Side Two: Got Some (The Ghostface Killa Make-out Remix feat. Adrienne Bailon's fine ass*)

Karma, baby.

Got a text from an old and dear friend.

The message was short and sweet. It was on at a certain spot in the Silver Lake area of L.A. My presence was requested.

I was already pretty fucked up. Smoked an insane amount of weed today, and was countless fingers into a bottle of Jim Beam.



Then the 2nd txt message arrived. Sex Bomb was in the house. The same Sex Bomb from my amaaaaazing hook-up over 4th of July 2009 weekend. THE Sex Bomb. I couldn’t get ready fast enough.

Hit the spot. Soooo many people. Ones that I know. Run into my last hook-up. The sexy Chinese girl with the stellar manual skills. The one that gave me the whole song and dance about how we should just be friends and forgo “the sweaty sex.” Booooo. But I was nice. Karma, remember?

Chatted it up with some fools. And then there she was. Sex Bomb. Hotter than ever. And ON me. We kissed. Kind of more than appropriate for a public space. OK. Nice.

End up on the dancefloor. She’s all up on me. Her crotch grinding on my rapidly growing cock. I shove my tongue in her mouth. She returns the favor.

We get into heavy conversation. She’s going on about how she always feels like my last option. How I only see her as a plaything. How I’ve never really wanted to hook up with her on the real. Um, WHAT?

This girl is crazy fine. Like so fine that I never even entertained the idea of being able to kick it with her seriously. I mean, this girl has dated famous people you’ve heard of. She is model-hot. And she’s saying this shit to ME? Life is fucking straight insanity.

The rest of the evening was a blur of drunken confessions/confrontations, accusations and admissions. And lots of tongue. No matter where I put my hands on her body, she just smiled and pulled herself even closer to me.

Ended up in her car. At one point I was biting her ass (ha). But in the end, we were just two slightly wasted and oh so pretty people (HA!) making out on Sunset Blvd like lovesick teenagers. And it…was…AWESOME.

OK, now I think I can sleep. Not even going to jerk off. Nah, this I’m gonna savor.

Love is a grenade

It was late, a little after 2AM.

Suddenly, my phone erupted in a series of short, staccato bursts of vibrations.

Txt messages from...Sex Bomb?! Wow.

My crazy one-night-stand with an old and dear friend over the summer. The messages were self-explanatory.

"Just left the Viper Room. Someone gave me a line. I am exhausted. But awake. You got a line? Wanna do one and chat for an hour? Put a cap on it! I'll bring some wine?"

Devil in my life

I went out with Sex Bomb last night. It was…interesting.

We got terrifically drunk at a big concert surrounded by 16000 of the smartest people in Los Angeles. Two of her friends crashed the row in front of us. One was good and one was bad. Whatever.

Sex Bomb and I ended up going to score some blow after the show. It was hilarious because her connection turned out to be a guy I know pretty well, but had no idea messed with the powder.

It was ok stuff. We got lit up and hit a club.

That’s where it got interesting. Sort of.

She’s got some major issues, that one. I mean, so do I—it’s why we get on so well.

But she has this block or something. I can’t explain it. It’s kind of a classic case of I Want The One That I Can’t Have And It’s Driving Me Mad. But with a side of self-loathing much greater that someone as hot as her should ever have.

Am I just mad that she didn’t sleep with me? No. I had a tiny window as she was dropping me off, but due to the fuckery at the club felt it was best to call it a fucking wrap.

Of course we played coked-up text games for the next hour until I finally passed out.

Now, under the harsh light of day, I sit and wonder.

What’s it all about, Alfie?

You’re not happy with the ex, you’re out of sorts with the Sex Bomb, you’re bound to be disappointed by Big Love when you go back to (redacted) next month. WTF, as the kids like to say.

I wanna be bruised

I want you to take what you want from me.

I need to feel you digging into my flesh.

I don’t know why it has to be that way, but it does.

We can have the sweet sweet love and all of that too.

I try so hard for that to be enough. I lie to myself that I can get my fix from coke and porn.

But no.

When it’s that time I need friction and heat and teeth and nails and crazy.

Sex is violence

I moved to Los Angeles almost nine years ago.

The first day I woke up as a resident of this city, I turned on the television. Something called “Good Day L.A.” was on.

Watching those three freaks, I knew I was in the right place. Of course, I took an immediate liking to Jillian. She talked about watching porn and hooking up with black guys—what’s not to love?

She was on Howard Stern recently.

Jillian said she enjoyed the unusual parts of her marriage most, like the crazy sex: "We have fun with gunplay and stuff like that...I don't even care that it's loaded. I said, 'Don't even tell me. I don't care.'" Jillian said she and her husband also like to play out her fantasies, in which he plays an intruder who rips her clothes off and pins her down and has his way with her: "I think he just pinned me down and there was a lot of sex talk. He had a gun [and pointed it at] the back of my head."

I hate to admit it but this kind of shit turns me on. A lot. The whole rape thing has haunted me since childhood. I’m convinced that someone at least tried to fuck me up the ass a kid. It would explain a lot. I really wish the thought of forcing sex didn’t get me off, but it does. It fucking does.

It’s why hooking up with Sex Bomb was soooo good last week. She fought hard, but I was able to overpower her, and I could tell she got off on that shit. We both did.

Fuck. Does this mean that I need to find a completely freaky bitch to be my woman? One I can control and use sexually in the most vile and demeaning ways possible. Yeah, probably...

What she said

1. "Wait, I know, today I wanted someone to follow me off the freeway and rape me."

Oh, xTx. You always know just what to say...


Monica Bellucci Rape Scene - Movie clip Videos

2. I saw Sex Bomb for a moment this morning.

She left some clothing at my house last week during our naked battle royale and wanted it back for a trip she's taking this weekend.

So we met on the street. She was coming from dropping a kid off at camp. I was going to work and avoiding croissant sandwiches from Burger King.

She was dressed down but still looked so fucking hot. She looks older than she should in the face. I'm sure all those years of partying haven't helped. Lines on her face are definitely visible in the light of day. And they only make her more beautiful.

We embraced and cheek-kissed. She promised that we would get together and "party" when she gets back.

It's time to stock up on the vodka, cocaine and clean bandages. I can't wait.

Freedom 09: July 2

“So you really are a nasty boy.”

I think I subconsciously knew something was going to happen between us, especially when she stepped out of the car looking like some kind of 6-foot tall sex bomb, luscious brunette curls cascading down her slender back (see above).

We’ve always had an unusually strong and intimate connection. But over the ten years that we’ve known each other, it’s always remained plutonic.

Then again, so much has changed since those days, especially me. I’ve learned to at least accept if not love myself to a degree that I’m just more open to the possibilities. Ah, I’ve finally grown a pair. That’s all.

We went to the club, and it was as ridiculous as expected. Well, we did some lines first. I wanted to test the waters, and just like that New Year’s Eve all those moons ago when she first introduced me to blow, she dove right in.

The club was packed, mostly with hot women. But next to me, gripping my hand, was the sexiest lady in the place. We drank a lot of vodka, laughed at the scene, and left.

We picked up a friend of hers, a sultry, olive-skinned beauty. I didn’t ask, but I think she’s biracial. The three of us bought a large bottle of vodka and went back to my place.

We did a lot of coke. They called another friend to come over—a tall, gorgeous blond with mischievous eyes. She’d just come from getting a tattoo done on her back. To show us, she simply dropped her dress and turned around. There she was, naked except for a pair of tiny Hello Kitty panties, standing in the middle of my living room. She had lovely, brown-tipped breasts and a lean, flat stomach. Her ass…oh, that ass. Let freedom ring, baby.

The night progressed. More cocaine was snorted. The blond got dressed and left. The cute biracial girl passed out on the couch. And the bombshell and I attacked each other with a fervor generally reserved for Animal Planet.

“You should just manhandle me,” she slurred drunkenly as I eagerly pawed at her long, muscular body. Her left nipple is pierced with a small silver hoop that I tugged at with my teeth. When I pulled aside her panties, I found a small barbell through her clit hood.

We licked, sucked, tugged, wrestled, kissed—everything but fucked.

“I just got dumped and you’re on a break,” she panted at one point. “Maybe we should take it slow.”

And then she grabbed by crotch and bit my neck—hard.

We fell into my bed, practically fighting as we dug into each other.

She rammed two of my fingers deep into her sweet, slippery warmth. I bit her thigh and she sunk her teeth into my arm. Outside, the sun waited as long as possible before finally relenting and taking a peek over the horizon and at the debauchery going on in my room.

I grabbed her by the throat and held her down. She smiled. That’s when she said it.

“So you really are a nasty boy.”

I don’t remember when we curled up into a cuddle spoon and fell asleep.

When we woke up, she asked for water. She gave me a deep, delicious tongue kiss. Her friend that we left sleeping on the couch was gone.

We went out for food and came back to my place.

“OK, come here,” she purred. We curled up on the couch, put on a movie and fell asleep.

Epilogue: The following morning, I woke up totally sore all over my body. When I looked in the mirror, there were huge, splotchy bruises along my shoulders and biceps. Thankfully, she spared my neck. When I saw her, she had similar markings along her inner thigh and on her ass.