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  • dvandelmar 10:47 am on July 23, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , blowjob, condoms, cum, cumming, cumshot, , dick lover, dog sex, fuck, fucking, hard on, , , , love line, marriage, , , , , , , sexuality   

    Bridget and the Condom 

    I have a small dog. Half Fiest and half Toy Poodle. Thin wiry hair. You can just about see her skin under her coat. A fag would adore her especially in her bright red collar and leash. She’s a little neurotic. Always in your face and barks non stop. If my kids didn’t love her, I’d kill her. Not one doubt. Her name is Bridget.

    I received an email from a gal with whom I had not spoken in months. She was lonely. Wanted to know if I were hard. Nothing about my children, sports, or current events. Just am I hard. That’s always causes arousal. It’s a matter of what time. I wrote her back that anytime is good. I had no meetings. But didn’t want to take her out for dinner or lunch. We like secrecy. There are simply too many, and running into another could be disastrous. Plus, all my options remain open.

    Lying on my couch, watching the Wolf Blitzer obsess over Dick Cheney, blasting the old man, I hear a car door slam. She jogs up to the front door. In the tail end of a disaster and would prefer to have no one know. She says it must be fast, as her kids think she’s making a quick trip to the store. No talk. Directly to my room. I rip her clothes off her. Her fake tits pop out one at a time. They feel strange. Maybe she had a “buy one get one free” deal. Unveils a landing strip. I have asked her to shave it clean. Bugs me.

    I always struggle with kissing in these situations. That’s why hookers are better. They don’t want to kiss either. Just get paid and get out. She gives the worst blowjob I’ve ever had. Won’t let her do it. She gave me the fang last time. Better stick to the hole.

    I get out of bed. Throw the used rubber into the corner of my room on the floor. Start to get dressed in a hurry. We don’t talk. She gets dressed. Runs to her car and drives off. No talk. Nothing to say. The emptiness of neon. Perfection.

    I walk back to my room and hear a licking sound. Bridget has the condom.

    Off to a funeral. My friend would have liked it best this way.

     
  • dvandelmar 1:55 pm on July 18, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: 20 year old, , , boyfriend, circuit blew on pussy, , , , marriage, orgasm, , scotch   

    circuit breaker blew on her pussy 

    Rode in a car for nearly six hours with a guy who hasn’t had sex with his wife in over four years. He also wasn’t having sex with anyone else. I’m assuming just himself. It seems a circuit breaker blew in her pussy while going through menopause. Now, I may have an outstanding excuse to slog through a few more years prior to lock down. Prudent to hit 65 or so to make absolutely certain the breaker isn’t blown.

    I grew a little desperate last night and called the twenty year old. I’ve never had a woman say what she said to me. She yelled for at least ten minutes. Told me she hates me. I’m a pig. Asshole. I use women. I was mean to her. All women need to be told how bad I am. She’s talked to people about me — I took the phone from my ear and held it out to see if it was the correct number. Then after who knows how long, I finally asked if she knew who she were talking to? She said, “Dean fucking Vandelmar. The sociopath!” She ended by tying her panties into 30 or 40 knots, told me again how much she hates me and hung up. For good.

    I only slept with her a few times. Gave her incredible orgasms. I thought we had a deal. She said flat out. “If you find a 25 year old guy for me, set me up, I’ll let you fuck me in the mean time.” But I never called her after the last time which was in the fall. I never found the “boyfriend” because it’s a waste of time and stupid. I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for myself.

    It’s amazing how many women hate me now. It’s a nightmare. I can’t figure out how they know. I’m pouring a litre of scotch as we speak.

     
  • dvandelmar 7:25 am on July 17, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , marriage, , , , ,   

    Overcoat and other Wars with Women 

    My situation with sex is like taking a drunk, who’s been to rehab six times, to the bar and saying drinking would be really good for you. These women are everywhere. Married. Not married. I am a walking erect. I have no brain. They all want sex and not once or twice. It’s constant.  

    This happens repeatedly. I am with one gal and my phone rings with another gal’s number popping up. We both look at it in silence. I refuse to answer it. They must know. And the worst part is I don’t care. It would simply eliminate another problem if she get’s angry and leaves. But that won’t happen either.  

    Just Wednesday night. In the country club parking lot. Once again, minding my own business, I ran to the car to see who may have called. Overcoat is there. She reaches down the front of my pants and explains how badly she wants it. Instinctively I shove my hand down her pants to see if she has shaven since I last saw her. She’s been in the process of getting divorced since the day she was married. There are no pleasantries. For fun next time I’m going to ask, “How much does this cost?” Most women may slap you. Not Overcoat. It’ll send her into a frenzy. A couple years ago she walked in my house. Didn’t knock. Straight into my living room and dropped her overcoat to the floor. The only thing she wore was a narrow patch of finely manicured pubic hair. I rebuffed her as I don’t sleep with married women. This only made her more insane.

    I often ponder my plight in life. I ask myself why these women don’t care about me. My sensitivities. They destroy my self confidence at their expense. The only love I feel is at the moment of ejaculation. Then emptiness. A neon vacancy sign flashes above my soul. I’m used, and Church beckons. A few days ago a gal tried in vain to rub one out of me. She failed to grasp the concept of lube. My abused and weakened friend resembled the skin of a dead alligator that has dried in the Florida sun for three weeks. It took a jar of vaseline to heal it.  

    I lead a lonely life. I am far from rudderless. I am a missionary. I will always sacrifice myself physically for the betterment of any women provided she’s worth looking at. My mission excludes the overweight. Gun season just ended. Pray for me. I am incredibly resilient.

     
    • Denis 10:10 pm on July 19, 2008 Permalink | Reply

      That’s right tough guy – NO FAT CHICKS! I say whether she’s married or not you gotta blast it all over her. Send her home with one eye glued shut!

  • dvandelmar 8:24 am on June 25, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: companionship, , , marriage,   

    hello betsy 

    more than likely I’ll never be remarried. i hated being married more than anything i have ever done. EVER. the single biggest mistake of my life. however, i have 10 years of corrosive horrible memories as a result. huge upside. i have taken an unofficial opinion poll. only one guy i have met says he has a great wife. she is as i know her. the rest have said stay single forever and just fuck as often as possible. lately it’s totally out of control. same pussy. different body. i’m actually trying to slow down and find a gal that’s a little more permanent than the squirter and the 20 year old and this and that. the 20 year old drives me nuts but is exotic though she can’t spell and drops an “ain’t” from time to time. deal breaker. what’s incredible is that I get so many calls for service. you wouldn’t believe it. not that all the women are gorgeous. but they all want the companionship desperately. i can’t help them with their problems. jesus, i can’t fix my own. two days with a lingere show or two and we’re signing break up documentation. i’ve got to play through these par threes.

     
  • dvandelmar 8:42 pm on June 24, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , marriage, ,   

    Title Fighter 

    sometimes I feel like a title fighter with the shit beaten out of him. a couple thrusts left. a fat woman in pursuit. the kind you’d never sleep with. but i will. for the most part it’s safe to say women hate me. they see me from afar. they know i don’t talk. more alive than a vibrator. but more dead than trying. i no longer ask if they like me. i no longer ask anything. i just assume they despise me. one gal who loves to fuck me tells me all the time how many women hate me. she must be Catholic. actually i’m something different. it’s part of the game. collateral damage. no right or wrong. they hate me. i sometimes wonder if part of the hate comes from rejection. a child passed through a pussy is tough. it’s a confidence destroyer. a gal from ketchikan had five in six years. must stretch like a small trampoline. this gal is no different. i never slight her. she’s constantly talking about a wedding gown. right now?  she must understand her father is in heaven and won’t judge. he’s been dead a while. i’m mixing a massive scotch and watching her walk out the door. i don’t say anything and i hope she never returns. odds are she will and i won’t care. we’ll watch Larry King together and she can display how little she knows about the primaries. we’ll watch HGTV instead and i’ll get bored and get wood and it all starts again. i’m starting to take pharmaceuticals for the addiction. jesus it’s bad. makes the scotch seem like a Fellini movie.

     
    • martinfritts 9:45 pm on June 24, 2008 Permalink | Reply

      Dean, my man. I love banging fat chicks. They are so easy and I feel so nasty afterward. I always want to die by lighting myself on fire as a means of scorching my soul on the way out the door.

      You need to embrace socialism. You’ll be much happier once you do. I think the doctor would agree with me on that one.

      BIATCH!!!!

    • dvandelmar 8:12 am on June 25, 2008 Permalink | Reply

      jesus, you’re such a punk. see if this sounds familiar: sitting at the end of the bar alone, drinking wine coolers, with dirty black jeans and black turtleneck, ipod jammed with nine inch nails, paint or car grease or sculpting clay crammed under your fingernails, crying about how “screwed” you got by your last girlfriend. here’s a news flash: I probably slept with her before you guys broke up …

    • betsymccleary 8:32 am on June 25, 2008 Permalink | Reply

      you guys are pigs, the way you treat women

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