Monday, August 30, 2010

Lindsay Lohan

Don't worry, when there was nothing better on TV, I couldn't stand Prisoner Block H for 30 sec.  No prison fantasy here.

Lindsay has a few things in common with my ATF, Chanel.  They could have everything, yet they screw up big time.  But still they can afford the detour so far.

Chanel's vice is gambling.  She became a hooker to cover her debts because it's not a big deal for her friends who also did it.  Once she did it, it's no big deal and she kept doing it to pay for her lifestyle.

They are about the same age.  And because of who they are, they tend to get along with people older then them, and they tend to act more mature, superficially.

Lindsay and Chanel are not known for their bodies, but they are proportional, sexy, good looking with clothes on and off.  They can't be models and in commercials but I prefer them to Paris Hilton any day.

They once have an angelic face, and no matter how screwed up they are, they still have it.  Chanel looks like she has been in and out of prison, if you compare to Lindsay's pictures.  At the worst of times, I would told myself that's the last time.  It's not bad at all but she had no edge over other hookers.  It came to a point when her looks do not worth putting up with her attitude.  But everything can change for the better all of a sudden if she wants you, or your money.

Chanel always made me do things by looking into my eyes smiling, and move slowly to within an inch of my eyes.  It was most effective when she had absolutely no makeup on.

It's not awkward hanging out with her.  Top of the range sun glasses and high heels make her looks older than she is, standard issues for well to do housewives.  Her favorite clients (who pay well) are all older so she can handle me, except for the occasional nuclear explosion.

I have healthy hair like a 20 year old, and the hair dressers will cut it like a 20 year old.  The little salt and pepper that I treasure will be all gone after a haircut.

I have no railway lines on my forehead.  Mrs Player neither.  I have to research the old pictures of our parents to see if that's genetics or environmental (physical and mental).  It's a sensation at school open day with our kids together.

On vacation my babe magnet in her floaty with half my genes managed to attract a swam of school girls in bikini, flocking to her like moth to fire.  On another occasion a single mother with a better body than Lindsay showed off her body a few feet away from me, slowly and thoroughly rubbing on her sun screen.  I was alone and the pool wasn't that crowded.

Imagine when just me taking my babe magnet out.  People shout her name half a mile away, when I can't even remember her name.  The problem is, I think, I don't wear my ring, using skin problems as an excuse to Mrs Player.  So I never need to take it off for any reasons, will never lose it and get in trouble.  Females who like babies consciously or unconsciously will not mind my instant one.  As long as I can pay for everything, I cannot be the wrong guy it seems.  I will wear my ring starting from the new school year.

Lindsay and Chanel at least have one good point about them.  CD sunglasses, LV bags, Louboutin shoes are no longer their problems.  Lindsay is obviously unfilled, though I don't know if she desires bigger toys.  Chanel is way pass that.  She would just settle for someone she could talk to, get along.  Age is not the issue but still you have to be half as rich as her boyfriend - that's only to replace social security I would like to think.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Furniture sex

Tampon shredded into billion pieces in the sky.  Hundreds of people cumming together, their deafening roar overcame the presence of the many waterfalls around the pool.   I walked into and out of the sauna, which didn't helped.  It was like meditation, but with one purpose only - sex.

Lovely teenagers in bikinis.  There is nothing to see after a few seconds.  There are perfect breasts, perfect bottoms, and perfect legs.  But you get bored in a minute.  Perhaps we are not looking for a perfect sculpture.  Perhaps we are looking for a perfect oil painting.     

A woman took a very short stroll down the pool, as if just to tell her husband that it's time for lunch.  She had the perfect caramel tan, where you could see the brush strokes of the creator, rather than the uniformity of a machine.  She had all the right shapes, and you want to look into her bikini top and bikini bottom to see if there are any sagging or flaws.  She looked good from head to toe.  She could have spent a lot for her above shoulder hair, but it looked housewifie and sexy when wet.  She had a very simple slipper on, but perhaps just as mine, they are sexy and not cheap.  You want to know what it feels like to make love to this woman.  Not so much for Victoria's Secret models, as they don't look that real.

Alone, up in a sky razor, with the only company of the other odd sky razors, you feel lonelier than in any other convention centers.  After depriving myself for the whole day, I did what I am familiar with.

I called an escort.  And I wasn't having sex with furniture, but on them.

For middle class anti-prostitution activists, they cannot ban what they are most threatened by.  Ask any front desk personnel.  From time to time, young girls would bring in clients to business, 4 star, hotels, sign up a room using their own names.  These clients are so afraid of being caught that they may not even tell the girls their real name.  If you pay enough, that's the privileged of not being screened in the usual way.  You cannot tell that the girls are escorts, if not for the fact that they bring in different "partners" every time.  And some college aged girls looked too young that their IDs are checked for their age, to see if they are eligible to pay for a room.

And of course the numerous dancers in the telephone book.  In a decent US city, you can have what you wanted, down to exact eye color and height, being brought to your room in under 30 minutes, for a hundred dollars or less.  But sex is not cheap, and only offered as a favor to you.  The asking price is always a grand, but highly negotiable.  It's not at all expensive, considering that if they charge the TER price, there will be a long line and even longer reviews.

This escort wasn't one of those no-touch dancers.  I'm off those a long time ago.  That's what after you found your ATF (and then lost).  She was down to earth attractive, able to blend in with the vacationers - and that's a big compliment.  She has a face they you would want to look a bit more in the supermarket.  And she looked good in a simple dress, without showing too much of her nice legs.  She got through my door defense as if it was tofu.

"Do you mind mirrors?", I asked when she was settling down, sitting on the side of the bed.  She's hesitating.  It's not so much of the mirror, but what comes with it.  It didn't help when I had to point to the bathroom repeatedly.

From sitting at the edge of the bed, she drew her legs onto the bed.  She smiled at me, meaning that she was going to stay put, not going anywhere.  She was trying to cute her way out.

I got  closer.  Seeing that she wasn't afraid of me, I carried her whole body up, unexpectedly but slowly.  She didn't struggle when I carried her all the way to the bathroom.  I put her down right in front of the huge and thick mirror behind the door.  She did look good.

The light wasn't on, but there was an electronic switch with a dim LED on, for whatever reasons.  I kept it that way, hoping that she would not change her mind.  You can always turn on the lights later.  Still I could take a good look at her, and very romantic, and very naughty like kids playing in the dark.

I held the lower edge of her dress with both hands, and lifted it up in a smooth act.  She hesitated but raised her hands up before the dress got trapped at her arms.  That's about the best that one would hope for, no stretch marks, no cellulite, no obvious (=bad) enhancements, no tattoos putting you off, no sagging and no junk in the trunk.

And before she could think, I held her tiny pantie at her waist with both my thumbs and index fingers.  Then I kneel down smoothly.  There went her pantie and she was naked in front of the huge highly reflective polished mirror, except for her tiny bra, which I decided not worth the time and effort to dismount it, in case she changed her mind about staying put.

All I wanted to do was to kiss her every inch from toes up in front of the mirror.  But unlike some girls, she wasn't at ease.  Instead of standing there calm like a statue on a pedestal, she would twist her ankles, her knees and her waists a little, in reaction to being kissed.  Her biggest sin of all, when I turned her around as if she was on a porcelain making tool that rotates, she refused to let me get right behind her kneeling down.  It's a pity that she had a firm round ass.  What is she afraid of?

So I concentrated on holding her firm bottom cheeks with both hands, and dined away between her legs from the front.  I embraced her legs like I was holding the back of a woman, tightly.  And I kissed her pussy like kissing a woman, occasional vacuuming included.

Withing warning, I lifted her whole body up and placed her down sitting next to the bathroom sink, smoothly but quickly.  It wasn't planned, but a natural plan B, when I realized that she wouldn't perform well at the mirror, not at her backside anyway.  She knew what I was going to do, but she didn't protest.  Plan C would be bending down on the sink worktop like a porn star.  But I highly doubt if she would do that, with a big mirror in front of the sink.

I asked if she had condom in her tiny purse outside.  Of course she had, these purses are best for carrying that.  She didn't bring any secrets with her and I was trusted to go over that thing.  I told her not to move a muscle, got out to put on the condom and got back right in front of her.

Literally, I tried to put my penis into her pussy with my right hand.  It's always a difficult thing to do when there were no furniture millions of years ago.  I remembered I gave up immediately when I though of doing it with Jamie of London.  What worked for me is that I used my penis like a hand tool.  I will get stiffer and she would get wetter as time went on, at least the passage will ease.

This time, to my horror, I discovered that it was a designer bathroom worktop!  What it means is that it is taller than ordinary tables and worktops - stupid designers!  For normal worktops and tables, my balls are cleared.  In no way I'm going to crush my balls on the worktops.  This designer thinks that my balls should be right below the edge of the worktop.  That one inch of height makes all the difference.  It was as important as two warriors in a death match, where minor specifications of their weapons are crucial.  

I wasn't going to give up  easily with her sitting demurely naked at the sink, leaning on a big mirror behind her, and seeing myself through the huge mirror behind the bathroom door.

I tiptoed.  Then I worked my way in for the penetration.  My style is to pull out completely from time to time, as if I doubt if I'm doing the right thing, an excuse to stimulate her more.  The fun began when I was fully in.  She was still very composed, almost smiling, sitting comfortably on the high sink bench, thinking that I couldn't do any harm tiptoeing.  But soon she knew she was wrong.

A piece of rock (fake marble) is different from any mattress.  I held her waist tight and pounded away.  I felt the edge of the worktop at every stroke, between my penis and my balls, but she was my cushion.  I penetrated deep, and her expression showed.  Also, the worktop was narrower than normal, so she didn't have any space to lean back from.  It was close, face to face close.

Soon she had nothing in her mind other than expecting my every stroke.  I gave her pause by standing still, fondling her breasts, or pulling out completely to suck them, only to race back in like a rocket.

Other than that I didn't want to disturb the flow of things.  The only other thing I could do was to kiss her.  She didn't mind when I was starting to be gross on her cheeks.  Her mind was totally down there, enjoying it or otherwise thinking of how to duck out of it.  There was little resistance when I kissed her lips gently.  The vacuum started when her head was backup against the mirror.

My tongue was working its way into her mouth.  I was going to insert my whole tongue into her throat, so to speak, or I was going to suck her whole tongue out.  But then she felt that it was all too much.  She held my neck very tight as if she was getting very excited.

Chanel did the same thing at times.  Fuck me silly but don't look at me, shy of her emotions, whatever it is.  At this point, she didn't care what I could do to her, as long as I could finish in one minute or ten.  I could throw her up in the air and drop her down onto my penis.  But I wasn't that strong.

I had two free hands and I wasn't afraid that she would fall from the bench while holding me tight.  So I pulled her hips onto me when I was making every stroke.  She was a good sex toy, better than anything man made.  Bed and furniture are certainly different.

I came.  She wouldn't release me from her arms before I was completely done, as if it was safe again to do so after.  I gave her a light thank you kiss on her cheek, then pulled out while putting a towel there.  I usually do that for girl friends to avoid fluids going dripping everywhere, on the bench and on the floor.  For her I think it would be polite, useful.  I walked straight into the bathtub, drew the curtains and took a shower.  It was my way of leaving her alone to do her cleanup, mentally and physically. 

Of course I invited her into the shower out of politeness.  I would be worry if she accepted.  I wouldn't want to have a sloppy second even if I wanted to pay for it again.

Soon I was out of the bathroom, and she was waiting for me to say goodbye.  She did asked me indirectly how much longer I was staying there.  Maybe she didn't want to be punished again, but business is business.  A few more days is my typical answer on auto pilot.  Maybe I was going straight to the airport afterward, but there's no harm to let her know that she did a very good job and may be getting more money from me.  And probably she would forget all about my answer and what I did, if she doesn't see me ever again.

Sunday, August 08, 2010

What to do with flat chested women?

Until I saw an ad the other day, I almost forget that I can get horny looking at flat chested women.  When I started dating, size didn't matter at all, so I ended up with quite a few.  Of course I can also get horny looking at big chested women, but that was much later, until implant technology was perfected.

Kate Hudson isn't my type, but if I post other pictures, very likely they would be banned, even by Google.  Even a topless Kate will be banned in Australia.

The one I saw was a little smaller than the one I remembered most: who is tall and leggy.  A flat chested woman is never flat like a man.  If you look closely the curves are there, shaped like a pyramid with fat tissue trapped inside at the point of bursting. Also there's more than enough to satisfy your hand, but it have to be handled differently.  On top of her shapely  legs, she has a bigger hip and curvier waist than teen models.

She is about 25, young enough not to try anything to looker younger, not any signs of nor any worries about aging.  Full of confidence including her small chest.  On the other hand she moves like a pro, with whatever in her hand or mouth, in and out of bed, vertical, horizontal or kneeling down.

Back to the present.  This girl wore a tiny vest and Brazilian bottom, which is way better than a clumsy bra.  She knew I couldn't stop staring at her tits through her wafer thin vest, and she had no rush to take it off, which was a nice touch.  After breaking the ice she sat at the side of the bed, and so I followed.

Soon my hand was wrapped round her back playing with her tits.  It started as very gentle massage on a broad area so as not to be too awkward.  Then I concentrated on fingering rubbing her nipples when she didn't mind being played that way, and her nipples reacted naturally.  Then I slowly rolled up her vest to take a good look while playing with her nipples.  While holding one of her breast from across her back, my other hand became a nipple clamp.  I applied force carefully until her nipples were erect.  Then I sort of pinched her continuously on her nipples.  I applied more force but careful not to freak her out and never return my calls again.

It could be awkward but I was totally self absorbed to notice anything but her chest and nipples.  She wouldn't care about anything because I was obviously losing my mind and wouldn't think of anything else.

I loved that she encouraged me to take my time.  She wasn't setup for high volumes, and her price made sure of that.  And flat chested were never that popular.  My hands, specifically index fingers and thumbs, took their time, until my mouth couldn't resist any more.

I let go of her tits and signed her to get onto bed, flat.  With one hand trying to squeeze more fat tissue out of her, my mouth homed in like another nipple clamp.  With all four fingers between her legs, I gripped her pussy forcefully and steadily.  With her Brazilian still on, I wasn't stimulating her down there.  For girl friends, it used to mean "you are my property", "get ready for sex".  For call girls it properly means "you are my property, I rented it".  My hand wasn't doing anything.  It's good to grip onto something and her pussy was the perfect place to go.

After I concentrated on her nipples long enough, I pulled her Brazilian, without taking it off.  Anything tight round the hips, etching into the hips like a rope, turns me on.  Then I was stimulating her pussy with fingers.  It was rewarding as she has juice, plenty of it.  The problem was that, nothing was done on her other nipple.  It was clumsy for me but I had to do it.  I got on top, clamped on both of her nipples with my mouth and one hand.  For the other hand I kept giving her a pussy rub.

She became very tense, because of the pain in her nipples, or because of the pleasure, or both, usually.  She was very tense as if having mini orgasms building up for the big one, or she was going to have a big one, but  I didn't care that much.

I was going in missionary style, but figured that it wouldn't work.  It would be a pretty sight looking at her chest, or what I would be doing on her chest, and her facial reactions.  But it would be clumsy and uncomfortable using my mouth.  And I couldn't use both of my hands simultaneously, or else my full body weight would be on her chest, supported by my fingers.

So I got behind her and pushed her sideways.  Of course it was the spoon.  I could squeeze more out of her with both of my hands than at the front.  When my hands wasn't squeezing my index fingers and thumbs were working very hard, as if punishing her sometimes.

Her Brazilian was still on because she didn't need to spread her legs.  I inserted and tried to fuck her silly so she wouldn't notice what's happening on her chest.  Of course she noticed.  From time to time her hands would be on top on my hands, squeezing uncontrollably as if she wasn't getting enough, or trying to mentally soothe her nipples.

When I couldn't control my fingers, I would give her a big warning, licking her between her neck and her shoulder, and bite on the soft tissues, gently first and then hard.  Luckily she didn't need to push me away.  I hope any teeth marks and finger marks were temporary.

It was hard to hang on, doing what I was doing and enjoying all the pleasures.  I couldn't hang on any more when I felt her orgasmic reaction.  In my mind I flooded her pussy many times over.  But probably I flooded the condom, again.