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  • dvandelmar 2:48 pm on September 11, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , relationships, sara palin, ,   

    Code Red 

    I stalked a gal for a few days until I saw her walk out of her house. It was dark. She wore a leather jacket down past her rear. I could see the outline. Not bad. Enough for fun. A friend had mentioned her as a possibility. I called her, and we met for lunch. I had a party to attend on Friday night. She came with me. A bunch of beers into the night. She grabbed my hand and asked me to leave. We drove to my house and poured one last cocktail and sat on the couch. Not sure if I even took a sip before I ripped her clothes off. No foreplay. She loves to talk in the middle. I love it. She wants it harder. It wasn’t working. I stalled for some time. Too drunk. Fell asleep. Out cold.

    At about 3am something is wrong. Code Red stands above me. She’s whimpering. Feels rejected. Fully dressed. Even wearing her overcoat. I had barely been with her. Only a couple dates. She expects what? So I’m drunk. I fall asleep. We’re far from married. Isn’t she supposed to be trying to land me? Best foot forward? The pressure. The best in bed are those who allow. They ask you to stop and try later. Code Red expects volumes. Immediately. Too much pressure.

    She says she’s going to walk home. Completely outrageous. At least four miles away, and it’s bitterly cold. I jump into a pair of jeans and fleece. I told her I’ll drive her. We get to my car, and she cries harder. She asks why I don’t care. This is our first date. Can you imagine being married to this. No wonder why she’s divorced. I said flatly that she gets to make a choice. Come back to bed, or go home. She comes back to bed. I deliver a courtesy. She cuddles next to me for the remainder of the darkness.

    I called her six months later on a warm sunny evening. A few scotches in. She was engaged after having known a guy for three weeks.

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    • martinfritts 11:22 pm on September 11, 2008 Permalink | Reply

      Are you talking about Betsy?

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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, , , , , , relationships, , 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.

     
  • betsymccleary 8:08 am on July 6, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: body odor, gas, , relationships   

    Robert Smells Like A Homeless Guy 

    Robert finally called me back after I slept with him (our third date). It only took him three days. We went to the FIU fireworks on North Miami Beach, and he had awful gas. The other night, when we boned, he had really bad breath. I think this guy has health and hygiene issues. WTF?

     
    • robkat 1:28 pm on October 14, 2008 Permalink | Reply

      well betsy, why on earth did you have sex with him if he smells?

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