Clit’rature: Down by the River, Pt. 2

I want to grab it by the base and shove it in as deep as it will go, right away, but I don’t–I hold it down on your belly and start with my tongue, in that spot where dick becomes balls, right in the middle–I twirl around there for a second and then lick your shaft from the bottom to the top–I take it around the base and slap it onto my tongue a few times, then turn my head so my lips are wrapped sideways around the tip. Slowly I move my mouth so it covers the whole head, and then I lower my face onto you and start sucking–you groan and your head rolls back, you wrap both hands up in my hair–each time I take you in a little more, each time you hold my face down a little longer, your cock muffling the sounds coming out of my throat. We’re in synch now, I’m moving how you want me to, your fingers are still twisted up in my hair, lightly pushing and pulling, firm and steady. I sneak a peek at your face while I’m sucking but your eyes are closed, brows furrowed in concentration, you’re trying not to cum yet.

All of a sudden, you snap my head up off your cock. I think you’re gonna cum but you don’t. I wanna fuck you now, I tell you but at the same time you’re saying, sit on this dick right fucking now–so I get up and turn around so I’m kneeling backwards over you, poised to drop it but waiting, waiting. You push me forward a little so you can grab it and rub it up and down over my pussy a couple of times, making sure I’m still wet–I am, of course I am, every molecule in my body needs to fucking feel you inside of me right the fuck now–then you put the tip in position and place your hands on my hips, pulling me low down down low.

This is what I’ve been waiting for, this is what I’ve been thinking about, on the train, at my desk, at the grocery store, constantly, easing myself onto your cock, feeling myself stretch out around you, how it hurts so good, this right now right here–oh FUCK–we go two strokes and then I drop it hard and swallow you whole, slipping and swiveling around on your dick like it’s a joystick. It’s on now, reverse cowgirl in full motherfucking effizect, you lifting me up by your left palm, nestled between my ribs with authority, fingers gripping around the underside of my right breast–your other hand gripped into the fat flesh of my ass, strong into soft, pushing me back down over your cock on the downstroke. I’ve got one hand in the wet dirt to steady myself, the other arm’s trying to restrain my tits, which were bouncing so hard at first when I dropped down that they practically smacked me in the face.

I’m turning my head around, saltsweaty strands of hair stuck to the sweat on my face, I wanna see what you can see, I wanna watch you watching your dick disappear inside of me and come back out, shinywetslippery, pushing and pulling–the sweet sting surprise, first one smack, then another, each one harder than the last. You like to make me holler, you like the way your palm leaves its red imprint on my ass, you like to make me ask for more. Beg for it. Keep fucking pumping. Keep fucking talking. Keep fucking squeezing me. Please. I need it. You do, you keep doing it, you’re grunting, I think I hear you ask me if I fucking like it like that, I think I say yes, but everything is a blur so I can’t be sure. The ground starts shaking beneath us: train’s coming. You tell me to cum because you know I fucking come when I’m called like a good girl–you reach around and start rubbing my pussy, real fast, and say cum on my fucking cock right now, come on girl, come on, and I do, I cum so fucking hard I leave tiny little red nail marks on your arms where I was holding them that will last for weeks afterward.

To be continued…

March 31, 2009. blowjobs, clit'rature, sex in public, tits magoo, trains. 1 comment.

Dicks In Our Box: I want to fuck him so bad


i want to fuck him. i want to fuck him so bad. i can smell his dick on my breath.
i can taste his cum in my mouth.
i can feel my breast pressed against his face.
his stubble on my thighs.

i lay awake at night.
and i dream about it.
i masturbate the the sheer thought of
sitting in the same room.
touching his skin.
i want him inside me.
whether its once.
or twice.
or for years.

im smiling all the time.
im constantly wet from him voice.
his language.
hes been mind fucking me for weeks now.
tearin that brain up.
leaving a trail of bread crumbs that leads
directly to his lap.

i want to get on all fours.
and let him fuck me like a the bitch i am.
i want to put his dick in my mouth and sing at the top of my lungs.
i want him to pull my hair.
cum on my face.
i want him to shove my face in the bed.
and fuck me like i told him “no.”

i want to show him how good it feels to fuck me.

but i cant.
or can i.
who am i.
what the fuck am i doing.

all this.
all this lust inside me.
burns.
i seeps out my skin.
you can smell the dishonesty.
you can read the shadiness all over my face.
how long will i wait.
how far will i drag this dead horse.
before i give in.

i wish i would have walked away.
i should have never smiled.
or taken that drink.
turned around and not looked back.
never.
then i wouldnt be here.
i wouldnt be distracted.
and frustrated.
and down to fuck.

sometimes im psychic.
and i can see the future.
and i see myself.
on top.
fucking his brains out.
and loving every minute of it.

if you fuck them.
they will cum.
i will ruin this for everyone.

by sexinrichmond
image courtesy of Kamilla Burke

March 29, 2009. dicks in our box, sexinrichmond. 2 comments.

Robocock, Roboload

My problem with science is simple: cough up the robodick already. Tom Cruise does not count.

Why is all the genius being pipelined to Mars? Can we first address the unchanging diet of organic dick right here on our own planet?

The evolution of cock during the past three million years can perhaps be summarized in three words: slightly less hairy. I think we can do better. It is time for the Indongstrial Revolution. Bring forth the army of Robots Who Fuck.

What should the Fuck of the Future look like? Let us probe the robodating catalog and weigh the options. Wikipedia (I truly believe that the second coming of Jesus will be in the form of a free, user-defined online encyclopedia) writes that robophilia is a close relative of “statuephilia or agalmatophilia, which involves attraction to mannequins or statues,” but let me tell you, my fetish does not fall so far down the family tree. If it doesn’t have chrome buns (clear bubble domes/unidome is/are also acceptable), I’m not biting.


Wall-E

Wall-E does not yet seem of ripened age.

Something about him makes me fear that, much like Doogie Howser, M.D., his prolonged pubescence will be terminated by a confession of alternate sexuality, causing him to leap directly from the lilypad of ‘child you cannot fuck’ to that of ‘man who will not fuck you.’ At least I’ve got your picture on my Trapper Keeper.

Oh, but I will keep hope alive—mature, Wall-E, mature! In the meantime I will be waiting for you in my room, rubbing the fuzzy crotch of my footy pajamas with a purity ring and listening to the Jonas Brothers. One may ask, Can you possibly masturbate to something so cute? That is a well-guarded secret, filed in my brain beneath the heading: How To Get A Clit Boner From The Panda Bear Logo On Your World Wildlife Fund Calendar.


Gort from The Day the Earth Stood Still

I think Gort’s Ken-doll like anatomy instantly endears him to all former Barbie enthusiasts. Gort is also sweetly androgynous, having much the same physical structure of Batman’s Robin.

For Gort, it’s definitely briefs. This would be very disappointing for me as a partner because novelty boxers are one of my favorite gift purchases, and I do not wish my holiday shopping routine to be thrown all akimbo. I guess I could buy him a watch.

Fans of Star Trek: The Next Generation will be drawn to his Geordi-like visor band, and I am a fan. Not only was Geordi Geordi, he was also LeVar from Reading Rainbow. What else is Gort? Tender? Certainly not sweaty. He doesn’t appear to have full rotational-cuff power of his arms, rendering him pitless.

Gort’s downside: no mouth.

Lacking joints, when Gort cuts loose, how does one know? Ours would be a life sans lively jigs, cannonballs into the pool, bent arms while “The Funky Chicken” plays.

But being the life of the party isn’t everything. I feel like Gort would really shine were we ever trapped inside an overturned car.

Gort might be ideal for fans of missionary. What he lacks in flexibility he makes up for with posture: a perfect candidate for Fucking While Standing Flat Against A Wall.

Johnny Five from Short Circuit

No more going barefoot in the house.
A high level of trust would have to be established before I engaged in foreplay where pinch-claw fingers are involved. How would he get into bed? A ramp?

His eyes are perhaps the most endearing aspect of his physical appearance, being doll-like with the faintest hint of puppy. I also like how his neck seems to have a robo-Adam’s apple at its bottom. It is easy to imagine him becoming a pirate for the night, circular eye covered up with circular patch.

Is that a metallic dildo bent scorpion-style upon his back? Just place a yellow construction hat on his head and press the “jackhammer” command on his included remote control. If filling in potholes is a civic duty, then Johnny Five is an Eagle Scout. Let us help him earn his badge for stamina.

Conky 2000 from Pee Wee’s Playhouse

So he’s definitely not a purebred. I doubt jealousy would be much of an issue in our relationship–if any women really wanted to steal him away, I could easily supply them with a list of household parts by which they could make their own.

The downward slant of his headlamp eyes may indicate a possible substance abuse problem.

I feel like Conky would be ideal for a worry-free summer fling, but maybe not so good at tax time. Did you keep your receipts, Conky? Did you? He seems sort of like the guy at the frat house who will do or drink anything, provided at least four people are yelling his name.

I don’t mind putting bread (electricity?) on the table, but I also don’t like freeloaders. What are Conky’s marketable job skills? I feel like there’s probably something he could do around a miniature golf course, but that’s just instinct without research.

On the plus side, Conky seems like one of the only robots who could actually barf, therefore meaning he is one of the only robots who could actually party. I’m sure our life together would lead to many drinking games, and a well-used patio area in general.

I bet it is an effective feeling, when the limbs of your partner fall off during rigorous sex. Very “My, what strong kegels you have!” a la Little Red Riding Hood.

Box from Logan’s Run

The more pointy of the geometrical edges are a concern to me. As a couple, one of the larger challenges we’ll have to overcome is the soft tissue/opaline quartz divide.

His face is quite a throwback to already dead skulls. Combined with the reflective properties of his skin, this might do me some philosophical good. Mid-fuck, seeing my own eyes reflected back within the hollow chrome of his empty sockets, I would frequently contemplate my own mortality. Nothing like a little Nietzschean sex to spice up a case of the Mondays.

I wonder how flexible he is in regards to his name? Although I guess I like the manpussy connotations. It indicates space, whether constant or potential. The question then becomes: What’s inside Box? Does his monolithic triangle exterior hide a giant heart? A giant calculator? Stirrups?

Would the funhouse mirror effect of my multiplied and distorted image, thrown back at me while looking at him, start to get annoying? Does the angle and shape of his surfaces make me look thinner or fatter?

Tik-Tok, from the Land of Oz books by L. Frank Baum

The thing about Tik-Tok’s stove-like appearance that scares me is my suspicion that, were our date to go awry, his midsection might unhinge, abduct my pet, and upon closing become some kind of incinerator. On a more positive note, the interior storage space would come in very handy for sneaking a twelve-pack, even perhaps a pony-keg, into family reunions.

Tik-Tok is one of the more human looking robots, namely due to his facial features. He’s also one of the only robots to have hair. The Sam Elliot 70s coke/biker moustache, combined with the metallic safari hat, seems to indicate a sense of adventure. Something to tickle, something to tip.

Though the pipeish legs and arms feel like they have the ability to fully retract, I would still have to be on top. Yet I’m not that sure what “top” is in this scenario. The center of his orb is his bellybutton. Is this his erogenous zone? What type of umbilical tentacle-sex would I be in store for?

The wind-up key on the side could be a curse or a blessing. Pro, it’s a T-model crank alternative to Viagra, each turn guaranteeing performance. But for how long? How disappointing if I had to get off, mid-ride, and recrank! If stopping to rip open a condom kills the mood, what kind of a buzzkill is having to dismount and physically reanimate your lover?

R2-D2 from Star Wars

What exactly are the phallic symbols decorating his upper chest? R2-D2 definitely has mystery going for him, and maybe that would provide a sense of excitement. Imagine wondering not just How good will this be? but also, How will this even happen?

And is it just me, or are comparisons to Danny DeVito somewhat natural? I’m imagining a remake of Twins where the Terminator plays the taller brother.

I think, as a lover, R2-D2 would take me the farthest out of my comfort zone. Part kegerator, part ATM (sounds good in theory), I feel like he needs to be anthropomorphized with some creature comforts before I could really go with the flow of things. Monocle?

I’m not altogether dismissing him as an option. There are things one can do to increase the powers of attraction. What if he played music? If his upper dome could become a chocolate fountain? (Actually, I hate to seem easy, but a cape would probably seal the deal.)

Yet I should want him for him: pure and naked. Due to his tripod design, he’s more or less sturdy–if he tipped over the first few times I tried to fuck him, I would not give up. The answer is to practice frottage with a gumball machine, come back and repeat.

The fact that his “eye” or lens or whatever looks suspiciously like a camera might sort of freak me out/turn me on were he to interrupt me in the bathroom or shower, his cyclops vision zooming slowly in on my soapy parts.

Meatworms, relax. Human dick could never fully be replaced by robotic dick (at least not until robots are able to go hot tubbing). I’m not looking to give up skin; I just want to be sure to get all of my vitamins and minerals. What’s wrong with a little more iron in my diet?

March 28, 2009. Conky 2000, Danny DeVito, Doogie Howser, Gort, hot tub, LeVar Burton, Logan's Run, M.D., Panda, R2D2, robots in disguise, Tik-Tok, Tom Cruise, Wall-E. 2 comments.

Liger attacks Tommy Wiseau at first midnight NYC screening of The Room

So much for playing hard to get.

March 23, 2009. celebrity crushes, fantasy dick, ligerbuzz, ny, tommy wiseau. 5 comments.

Clit’rature: Down by the River, Pt. 1

We meet in dark alleys. Back rooms of dive bars. Borrowed cars. Sleazy motels that rent by the hour. Parts of town they don’t even know about, where we won’t get caught. Whenever we can, it’s not often, so there’s always a pressing sense of urgency.

This time I lead you down by the train bridge on the river. Where we used to go do drugs in high school. We cross the tracks and stumble down the hill, you push me up against the trestles. The heat of your breath on the nape of my neck, hand wrapped sweetly around my jaw, moving up, your thumb touching my bottom lip by accident at first, then pulling it down so you can put your first two fingers inside my mouth–you pull them out and go up my skirt, grab a fat handful of the bottom of my ass, give it a good slap with the ill backspin bounce, then touch my clit with your thumb–light touch tease–but I jerk myself up and your hand, still wet with spit, slips down and you feel how fucking drenched I already am–you laugh, say shit girl, you get so goddamn wet–I say you always get me so fucking wet–and suddenly you slam three fingers in, without warning, but I’m plenty greased up so they go in easy–I gasp, there’s no air left in my lungs, just good pain, getting better with every thrust, the heat spreading over my chest, flushing up into my face, we sink into the dirty ground, I bite my lip, so fucking close and then the feeling stops–you put your fingers back in my mouth so I can taste myself and before I can get mad at you for halting so abruptly, you’re guiding my hand down with yours, in between my legs.

I tell you I want to taste you too–but you won’t let me yet, you’re still holding me down by my my hand on my cunt–I struggle against your chest, trying to push you off, trying to climb on top of you, until you finally let go and roll over into the wet ground, pulling me with you. So now I’m sitting on top, my wet pussy dripping onto the bulge in your jeans–I get super fucking excited when it’s my turn to please you. I’m trying to undo your belt buckle but my fingers are all wet with cum and I can’t get it open quick enough–you have to push my hands away and unbuckle yourself, and then you draw back and let me go to work. You know how much I love having this power over you and you fucking love it.

To be continued…

March 18, 2009. boner, clit'rature, fingerbanging, ligerbeat, tits magoo. 1 comment.

I am living in a recession of hard dicks.


You would think that being a porn star would mean that it’s easy to get laid. You would assume that by the mere mention of my profession, dicks would start pre-cumming immediately at the idea of visiting the wonderland that is my pussy. I don’t know if there was a curse put on me, but I am seeking help to have it lifted.

It’s Saturday night. I’m at a show. It’s early, so the place is full of all the touring bands. My friend helped set up the show, so he starts introducing me to the bands. One was from NY, and when their van broke down they let my friends stay with them in Rochester for a week. There was something about one of the guys: his face was so familiar and his voice was comforting. We opened our 40 oz’s of Old English and began talking. I love dick just as much as the next girl, but a guy has to pass a few test before he does the ligerslide. You have to know about music. You have to be passionate about something in your life. You have to have some knowledge about gender roles and its effect on society. You have to practice safe sex. You have to be awesome. And you have to have a sense of humor. I don’t care what you look like, but if you can’t laugh at yourself then you have to go.

He meets each requirement without even trying. He is talking to me, and I’m thinking about how good it’s going to feel on top of him. His band plays. I want to fuck him more. He tells me he is a anthropology major. I want to fuck him even more. He tells me he think I am a strong woman. I get wet. We exchange numbers. His band has to leave to play a last minute show on the other side of town. We text. I go home. A few hours later he is in a cab in front of my house.

He comes upstairs and I smoke a bowl while I am making us food. We talk about having weird parents and how dating is overrated. I put a record on and I pack another bowl. He leans over and kisses me. His hands are warm against my face. He is gentle but at the same time still aggressive. I have been wet for hours. He places his left hand on my breast and starts to slowly unzip my pants. I love how this is progressing. His cold fingers feel amazing on my clit and his dick is so hard I have to have it in my mouth. It is hard not to cum right away. I remove my shirt and he removes his clothes.

He is black-haired and handsome. His body feels soft pressed up against mine. I look at his beautiful dick and we decide which condom will work best. He puts a SKYN on and turns me around to fuck me from behind. He starts off slowly teasing me with random hard thrust. We change positions and he’s on top of me I look at him and there’s something wrong.

THE CURSE OF THE SOFT DICK.

I try to save my potential orgasm. I use war tactics. I get on top of him and shove my breast in his face. I can see my orgasm at the finish line, and I’m so close. His dick gets softer and softer. I lose the race. He assures me that it’s not me, it’s him. I assure him that I know this. He feels so horrible. He thinks this is the first time this has happened to me. If only he was right.

There was awkward silence for a few seconds. I was not going to let this soft dick ruin the amazing time I was having with him. I told him no sweat, it happens to dudes all the time. And it’s true. I would rather have a guy stop having sex with me then allow his dick to get soft inside of me. I hate soft dicks with every inch of my soul. A sleeping penis is completely unacceptable. A few minutes later we were laughing about it and the weirdness was gone.

If it wasn’t for Ligerbeat, I don’t think I would have felt comfortable talking to him about it after the loss of the boner, but I was so interested in what was going on in his mind. Some people just can’t fuck outside of relationships. Some people are still in love with other people. Some people just aren’t interested. Overall, I had a great time. I told him that I was going to write about him. He is worried that I am going to destroy his sexual credibility. I told him Ligerbeat will make him a star. He is pretty wonderful.

Masonroselee

March 15, 2009. dick, masonroselee, softies. 2 comments.

Dicks in Our Box: I sucked the essence out of his dick


I’m at work and all I can think about is riding him like a cowboy on a fucking bull. I want to lock my knees and hold on for dear life. I want to lace myself up in a corset that is far to small for my breast and heels way to high to walk in. He doesn’t care about any of that stuff but it makes me feel like a vixen so I lace up my boots. When he looks at me I know I am the finest Women he has ever tasted. I am almost a God. He kisses me sweetly like he always does and then he aggressively pushes me on the bed. I lay down and he slaps my ass and flips me over. I love getting fucked from behind.

insertion….

I make his black snake moan. When he cums his top lip rolls back and his crooked teeth stick out. I love those stupid fucking teeth. He makes me cum every time. I think my vagina tries to suck the essence out of his dick. NO, My vagina sucks the essence out of his dick. The tattoo on his chest lifts up and down as his breathing slows down. I roll over and I place my hand under my left breast in a puddle of sweat and cum. These sheets are dirty and so am I.

photo courtesy of Alex Risona

March 15, 2009. blowjobs, dick sucking, dicks in our box, ligerbeat, masonroselee. Leave a comment.

Yesterday’s Texts.

(image from dscrub.com)

I got this text yesterday afternoon.

“It sucks you have to go to work. thanks for being a great host! I will see you soon I’m sure. mwah!”

For some retarded reason, my phone doesn’t always show people’s names when they text me so I never know who’s hitting me up. It was an 804 number so I figured it was someone I knew. I texted back, “Who’s this.”

“Claire. You’re dumb. haha.”

Claire! Total bro from Richmond. Now I was confused as shit. Was she at my crib? “Dude this is Callie, what are you talking about? Are you in town?”

“Claire! not Callie.”

Me: “No, I’m Callie, you’re Claire.”

“haha like Crackie’s Callie? I am so confused.”

Me: “Yeap I think you originally texted the wrong person lady.”

“You are in my phone as this boy I banged last night. haha. I don’t know how you got there. hahahaha”

What an assperson! I hope she keeps me saved in her phone under “boy I banged last night”and then finds his real number somewhere.

March 14, 2009. calisha jenkins, richmond, textual seduction. 1 comment.

Weekend Bonus: "stop stalking me" email!

After his most recent (read: umpteenth) unsuccessful attempt at winning me back, my ex from six months ago sent me an email today while he knew I would be at work calling me, and I quote, a “trifling, untrustworthy, unsupportive, unsympathetic, unreasonable, bratty, manipulative, negative, man-hating, loose stank pussied, large jawed, fat bitch.”

This was in response to me telling him (pretty kindly, I thought) that while it broke my heart to let him down yet again, I didn’t have anything for him, and shit just was not gonna happen.

At first it made me sad, and then it made me want to vandalize his building, and then I remembered that sometimes nothing settles the soul like a good solid ethering. Thought you all would enjoy…

I have held my tongue through all this and never said a single word to intentionally hurt you…until now. Go fuck yourself you fucking pussy. Oh you mad? Why don’t you sit alone in your apartment with no one to talk to because everyone hates you because you’re such a fucking pretentious asshole, crying into your piles of dirty socks and blunt guts and lyrics sheets of d-list local rappers, writing me another gay ass diatribe. “She doesn’t love me? I’ll show her! After she reads this she won’t even know what hit her!” You’re a fucking clown. You think I thought for a second that you meant any of those disses? Nah, I might be a lil on the chubby side and I have my bad days no doubt, but I’m still the best pussy and the nicest, most realest bitch who will ever sniff twice at your stank ass and you know it.

I, on the other hand, don’t miss your dick one fucking bit. I’m happier with my hand. You could have changed into the chillest, most productive, most rational person in the world, and still the thought of laying beneath you as you fucking pounded away with not even the slightest thought towards what feels good to me makes my pussy want to crawl into a corner and die. You fucked me like you were playing a video game, it was all I could do to stay awake.

You were a jealous fucking insecure baby whenever I paid any attention to someone else, male or female, friend or not. You acted like I was two steps away from walking out on you for the entire duration of our relationship. You were always so scared and insecure so you’d pick fights with me all day, how was I supposed to be attracted to that? Did you honestly think that I would ever be able to respect you after that? You insult everything you don’t understand, true sign of a fool. You’ve been wearing the same outfit for four years, you walk like a hobbit, you smell like something that fucking died, and you have the upper body of the runt of the litter. You ain’t shit, your beats ain’t shit, your boys ain’t shit, your dick ain’t shit, your mama ain’t shit, your sister ain’t shit, your nickle and dime ass weed operation ain’t shit, your lab ain’t shit, your swagger ain’t shit. Basically, from about a month in, I knew you were probably going to be one of the biggest mistakes I’d ever made but I was too much of a sucker to break things off. Thought maybe you’d come around. But nope…you sucked from the beginning, you sucked throughout, and you’ll suck forever.

I never wanted to tell you these things because I know your crazy mom fucked you up and you have absolutely zero self-confidence, and I didn’t want to further compound it. But fuck it, you deserve it. You hate me so much, why the fuck have you tried to get me back twenty fucking times? Player please. I’m 500% better off without you, and you’ll be lucky if you ever meet anyone with half the spark I got in one titty. You’re fucking dead to me.

And don’t bother responding because I blocked this email account, which, by the way, is the fourth one you’ve created to torment me with. So you’re blocked…AGAIN! Now get a life and stop fucking stalking me before I gotta throw a bag of shit through your window like you did your old boss, you crazy bitter fuck.

Thank you so much for writing me that little love note! It feels so awesome to stop trying to make amends with you and just own up to the fact that you’re a fucking loser dickhead piece of shit mouthbreather that I’m never going to have to talk to again. If you were here right now I would slap you, spit in your face, kick you in the nuts and steal your cat, who is awesome and who you do not deserve. I’m gonna go enjoy my life without you in it now. Later!

Hell hath no fury…shit, we ain’t gotta tell y’all…

March 14, 2009. dear johnny, from deep inside our inbox. 3 comments.

SEXXXXXXX

I need to have sex. It has been three days since my last orgasm and I know death is near. Wait my guy just called and demanded sex. I will get back to you.

masonroselee
known pornographer

March 9, 2009. Uncategorized. 1 comment.

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