Showing posts with label masturbation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label masturbation. Show all posts

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Yes, please

The right woman needs to shove me up against a wall by my throat and make out with me hard. Soon, and a lot.

Isolation Army

I like to fool myself into believing there’s a nobility that comes from spending inordinate amounts of time alone. The human brain has this uncanny way of rationalizing just about anything.

As much as I hate to admit it, I do my best work alone. Always have. It all stems from this pretty crazy terror I had as a child of being abandoned. My big recurring dream as a kid featured my mother having to leave me behind forever on some mysterious trip. Oh man, I would just lose it after those nightmares.

When the nightmare finally came true, it snapped me out of a roughly two-year patch of a sort of forced isolation I’m sure I’ve alluded to here before. But it allowed me to hole up in my room and draw up a plan. A really good plan.

I still kind of marvel at that guy. I mean, what a fucking mess. And to actually put one foot in front of the other and march your sorry ass through the perilous journey that took you exactly where you wanted to be in the first place is an accomplishment that can never be underestimated.

Then there were the two years almost to the fucking day spent in (REDACTED). Yeah, the first year or so was the stuff of instantly legendary MTV reality shows no doubt.

But so much less attention is paid to that last eight months or so. Living in that studio apartment on the northernmost tip of town. Locked in a futile battle with a creeping army of cockroaches (those goddamned bugs let me tell you…), now that was doing a motherfucking bid right there for real doe. Niggas say what.

Everyday I would trudge to that soul-crushing ‘job.’ And I would set about doing the task appointed to me. Oh, and I ate. A lot. Combined with the non-stop sitting on my ass, let’s just say I wasn’t at my physical peak by any means.

I joke about it now, but I’ll always remember the day Mama Universe blasted me in the shoulder with a .22 and broke a couple of ribs with a lead pipe. Deep winter. AKA mid-January. I’d left work and was walking towards the train station. It was bitterly cold even for this notoriously frigid burg. I was wrapped head to toe in a good percentage of my wardrobe at the time in defense. I was sporting some fashionable wool overcoat. I turned onto (REDACTED) Avenue, and a blast of arctic wind (known by people of my father’s generation as “The Hawk”) stopped me in my tracks. Breathing ceased. Everything slowed down to a blurry not quite halt and tears pooled in my eyes. It was too cold for them to do anything more.

I somehow staggered into the nearest recognizable storefront: Urban Outfitters (oh, the humanity). I stumbled towards a large wall of coats. Pawing through the pile of Gore-Tex and nylon until I found it. The biggest, bulkiest snowboarding coat I could find. Fake fur-lined hood and everything. Made by a company called Drift (they appear to be no more. Huh). That orange-lined beast became my best friend. I threw the useless overcoat in the trash and never looked back.

At work, I posted a page from I’m pretty sure “Los Angeles” magazine. There was a photographer who took pictures of the Pacific coast horizon at different times of the day. He would use really long exposures and get these really rich, shimmering images. There were two such shots stacked on top of each other on the page I posted in my pathetic work cubicle. And I stared at that picture every day, all day. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t stop until I was looking at that very same scene in real life, and that place would be home.

Six months later, I was being put up in a posh Beverly Hills hotel at my new employers’ expense. It was April Fool’s Day. I’ll never forget it. Somewhere, there’s a folder with that crumpled magazine page still in it. Soon, I was standing on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, and that image was so fucking alive it brought more tears to my eyes. The good kind this time.

And it goes on. Once again, I find myself begrudgingly doing another stint of totally unexpected isolation (isn’t it always though?). As always, my mind is working overtime, all the time, furiously figuring out an escape plan. I though I had a clear lane, but that was just an illusion (AKA one night stand). There was a pretty sweet conjugal visit in there, too. But this is a real one. FML, as the kidz would say.

Which only means one thing. I gotta set the focus dial towards the desired destination, fuel up and lift off. The Mothership doesn’t run on just happy thoughts and fierce determination. What did they say in my brother’s day? 

Ah, yes:

“Gas, grass or ass. No one rides for free.”


Thursday, December 17, 2009

white xxmas

My coke dealer is hilarious.

Not that I blame him. I’ve been hitting dude up for grams literally every other day for over a week now.

So tonight he had a better idea.

“Look, I’ve got this 8-ball right here. I’m sure you’ll get at least that much soon enough. Let me just front it to you. Give me however much you can afford, and I’ll get the rest later. I know you’re good for it.”

Here I am in my apt, looking at an 8-ball of cocaine.

And the postman delivered a copy of "Bang Van #7" to my door today. Good times.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

I just did a line of cocaine for the first time in what feels like forever


The first one didn't seem to faze me. I waited a few minutes and did another one. That was about five minutes ago. Right now I feel very warm and tingly and my heart is beating really fast. I can feel blood rushing towards my groin.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Time to get freaky

Friday night.

Met up with my man and got a fresh new supply of Columbian jerking powder.

Did some lines.

Went to a cool rock show.

Came home. Pay dirt: my copy of "Orgy World 6" has arrived!

Did some more lines. Plugged new DVD into machine.

Ohhh shit. This is when "Orgy World" was at its prime. Two scenes, 9 red-hot European whores just itching to get fucked by a battery of thick black dick.

Masturbation is so awesome. Especially on blow.

watchwatchwatch. strokestrokestroke. snortsnortsnort.

Friday night rules.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Making myself sick

Weird one last night.

I was doing coke (obvs) and trolling the internet for porn. The usual.

After I got off (thanks, Sativa Rose. Damn girl you are NASTY), I found myself wandering around aimlessly.

Somehow I found a list of the most disturbing movies of all-time.

The hands-down winner (according to most reports, anyway) is this movie called "Salo."

"Salo" is some out of control shit. In a nutshell, these crazy Nazis hire some psychos to kidnap a bunch of people and bring them back to their lair. There they subject the kidnapped to all sorts of really vile degradation. It starts with extreme sexual torture before moving into scat orgies and ultimately dismemberment and death. There is no happy ending. No one gets out alive. It's all bad.

I found one review that even had a picture. It was of one of the torture victims having his tongue cut out. Even though it was filmed in 1975 and should be cheesy, it isn't. It's horrifying and made me totally gag and almost puke on my computer.

I stumbled into the bathroom, feeling all tingly and hot. I wretched a few times, but never fully lost it.

I was able to get a glass of water in me and calm down. I smoked a few bowls, watched the most mindless shit I could on TV, and was eventually able to fall asleep.

I am not a fan of any of that kind of shit at all. Yeah, I like to get down and dirty, but it's always about having a GOOD time. I mean, I can't even watch movies like "Saw" and shit. It's all just too much.

If you can sit through stuff like "Salo," I'm seriously scared of you.

I imagine Sasha Grey just masturbates to filth like this. I mean, that's how she comes off, anyway.

Who the fuck knows?

I'm just waiting for "Orgy World 6" to show up in the post. Now that will be a good day.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Treats


A big pile of ridiculously delicious Sesame Shrimp. Soooo fucking good.

Bubba Kush and a freshly cleaned glass piece. See above.

High-grade cocaine. Yes, please and thank you.

Amazingly filthy video clips of professional whores like Julia Bond, Eva Angelina and Stevie Hart (oh, that Stevie Hart!). Fucking priceless, baby.

It's been a good Wednesday night.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Mellow Friday night


Just chillin'.

Got some coke from my man. Doing some lines, watching a couple of episodes of "Fuck Team 5" that I downloaded from the net and jerking off. Smoking some weed, too. Sometimes, that's all a person needs on a Friday night.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Kim Kardashian makes me happy


As far back as I can remember, I've had mad love for Armenian/Persian/Middle Eastern women. Kim K just does it for me. From those big, doe-like eyes to other big parts of her anatomy, she's my kind of lady.

This is the 4th of July party I really want to attend. Kim K, next to a BBQ grill by the pool, all decked out in a bikini and ready to get freaky. Sigh.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Amazing new pics of Stevie Hart


Stevie Hart is the Number One Queen Helene 2009 Porn Superstar of my cum-stained dreams.

Baby Sinead has an incredibly hot new photo set of Ms. Hart in all of her smoldering glory.

Go, look, masturbate. Enjoy.

UPDATE: I just downloaded Stevie's red-hot new Bang Bros scene with Shorty Mac, chopped out a few lines, and went to town. Thanks Stevie--that shit was hot!

But like you said, "That's what that pussy does."

Word.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Hard fest

A couple of new DVDs arrived in the post today.

So far it’s all about “Rocco Super Moto Hard.”

I’ve only given it a cursory review, but fuck me is it hot. Rocco knows how to party.

It’s based around some kind of motorcycle race. There are a ton of girls (18 it says on the box cover) and lots of red-hot group action.

There’s one scene where a guy takes this brunette into the back of a van and basically uses her to masturbate. She sucks his cock, he licks her pussy and ass from behind before spitting on her face a couple of times, slapping her with his dick and then shooting an endless load all over her face and in her mouth. (I love the spitting stuff. I never understood why. But a woman can spit in my mouth anytime. Fucking hotttt). It’s a short scene, but fucking memorable. Even better another brunette slut comes and licks a lot of the cum right off of her face.

I love the idea of having a real-live Fleshlight. I want someone that will cater to my every whim, and in return I’ll do the same for her. Cuz sometimes you just want to bend someone over the side of a couch and just ream her hard until you spew deep inside her yummy warmth.

Or just get naked with you, lube up her hand and stand next to you while she jerks you off real quick in the bathroom before going to work. I’d happily do whatever nasty quickie shit she would want.

I miss those kinds of random hook-ups (even with a steady girlfriend). Long, drawn out ‘love making’ is all good, and I’m down for that too. But baby, sometimes I just want you to make me cum hard and fast. Sometimes.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Stunt-cocking


"Stunt cock for hire"

This would be perfect for me.

I’ve been watching more gonzo/amateur porn flicks, and keep noticing the abundance of stunt cocks. Countless dudes that are just there in the scene as penis life-support systems, totally anonymous. You never see their faces. Like in blowjob and handjob scenes. And lots of these dudes are a real mess. All sloppy and hairy and shit. Many even have below-average cocks.

I’m sure any porn slag would be excited to see a guy like me as her stunt cock on a bj shoot. Nice, clean, well groomed, and a nice thick shlong. I’ve got to get to work on getting in on that action. Van Nuys is just over the hill. I wouldn’t mind making the trip if I knew I was gonna get naked and have some hot porn slattern drain my balls. Google, here I come.

PS: This cocaine is craaaaaazy. Wooo. I don't know what else is in there, but got-damn. Just a half a line and I'm all twisted the fuck out.

Michael Jackson is in heaven now


I’m not quite sure how I’m doing it right now at work. But somehow, when deadlines roll around, I’ve developed the ability to just sit down and bang out stuff that the middle managers I answer to seem to love. I keep waiting for one of them to grab me by the shoulders and scream in my face “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you on drugs?!?!” But they never do. Instead I get “great job” and “I like what you’ve been doing lately.” I pulled off a couple of impressive feats today at the office, even though I’m not quite sure how I did it.

It makes me wonder if all of the weed and blow have been somehow beneficial. Huh. Imagine that.

Farrah Fawcett died today. When I was just a wee lad first discovering the joys of masturbation, I absolutely saluted Ms. Fawcett with the left hand on more than one occasion. I’ll always have a soft place in my heart (and hard place in my pants) for her.

Now we hear that Michael Jackson has had a heart attack and was found not breathing today. While I never jerked off to him (lol), his music has played a considerable role in my life. I mean, no more than most, I guess. But when I was really, really little, some of my first make-out sessions (up against the back wall of a certain ‘teen club’ in the suburban outskirts of a certain Midwestern city) happened while his songs played in the background. I remember really getting into this one girl, Tracy. We were tongue-locked for what seemed like an eternity, when the DJ finally relented and turned the lights back on and played a fast song (which in this case was MJ’s “PYT”). Tracy and I just stood there looking at each other in a daze, my bottom lip throbbing from her sucking and biting on it.

Fuck, sometimes I honestly miss being 15.

UPDATE: TMZ is reporting the Michael Jackson is dead. Fuck. I don't know why this is fucking with me so much. I saw that freaky bastard in concert once when I was a kid. It was all special and magical and every other cheesy thing his fans say about him. He delivered big-time. Fuck.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

11:53 is when I realized it was all my fault

Being naked all of the time is weirdo. I find myself running between the two mirrors in the house, critiquing my physique from different angles. It makes me want to do more coke and eat less food. I’ve been fucking with my weights a lot more, too. But then I’m up all night rubbing my penis to Aaralynn Barra videos instead of sleeping and then I’m Captain Zombie at work, which ironically flies by in no time.

So tonight I only snorted a couple lines of this crazy-ass new blow. It’s pretty intense, this batch. A couple of lines and the aforementioned Aaraynn Barra and blammo I’m shooting ropes of sweet, dirty loves into my KISS “Destroyer” boxer shorts. And then it’s been sucking the glass dick packed full of OG Kush that I’ve been kind of saving. And apple juice. A can of tuna (protein baby). Ah, I think I’ll be topping myself off tonight. I thought testosterone and jerking off were supposed to wane as we got older. Not so much.

I come from horny stock though. My dad was a whore and my brother impregnated as many women as would let him (it’s a surprisingly large number). I grew up on printed porn. Said bro amassed an impressive collection of nudie mags, from Playboy to Penthouse to old-school shit like Oui and Players. I was jerking off to Candy Loving in the upstairs bathroom by the time I was 11 and never looked back. Moms, keep your boys away from the porn for as long as possible. It changes things. Believe me.

The Asian and I have plans on Sunday. Alcohol and a concert by a good band are involved. I’m foreseeing some good old-fashioned tongue sucking at the very least. Uh huh yeah. I’m with that.