure." I've just... I've been driving for six hours already today and not really keen to drive for another hour, you know? Sorry, mate. I'm a bit knackered.
Her: Well, I just honestly don't think it would take an hour.
Me: ...About half an hour there, half an hour back, right? Honestly, I have [hobby] class tonight and would really like to eat something and relax a little bit before I go.
Her: OK, well, it's just that I'm quite tired too.
Me: ...
Her: It's OK, I can ride my bike. It only takes forty-five minutes. I've got blisters and a heavy bag, but I don't mind, it's OK.
Me: Sweet then.
Her: [large tired-sounding puffs of air come out of her nose and mouth and I can feel her looking at me] Oh, wow, my knee really hurts. I think I sprained my ankle on the weekend!
Me: Oh.
Her: Yeah, I don't know if I should be riding.
Me: [Tight smile] I'm not driving to your town. Sorry. It's too far out of my way and I don't have the time or energy.
Her: No, that's FINE. It's FINE.
Such repulsive behaviour! I even waited two hours to pick her up earlier that day without so much as a "sorry to have kept you" from her.
MANNERS please, you peon.
Thursday, 1 May 2008
Teh ears, meh. Teh shoulders: YES!!!!!1.
Why do some people like having their ears licked? I am against it. It's so loud and wet. I much prefer having my shoulder blades lightly stroked and bitten and kissed.
Fortunately for meeee, Dude I'm Seeing appears to feel much the same way.
Also, last night he got a big stiffy! He looked as surprised as I was. (Of course I was cocksucking at the time.) YAY!! There is hope! But even without hardons, the sex is so good I'm still not that concerned about the lack of penis-vagina intercourse.
It's also really nice not having to fuss about contraception - no need for condoms or anything and no worrying about getting pregnant or infected.
Isn't "infected" a lovely word to end a post on?
Infected.
Fortunately for meeee, Dude I'm Seeing appears to feel much the same way.
Also, last night he got a big stiffy! He looked as surprised as I was. (Of course I was cocksucking at the time.) YAY!! There is hope! But even without hardons, the sex is so good I'm still not that concerned about the lack of penis-vagina intercourse.
It's also really nice not having to fuss about contraception - no need for condoms or anything and no worrying about getting pregnant or infected.
Isn't "infected" a lovely word to end a post on?
Infected.
Thursday, 24 April 2008
Softies.
I am seeing someone. And been having some of the best sex of my life. I've said this before! I know it. But this time there's a little interesting factoid to add: the guy can't get an erection.
Considering two of my favourite things are 1) silky rock-hard cocks, and 2) sucking them, this is unexpected (but not previously unexplored) territory.
Talking with a couple of lady friends about the situation, they both agreed that guys who don't get it up can be an incredible and blissful lay; they said they would forego penetration in a split second if it meant actually getting the stimulation they need to orgasm. The ladies pointed out that so many guys seem to just endure foreplay, sort of doing it with the atmosphere of a big sigh - like they were doing the the girl fucking them a kindly favour by not just ramming it straight in.
And, well, this fellow - let's call him Ryu - CAN'T just ram it in. There will be no ramming. Not a single ram. His penis is soft and hangs gently, dabbing at my legs, arms, hands as we tangle into each other. He's clearly aroused - and can orgasm no problem; three in six hours, in fact - but penetration is, so far, not a part of the picture.
And, to my surprise and delight, it isn't bothering me in the slightest. He has beautiful, big, strong, brown hands that wields with grace and sexiness, he's sensual and intuitive, and he just so thoroughly enjoys everything that it's hard NOT to spend the whole time rippling with lazy, languid orgasms.
Sliding, pushing, stroking sex with the sliding doors open on a sunny day, curtains pulled and drifting over us...
Grinding, mouthy, hot-hand sex on a full moon night with the sliding doors open and the moonlight spilling in...
It's all quite perfect, really.
Considering two of my favourite things are 1) silky rock-hard cocks, and 2) sucking them, this is unexpected (but not previously unexplored) territory.
Talking with a couple of lady friends about the situation, they both agreed that guys who don't get it up can be an incredible and blissful lay; they said they would forego penetration in a split second if it meant actually getting the stimulation they need to orgasm. The ladies pointed out that so many guys seem to just endure foreplay, sort of doing it with the atmosphere of a big sigh - like they were doing the the girl fucking them a kindly favour by not just ramming it straight in.
And, well, this fellow - let's call him Ryu - CAN'T just ram it in. There will be no ramming. Not a single ram. His penis is soft and hangs gently, dabbing at my legs, arms, hands as we tangle into each other. He's clearly aroused - and can orgasm no problem; three in six hours, in fact - but penetration is, so far, not a part of the picture.
And, to my surprise and delight, it isn't bothering me in the slightest. He has beautiful, big, strong, brown hands that wields with grace and sexiness, he's sensual and intuitive, and he just so thoroughly enjoys everything that it's hard NOT to spend the whole time rippling with lazy, languid orgasms.
Sliding, pushing, stroking sex with the sliding doors open on a sunny day, curtains pulled and drifting over us...
Grinding, mouthy, hot-hand sex on a full moon night with the sliding doors open and the moonlight spilling in...
It's all quite perfect, really.
Monday, 17 March 2008
Faster than a speeding bullet
There's a guy I fuck, who I've talked about before but whose pseudonym I can't be bothered looking up. He's married and has two small kids and a wife who all but flatly refuses to have sex with him now that she's got her children (yes, yet another of those).
Anyway, he and I don't often get together in anything but a social sense (we share a hobby) but when we do, it's delicious. He has a stunning penis, thick and hard and straining, and a beautiful body. Hairy chest and belly, all roast-almond coloured and strong, with rough hands and a handsome, boyish face. I don't know what the heck is wrong with his wife, because he is one good-looking, lovely, lusty guy. The sex we have is pent-up, urgent; it seems to come at a time when both of us are craving and desperate. It's ALWAYS good.
Except for this time.
I don't know that I've ever had a guy come that fast before (and, let me say this loudly: I have fucked a LOT of males). He lasted all of 20 seconds! From going in (I was grinding feverishly away on top for the few seconds that it took) to pulling out and dragging the sodden condom off, it was less than a minute. "Seriously?" I exclaimed. "Oh, come on. That was WAY too fast." When I am all worked up into a sex frenzy I'm quite possibly not the most sensitive person.
"Sorry," he said, "It's just... oh, MAN, it's been so long." To his credit, he was a bit embarrassed.
He reckons the last time he had sex was with ME, which would make it sometime last year, several months ago. And judging by that performance, I believe him. And I feel so sorry for him. Sex is one of the few adult pleasures we can enjoy for free in our own homes (or in my home).
Nobody who's married should have to go several months without sex just because their partner doesn't FEEL like it.
Anyway, he and I don't often get together in anything but a social sense (we share a hobby) but when we do, it's delicious. He has a stunning penis, thick and hard and straining, and a beautiful body. Hairy chest and belly, all roast-almond coloured and strong, with rough hands and a handsome, boyish face. I don't know what the heck is wrong with his wife, because he is one good-looking, lovely, lusty guy. The sex we have is pent-up, urgent; it seems to come at a time when both of us are craving and desperate. It's ALWAYS good.
Except for this time.
I don't know that I've ever had a guy come that fast before (and, let me say this loudly: I have fucked a LOT of males). He lasted all of 20 seconds! From going in (I was grinding feverishly away on top for the few seconds that it took) to pulling out and dragging the sodden condom off, it was less than a minute. "Seriously?" I exclaimed. "Oh, come on. That was WAY too fast." When I am all worked up into a sex frenzy I'm quite possibly not the most sensitive person.
"Sorry," he said, "It's just... oh, MAN, it's been so long." To his credit, he was a bit embarrassed.
He reckons the last time he had sex was with ME, which would make it sometime last year, several months ago. And judging by that performance, I believe him. And I feel so sorry for him. Sex is one of the few adult pleasures we can enjoy for free in our own homes (or in my home).
Nobody who's married should have to go several months without sex just because their partner doesn't FEEL like it.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
The sex noises haircuts.
Like I said (see below), I love massage.
So when my hairdresser has washed and cut and washed again, and then gives me a 7-10 minute shoulder/neck/head massage, I kind of turn into a person who utters nothing but sighs and gibberish and the odd moan.
Last time I rang for an appointment, I got Matsutake san. "4pm is fine - the usual?" he asked.
"Is that the girl who makes sex noises?" shouted a guy in the background, "Make it a time when I can wash her hair, okay?"
"Um, 4pm's not as good as 3pm, but what do you think?" asked Matsutake san.
I said 4pm was fine.
"Yay! Sex noises girl!" shrieked Apprentice.
Glad to be of service, I suppose.
So when my hairdresser has washed and cut and washed again, and then gives me a 7-10 minute shoulder/neck/head massage, I kind of turn into a person who utters nothing but sighs and gibberish and the odd moan.
Last time I rang for an appointment, I got Matsutake san. "4pm is fine - the usual?" he asked.
"Is that the girl who makes sex noises?" shouted a guy in the background, "Make it a time when I can wash her hair, okay?"
"Um, 4pm's not as good as 3pm, but what do you think?" asked Matsutake san.
I said 4pm was fine.
"Yay! Sex noises girl!" shrieked Apprentice.
Glad to be of service, I suppose.
The marriages.
How is one supposed to feel about fucking married guys?
There have been two, recently, that I'd love to get my paws on, but don't feel alright enough about their situations to indulge. If the wives were fine with it, sweet. But how often does that happen? We're not all as lucky as TBK.
My friend Yuukihiro invited me out for dinner the other night with him and a baseball friend (Kazu) of his. They are both pretty gorgeous, but especially Yuuki. He has a large, hard, lean body, beautiful arty hands, short hair, glowing chestnut skin, a mischievous smile, and a beautiful wife. Who doesn't have sex with him. Ever. She got the two kids she wanted and now just has no interest conjugal relations. Which leaves Yuuki... with what, a bland chaste lifetime of frustration and masturbation? That's so unfair! Such a waste!
The other: Sasuke. He and his girlfriend (not wife but same difference) own and run a restaurant together. She's lovely; he's much, much lovelier. He and I also have electric-shock fingers on each other; when we touch, there is a very distinct sort of crackle that makes my skin tingle and tighten. The first time we touched, we both looked up in amazement at the sensation. He is a passionate, intelligent guy with the kind of body people want to purchase. So handsome. And yet, his girl is another who isn't keen on sexy time, and freely admits that she will do anything to avoid sex. What the hell? I felt his boner once when we hugged, and it's DECENT, and I can't imagine that he's at all bad in bed, considering what a sensual person he his.
Why even be married to someone you don't ever have sex with? Isn't that more than a bit like just being friends?
Sigh.
Saturday, 1 March 2008
The Teasing of teh Cock
Cockteasing is a terrific hobby. Especially when you can do it innocently and you're honestly not trying but the dude is pretty much rocking back and forth and grinding his teeth and getting angry boner-face the whole time.
So, Matt came to stay on the weekend. For snowboarding. Well, I thought he came along for snowboarding but apparently he came along so he could fuck me. I had no intention of getting any, though, so I helpfully kept him and his erection awake all night that first night, with my active-sleeping (it seems I often delight in limb-flinging, chatting, yelping, kicking, sitting up in order to look strangely at things, and feeling around for invisible stuff while I sleep) and then sleepily nestled my arse into his boner in the morning without realising. Until I realised, and then I did it a little more while pretending to be asleep, just so I could feel his silky-stiff erection a little while longer. It just feels RIGHT, right?? If there's a guy lying on his side with a stiffy, it's incredibly difficult not to shift backwards into it, especially if you're hazy-dozing at 6am in the morning.
Anyway, he gallantly tried it on when we awoke, and I stared slightly uncomfortably at a potted plant for a second while he nuzzled my neck and then I jumped up and put the kettle on, all fluster with "how did this situation not even occur to me before"-type thoughts bumping around in my head. OF COURSE he came to fuck me. OF COURSE he would have thought me keen too. Sigh. Luckily we had a potentially awkward 3 hour car drive during which there were ample opportunities to discuss. So I told him a wee bit about how I'm a little fragile in the heart area at the moment so probably not keen on getting into a situation that would confuse me or weird me out. He was really quite alright about it.
And then, later, at the ryokan inn we stayed at, the lovely old lady assumed we'd be bathing together. Sure! Why not. She had other customers who would be wanting to use the bath afterwards, so we hopped into the shower room to scrub up and then lowered ourselves into the steaming hot water. I love how deep the baths are here. And how hard Matt's cock was the entire time. I actually felt a bit sorry for him, but going by the smirk on his face he wasn't too upset. I got out and rinsed off before he did, in front of him (where else?! There was nowhere else) and he gazed up at me with a rather anguished face, and arms resolutely on the sides of the bath, fists clenched. He obviously wanted something to do with his hands, because as we relaxed on our futons and talked, wearing the soft cotton ryokan dressing gowns, he massaged my legs and feet.
Note: if you massage my legs and feet I will become slack-jawed and incoherent and limp. Seriously, is there anything better?! (Than massage, I mean, not slack-jaw.) I need to find me a foot fetish guy.
Anyway, at dinner while we were chatting over our beers he suddenly exclaimed, "God DAMN, girl, it was hard work keeping my hands off you in that bath." He talked about how he's never really been friends with a girl before without having fucked her, so this was an interesting first for him. He also freely admitted his plans to flirt madly with me and "reel me in" and have a sex weekend in the mountains. Ha!
We walked back to the ryokan from the little empty restaurant in the cold night, and it was snowing. Big, soft, feathery flakes that just sort of softly appeared from the black sky and settled on us, piling up in doorways and dark window edges. Once or twice he glanced at me when he thought I wasn't looking, and then smiled down at his feet. It's so cute when people do that. Inside, upstairs in our room, he massaged my back with large, warm but hesitant hands, being careful not to go too low past my hips, or too far down my ribs. I was shivering with pleasure. A dim room, a hot bath and a beer in me, snow falling quietly outside, and a gorgeous man massaging my back. If he'd pulled a move right then, I may have fucked him. But he was too much of a gentleman to risk it.
We slept bare against one another, my knickers and long socks primly on but shirt brazenly off, my breasts pressed against his strong hairy chest, and here's the lame part; I cried. What a sook! Safe is the utterly wrong word but the closest I can get to the feeling that flowed over me for a few seconds there. I didn't sob, I just had my breath go all shuddery on me and my eyes leak. Just a few seconds of cry. He stroked my back and head and then we both laughed and went quiet and ran our hands softly on each other's skin.
(And a little while later, I sat up and advised, "You'll need a machete for that one, Daisuke." Matt said "What?" and I looked blankly at him (he says) and said, "What?" and he said, "What?" And I looked puzzled and said, "Nobody did," and lay down again. Ohhh-kay.)
Friday, 25 January 2008
Surprise triggers - got one?
Aiaiai, dreadfully sorry for the absence... a whole month?! I'm ready now. I have a beer - my first in a week, to my surprise - some dried pineapple, and some quiet time RIGHT HERE!
So.
Here's what I want to talk about. Recently when fucking this terrific guy (ALL the best sentences start like that), who happened to not be Japanese, which is irrelevant but interesting and a milestone all in itself, I came across a little switch I really didn't know I had.
Distance and circumstances make the pairing an event that is a thing only of the past; rather a saddening thought. I suppose you'd call it a love affair if you wanted to get technical about it. Those of you who know me may well be sitting shocked at your computer with a frozen look on your face at my use of the L word.
Anyway.
There were three of us at all times but bedtime (the opposite of TBK) so once we got into our room in the evenings, us two were slightly beside ourselves. On this particular occasion, we managed to pull ourselves apart and throw some futons down (not getting tatami burn is wildly underrated) before the main event. I think that we knew if we just went at it like the craven pair we clearly are, it would all be over too sadly soon. So we tried to sort of slow it down a few times - a temporary measure at best, when your cock is so hard it's visibly throbbing, and your knickers are so wet they're translucent and clinging to the folds of your girl parts.
We dragged my jeans off while kissing and clutching at one another, and then, in an almost angry move, he pulled my knickers to one side and slid his cock in rather gently but firmly, while wrapping his hand around my breast and squeezing. I must have made a dazed sound (I could barely breathe, I was so turned on) because he looked at my face. Then, oh my god, he shushed me. He put his hand on my mouth and murmured, "Shhh," as he slid it down my throat and squeezed slightly. Forgive me if this all sounds twee and tame, but I was so hotted up by him, heavy, male, stubbled, lean-bodied, soft-mouthed handsome him, actually shushing me, that I came in great shudders from it.
And suddenly I had this completely random scenario pop into my head - he was my older brother's friend, who'd been flirtatiously explaining the intricacies of sex to me and went too far but had no intention of stopping. Holding my knickers to the side like he was just furthered it; I fancied that next he'd whisper some bullshit thing in my ear, like: "It's not real sex if we still have underwear on, don't worry," so that what he was doing - sliding his rock-hard cock in and out of me and keeping me quiet about it - would be confusing but continuable for now.
Later, much later, perhaps even the next morning in the dark early hours before we rose to leave, he murmured in a tortured, amazed, choked voice, "I have NEVER been sucked like that." Sometimes I repeat that to myself with a little smile when doing something bland; the dishes, vacuuming, hanging up washing outside in a patch of the brilliant morning sunlight that blurs into my house when I need it most.
So.
Here's what I want to talk about. Recently when fucking this terrific guy (ALL the best sentences start like that), who happened to not be Japanese, which is irrelevant but interesting and a milestone all in itself, I came across a little switch I really didn't know I had.
Distance and circumstances make the pairing an event that is a thing only of the past; rather a saddening thought. I suppose you'd call it a love affair if you wanted to get technical about it. Those of you who know me may well be sitting shocked at your computer with a frozen look on your face at my use of the L word.
Anyway.
There were three of us at all times but bedtime (the opposite of TBK) so once we got into our room in the evenings, us two were slightly beside ourselves. On this particular occasion, we managed to pull ourselves apart and throw some futons down (not getting tatami burn is wildly underrated) before the main event. I think that we knew if we just went at it like the craven pair we clearly are, it would all be over too sadly soon. So we tried to sort of slow it down a few times - a temporary measure at best, when your cock is so hard it's visibly throbbing, and your knickers are so wet they're translucent and clinging to the folds of your girl parts.
We dragged my jeans off while kissing and clutching at one another, and then, in an almost angry move, he pulled my knickers to one side and slid his cock in rather gently but firmly, while wrapping his hand around my breast and squeezing. I must have made a dazed sound (I could barely breathe, I was so turned on) because he looked at my face. Then, oh my god, he shushed me. He put his hand on my mouth and murmured, "Shhh," as he slid it down my throat and squeezed slightly. Forgive me if this all sounds twee and tame, but I was so hotted up by him, heavy, male, stubbled, lean-bodied, soft-mouthed handsome him, actually shushing me, that I came in great shudders from it.
And suddenly I had this completely random scenario pop into my head - he was my older brother's friend, who'd been flirtatiously explaining the intricacies of sex to me and went too far but had no intention of stopping. Holding my knickers to the side like he was just furthered it; I fancied that next he'd whisper some bullshit thing in my ear, like: "It's not real sex if we still have underwear on, don't worry," so that what he was doing - sliding his rock-hard cock in and out of me and keeping me quiet about it - would be confusing but continuable for now.
Later, much later, perhaps even the next morning in the dark early hours before we rose to leave, he murmured in a tortured, amazed, choked voice, "I have NEVER been sucked like that." Sometimes I repeat that to myself with a little smile when doing something bland; the dishes, vacuuming, hanging up washing outside in a patch of the brilliant morning sunlight that blurs into my house when I need it most.
Monday, 24 December 2007
Don't touch me like that!
Oh, DUDEs. It's time.
I feel bad but I have to say it: you guys SUCK at touching girls' vulvas, especially when it's not yet sex but still sexy time.
Here are five pointers to help you along in many a situation (bear in mind that lots of girls like different things, but my friends and I all agree on the following recommendations):
1) Touch me lightly! Lighter than you think possible. So lightly you think I can hardly feel it. This might not make me come, but it will give me such a terrific sensation that I will be aroused enough to come about twenty times quicker afterwards.
2) Use your whole hand, not one finger, to touch a vulva. One finger feels clinical and annoying. A hot cupped palm pressed against it, however, is delicious. Three stroking fingers (downwards, never upwards) is also very very lovely.
3) If you do use fingers, make sure they're wet. Lick them, or dip them in the vag if it's wet enough. Silky fingers transmit sensation so much better. Seriously! Try this: touch your wrist softly and slowly. Next, lick your fingers so they're drenched and touch your wrist softly and slowly. Which feels better?
4) At first, be afraid. Be very afraid. Go slow. VERY slow! Stop! Go slower. Don't match speed of your touch to intensity of YOUR arousal - they're not related.
5) It's great to focus on the clittish area, but don't try and isolate the clit or rub it until the lady is actually about to come. And even then, see point 3.
OK? Okay.
Saturday, 22 December 2007
Handjobs? Meh.
I'm crap at handjobs. I mean, all is well and good and right in the world when I'm rubbing my hot little hand against a straining erection that's trying to push through the pants it's trapped in, but once the pants come off?
I'd rather have it in my mouth, frankly. I just think guys can do a much better job than I can when it comes to plain hand jobs. Using my hand on a cock doesn't interest me nearly as much as doing all sorts of other things. Easier to figure out what a cock likes when you use your mouth, anyway.
I'd rather have it in my mouth, frankly. I just think guys can do a much better job than I can when it comes to plain hand jobs. Using my hand on a cock doesn't interest me nearly as much as doing all sorts of other things. Easier to figure out what a cock likes when you use your mouth, anyway.
Thursday, 13 December 2007
...But all your sperm are belong to me!
He's such a good-looking young man. I felt almost carnivorous around him - bitey and pretty and like I wanted to take all parts of him between my teeth. A little hurty and a little holdy; I couldn't figure out what I want to do with him at any given moment, so I was forever curling and clutching and rubbing myself up against him and biting and kissing and squeezing and stroking and grabbing. Mostly grabbing.
Here's the story: he and I have never yet had sex - but before this current event, we got all smoochy once when he and a friend stayed over after drinks and dinner. His friend snored like a walrus while we got relatively dirty, ever so quietly.
But soon after that, in a spate of flirtatious but restrained (I thought) text messages, he sent me a photo of his very erect penis. What?! Why? I can't answer that despite asking it. It was a nice picture and a nice penis - every bit as hard and shapely as it felt through his pants that time - but the whole thing was ever so slightly uncalled-for, considering how little we knew one another. I stopped replying to his texts for a while, unsure of how to proceed in the situation.
Then when it eventually rekindled, we made plans to hang out again, three times. And three times he let me down. That is SUCH a fucking no-no, so I told him I wasn't interested in seeing him again, since he was obviously not too concerned about sticking to our arrangements. He apologised, but I didn't say anything further. And he didn't get in touch again until this week, Monday night, when out of the blue he sounded very keen to hang out.
I wasn't really encouraging, and scolded him, sort of; I made it clear that he was welcome to come over, but any sexy time was not on the cards. I wasn't going to have sex with him under any circumstances, I said, nor anything similar.
Instead I sucked his silky straining cock until he came buckets down my throat.
Boy, I sure showed him.
This is how it started. And here's how it finished.
Let me say this: I ADORE it when guys love being touched by me. When I bite gently up the side of their tummy and they shiver and moan and touch my shoulder blades with trembling hands and can't stop moving their feet or twitching their cock. It delights me when the graze of my lips and teeth over a small male nipple makes them shudder and grab at me. I love it when the soft weight of my breasts drifting over their chest makes them go slightly mad, wanting to hold them so badly but not wanting to stop me doing it - their hands hover, stroke, clutch the sheets, and then scrape down my sides in anguish.
Now, he is and does ALL of those things. All of them. And SUCH a toucher, too. An absolute delight to have languid winter night sex with, thick duvets draping over us, lying fully and heavily on and around one another, pulling at frozen nipples, goosepimpled skin tingling and contracting with the warmth of husky hands running over it. Arms drawing each other in to lie flat, chest-to-chest, thighs and calves tangling in the layers of bedding.
He is really into using his fingers. Fingering. Pushing his fingers between my legs, tapping them lightly over my swollen vulva, dipping them into my dripping cunt. Furiously finger-fucking me as we both groan in vicious pleasure. And as he went at my hot, hazy nether regions, I went at his. I curled my head towards his thighs and swept my hands over his tightening balls and tense thighs before pulling his big stiffy to me. Hehe. Big stiffies. Fuck yeah.
His cock throbbed in my mouth; several times he whimpered and gasped and pulled out and shook his head in the agony of wanting so badly to come but not wanting to come quite yet. And when it was finally time, he asked my permission like a gentleman before it pulsed and poured into me until my mouth was literally full. J-guys have lovely come with no flavour and no scent - just hot and watery. I swallowed it and laughed and gasped for air, and he pushed my hair away from my face and collapsed on the futon and laughed and said, "That was quite a lot, eh?"
I agreed that it was. "Been a while?"
"WAY too long, Manda."
And the way he said that made me think that he meant he's been waiting an unbearably long time to do that with ME.
Which did NOTHING for my restraint. I can't wait!
Here's the story: he and I have never yet had sex - but before this current event, we got all smoochy once when he and a friend stayed over after drinks and dinner. His friend snored like a walrus while we got relatively dirty, ever so quietly.
But soon after that, in a spate of flirtatious but restrained (I thought) text messages, he sent me a photo of his very erect penis. What?! Why? I can't answer that despite asking it. It was a nice picture and a nice penis - every bit as hard and shapely as it felt through his pants that time - but the whole thing was ever so slightly uncalled-for, considering how little we knew one another. I stopped replying to his texts for a while, unsure of how to proceed in the situation.
Then when it eventually rekindled, we made plans to hang out again, three times. And three times he let me down. That is SUCH a fucking no-no, so I told him I wasn't interested in seeing him again, since he was obviously not too concerned about sticking to our arrangements. He apologised, but I didn't say anything further. And he didn't get in touch again until this week, Monday night, when out of the blue he sounded very keen to hang out.
I wasn't really encouraging, and scolded him, sort of; I made it clear that he was welcome to come over, but any sexy time was not on the cards. I wasn't going to have sex with him under any circumstances, I said, nor anything similar.
Instead I sucked his silky straining cock until he came buckets down my throat.
Boy, I sure showed him.
This is how it started. And here's how it finished.
Let me say this: I ADORE it when guys love being touched by me. When I bite gently up the side of their tummy and they shiver and moan and touch my shoulder blades with trembling hands and can't stop moving their feet or twitching their cock. It delights me when the graze of my lips and teeth over a small male nipple makes them shudder and grab at me. I love it when the soft weight of my breasts drifting over their chest makes them go slightly mad, wanting to hold them so badly but not wanting to stop me doing it - their hands hover, stroke, clutch the sheets, and then scrape down my sides in anguish.
Now, he is and does ALL of those things. All of them. And SUCH a toucher, too. An absolute delight to have languid winter night sex with, thick duvets draping over us, lying fully and heavily on and around one another, pulling at frozen nipples, goosepimpled skin tingling and contracting with the warmth of husky hands running over it. Arms drawing each other in to lie flat, chest-to-chest, thighs and calves tangling in the layers of bedding.
He is really into using his fingers. Fingering. Pushing his fingers between my legs, tapping them lightly over my swollen vulva, dipping them into my dripping cunt. Furiously finger-fucking me as we both groan in vicious pleasure. And as he went at my hot, hazy nether regions, I went at his. I curled my head towards his thighs and swept my hands over his tightening balls and tense thighs before pulling his big stiffy to me. Hehe. Big stiffies. Fuck yeah.
His cock throbbed in my mouth; several times he whimpered and gasped and pulled out and shook his head in the agony of wanting so badly to come but not wanting to come quite yet. And when it was finally time, he asked my permission like a gentleman before it pulsed and poured into me until my mouth was literally full. J-guys have lovely come with no flavour and no scent - just hot and watery. I swallowed it and laughed and gasped for air, and he pushed my hair away from my face and collapsed on the futon and laughed and said, "That was quite a lot, eh?"
I agreed that it was. "Been a while?"
"WAY too long, Manda."
And the way he said that made me think that he meant he's been waiting an unbearably long time to do that with ME.
Which did NOTHING for my restraint. I can't wait!
All my self discipline are belong to you.
I primly resisted his advances for ages. Minutes. SEVERAL minutes. "I'm not going to have sex with you," I pointed out when he was suggesting he come over, late on Monday night.
"I don't mind - I just haven't seen you for ages! I wanna hang out."
"I'm going to bed shortly."
"I don't mind going to bed. I like bed."
"Ha. I know. Alright, see you when you get here."
"I'm right outside."
That would be far creepier if I hadn't known he was walking me-wards as he was texting.
Anyway, I pulled out spare futons and piled them comfortably, gave him lots of bedding all of his very own. Cos I certainly had no plans for any rumpy pumpy.
He brought a blast of cold winter night air in with him. I turned my glowing orange electric heater on and he crouched in front of it for a moment. "Is it alright if I sleep in the nude?" he asked, standing and yanking his clothes off.
"God, you're a trier!"
"You can sleep in the nude too. I won't be offended."
"I'm sure you won't," I said, but politely declined. I'm a GOOD girl. And he was kind enough to keep his undies on.
He commented that his feet were always warm - were mine? No, I said; my hands are usually hot and my feet switch between boiling and glacial. And OF COURSE he lazily moved his leg in under my duvets to feel how chilly my feet were. And OF COURSE his were roasty warm and curious.
And of course, then it all began.
Monday, 10 December 2007
Got pissed on but accidentally found the airport twice (though didn't dashing well need or want it)
Trying to find a certain small, neat and brightly-lit hotel in a certain big, neat and brightly-lit city: DIFFICULT. Apparently you end up at the airport twice and then have a businessman piss on you for free.
Friend: Go left at the next lights.
Me: Wait, I thought you said right!
Friend: It's definitely left. Then the hotel should be somewhere on our right.
Me: OK. (turns left) Is there supposed to be a big bridge? This is a very big bridge. And we've run out of buildings.
Friend: ...Maybe we were supposed to go right back there after all.
Me: Well anyway, let's stop and ask for directions at the next convenience store. An aeroplane, look. Oh there are two. What? Why is that an aeroplane? Why would there be two aerop-- we're at the airport! We're at the airport!
Friend: No we're not, no we're not! The airport's not even on the map, are you sure we're at the airport? We're definitely not at the airport.
Aeroplane: ROAR, ZOOM, etc.
30 minutes later:
Friend: Well, we can't be far away now.
Me: Maybe if we take the next big right, we can-- aargh!!
Aeroplane: ROAR, ZOOM, etc.
Me and Friend: Cries of dismay and humiliation, followed by the decision to stop and ask some sort of a local.
I see a guy in a suit standing at the edge of a small foot-bridge over a small pond at the edge of a small park by the side of the dang road, admiring the view of the city lights.
Me: Excuse me...
Guy: (Turns around in shock, still holding penis, wee streams onto my leg and sort of flap-drops in wet golden sheets down my trousers) OH!
Me: Oh, sorry -
Guy: ...No, I'M sorry. Oh my GOD, I just... oh my god.
We both stare at my drenched and steaming leg for a moment (it's cold at night) and the poor guy pops his dick back into his pants.
Me: Um... (stifling giggles and wondering whether it's the decent or the cruel thing to continue) I was wondering if you knew where such-and-such station is, cos I'm trying to find a hotel just near it...
Him: Oh my GOD, I... yeah, go right at the next intersection and then just go straight ahead blah blah blah directions directions
Me: Thanks very much.
Him: oh my GOD I'm so SORRY, I can't believe I pissed ALL over your leg, look, you're SOAKING in my piss, check it out, oh my. Here (takes out his wallet, presumably to compensate me)!
Me: No no no, you're not paying me for that. Accidents happen. Seriously, no, please don't worry about it!
Him (loudly): But I pissed on you! I want to pay you.
Passerby: (extremely strange look)
I start losing my battle with the "AHA!!" laughter that's bumping around inside me and tell him it's completely okay and walk away gingerly in the other direction holding my trouser leg away from my shin in mild horror.)
Urine isn't a terribly offensive substance, eh? But it's so HOT and ripe, and it's someone's waste product, and when you don't know that person it isn't thaaaat awesome.
Pee ess: I can't believe people collect and drink their urine for health. As I understand it, re-consuming uric acid and urea is a terrific way to fuck up your kidneys.
Oh well, each to their own (urine).
Friend: Go left at the next lights.
Me: Wait, I thought you said right!
Friend: It's definitely left. Then the hotel should be somewhere on our right.
Me: OK. (turns left) Is there supposed to be a big bridge? This is a very big bridge. And we've run out of buildings.
Friend: ...Maybe we were supposed to go right back there after all.
Me: Well anyway, let's stop and ask for directions at the next convenience store. An aeroplane, look. Oh there are two. What? Why is that an aeroplane? Why would there be two aerop-- we're at the airport! We're at the airport!
Friend: No we're not, no we're not! The airport's not even on the map, are you sure we're at the airport? We're definitely not at the airport.
Aeroplane: ROAR, ZOOM, etc.
30 minutes later:
Friend: Well, we can't be far away now.
Me: Maybe if we take the next big right, we can-- aargh!!
Aeroplane: ROAR, ZOOM, etc.
Me and Friend: Cries of dismay and humiliation, followed by the decision to stop and ask some sort of a local.
I see a guy in a suit standing at the edge of a small foot-bridge over a small pond at the edge of a small park by the side of the dang road, admiring the view of the city lights.
Me: Excuse me...
Guy: (Turns around in shock, still holding penis, wee streams onto my leg and sort of flap-drops in wet golden sheets down my trousers) OH!
Me: Oh, sorry -
Guy: ...No, I'M sorry. Oh my GOD, I just... oh my god.
We both stare at my drenched and steaming leg for a moment (it's cold at night) and the poor guy pops his dick back into his pants.
Me: Um... (stifling giggles and wondering whether it's the decent or the cruel thing to continue) I was wondering if you knew where such-and-such station is, cos I'm trying to find a hotel just near it...
Him: Oh my GOD, I... yeah, go right at the next intersection and then just go straight ahead blah blah blah directions directions
Me: Thanks very much.
Him: oh my GOD I'm so SORRY, I can't believe I pissed ALL over your leg, look, you're SOAKING in my piss, check it out, oh my. Here (takes out his wallet, presumably to compensate me)!
Me: No no no, you're not paying me for that. Accidents happen. Seriously, no, please don't worry about it!
Him (loudly): But I pissed on you! I want to pay you.
Passerby: (extremely strange look)
I start losing my battle with the "AHA!!" laughter that's bumping around inside me and tell him it's completely okay and walk away gingerly in the other direction holding my trouser leg away from my shin in mild horror.)
Urine isn't a terribly offensive substance, eh? But it's so HOT and ripe, and it's someone's waste product, and when you don't know that person it isn't thaaaat awesome.
Pee ess: I can't believe people collect and drink their urine for health. As I understand it, re-consuming uric acid and urea is a terrific way to fuck up your kidneys.
Oh well, each to their own (urine).
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