Working 12-13 hour days back to back did nothing to leave me feeling particularly amorous, even if I do love my job more than is healthy. So tonight I had the time and energy to dedicate to Dante's demands.
First, I went through my music to create a short, appropriate playlist. I'm not entirely sure what "nipple clamping" music consists of, especially not if my Britney is being forbidden. If a more appropriate nipple clamp worthy song than Slave 4 U exists, I have not yet heard it. But fine. iTunes wouldn't let me play The World is not Enough and I couldn't find #1 Crush for some reason. So I put on Queer by Garbage, The Moment I Said It by Imogen Heap, Fade into You by Mazzy Star, and Slow Like Honey and Criminal by Fiona.
I attached the clamps while listening to Mazzy Star and tightened them slowly until it made my nose wrinkle. I figured that was tight enough, turned on Fiona, and assumed the position, save for keeping my face in the pillow. I couldn't breathe; I rested on my forehead. About halfway through the song, I knew the clamps weren't tight enough. I could have convinced myself otherwise and claim it hurt really badly, because it did. But if you were there next to me you'd know that it wasn't enough. So after the song was over, I sat back on my heels, tightened them, and played Criminal. That started to hurt. A lot. With every pulse of my heart, I could feel my nipples pulse which in turn throbbed in my cunt. I almost wanted to break the position to tighten them a tiny bit more so I could feel it even more. Once the song was over, I kept thinking about you, and what you would do to me and whether you would agree that I hurt enough and I knew you wouldn't think so. So I tightened them again and this time they were so tight that I whimpered - that, I figured, was what you'd want. So Garbage played and I went back resting on my pillows. I whimpered and groaned and sighed and moaned for the entire duration of the song. Again, with every pulse of blood in my nipple I could feel an equally strong reaction in my cunt. And when I thought about how happy you would be that I did this three times, and what you'd then do to me, it turned me on even more.
So the song ended. I kept my face in my pillow, pulled down my underpants, and stuck my fingers inside of myself. I was so wet I could hardly feel it. I started rubbing my clit but still couldn't feel anything. The clamps were still on and every time I made any sudden movements, they swayed back and forth and stimulated me even more but I couldn't get a good sensation from that position. Since I'm stubborn and disobedient, I said fuck it and rolled over onto my back to finish. I get very concerned when I'm unable to to have an easy orgasm.
What did I think about? Nothing I expected to or normally fantasize about. From the moment my face went in the pillow, I imagined a couple men crawling through my window and staring at me while I kneeled. One simply watched while the other ran his hand up the back of my leg, between my legs, inside the gusset of my underwear, ran his finger along my labia, up over my butt. He rubbed my ass nicely a few times and then started lightly tapping me. They also made comments to each other about how wet I was and how I looked like such a whore with my ass in the air, just begging for a hard fuck. I was imagining this so realistically that when he started spanking me, my body actually jumped a couple of times. He kept spanking me and then pulled my underwear down so he could start fucking me. Then the other man reached over and lightly, barely, gently kept one finger constantly grazing, but not touching, my clit.
The third time I tightened the clamps, I was so focused on pleasing you and making you proud that I had a fantasy of coming to visit you and surprising you on your doorstep. Without saying a word, you grabbed me by my hair, forced me to my knees while unzipping your pants, and shoved your cock in my mouth. While I was coming, I was fantasizing about that again, and while I sucked your cock you were ordering me to make myself come.
Once I came, I realized you'd probably be a little pissed that I didn't do it as you required, so I took a picture* of my nipple with the clamp on so you could see how tight it was.
As for what I learned. I'm such a little pain-slut, as much as I hate how trite and pornographic that term is! I hardly pinched my nipples enough to get the clamps on and I got so excited. As long as I tell myself that you want me to do something, I'll do it with no thought to my own comfort. If I can't tolerate something, I'll do it anyway because, after all, if you were here you'd make me take it anyway.
*Yeah, I don't need a naked picture of myself on the internet.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Mabel's First Chore
So I emailed with Mabel. And she’s agreed to publish accounts on this blog. Hot. Of course she has some concerns—namely that if she’s punishing herself, then there’s nothing submissive about it, and that she’ll only be able to push herself to the point she can comfortably take, which really isn’t particularly submissive at all. Perhaps that may be true, but hopefully she can at least push hard against her limits. And if she remembers that I’m asking it of her, and pretends like I’m there forcing her hands, then maybe she’ll be able to take herself further than she knew. And the fact that she has to honestly write about it afterwards should make her a bit more inclined to be at least a bit stoic in her ability to endure pain at her own hands, lest she have to confess her shortcomings (or—gasp—fill the internet with lies!)
What follows is written to Mabel—in second person, which may suffer from literari-lameness, but the idea is that she’ll hear my voice in the writing and set the mood for herself. Although she should read all the directions first, it doesn’t hurt to have them up as a reminder, lest she find herself caught up in the moment. If you’re a female out there and want to play along, feel free to do so, but leave a comment and let me know how it goes (or cums?). Without further ado, here is Mabel’s first chore:
Undress to your panties, but leave them on.
Take out your nipple clamps, and tighten one around each nipple until it hurts enough to make you wince.
Once both clamps are on, pull out iTunes and put on a song, around 3-4 minutes... good nipple clamping music. If you want some recommendations, I’d go with “The World is Not Enough” by Garbage, or perhaps (if you have a copy) “Ava Adore”, Smashing Pumpkins. But really anything slow and powerful will do. “Fade Into You?” “Mad World?” “Lighting Crashes?” Eh, I’m sure you’ll come up with something good. For Christ sake, no Brittany.
While the song is playing kneel in the middle of your bed facing the head of it, with your knees pressed together. From this point forward you must leave your knees here until you cum... but no touching yourself yet.
Put your nose into your pillows, and your hands on the small of your back with your butt in the air directly over your knees. Your face should be shoved into the pillow by your weight unsupported by your knees and the jewels dangling from your nipples slowly them to fire.
If you’re too comfortable, move your knees back and let your face shove harder into the pillow. Patiently wait for the song to end, with your face buried into the pillow and your pinched nipples dangling. No moving.
When the song is over, rise to your knees and pull your panties down to your knees.
With your knees still together, and your nipples still clamped, masturbate using only your hands, until you cum.
If you get off without removing your nipple clamps once then you obviously left them too lose. While you’re cumming, you must tighten each nipple clamp, further and leave it on until for as long as you can.
If the pain overcomes you, and you have to take off the clamps before you cum then pull your panties back up, pull up another song and put your nose back into the pillow, hands on your back, and wait for at least three minutes, or until your nipples regain their strength. Then re-secure your nipple clamps, again as tightly as you can bear, drop your panties, raise to your knees. Only then may you resume masturbating until you cum.
If you have to take the nipple clamps off again, keep repeating the previous step until you finally do cum.
There may come a point where you haven’t cum and you can’t take the clamps any more, even after a several minute break with your head in the pillow. If this happens you must then pull your panties back up, and if you still want to masturbate, must leave your head in the pillow, reach over your back and rub yourself from behind, over your panties. If you cannot get off like that, you may not touch yourself until the morning.
Any time when you cum, you must leave your knees together and on the bed, with your ass above them. Only after you’re done orgasming and convulsing may you collapse to the bed, remove your clamps, and enjoy the rest of your night—save one last chore.
Afterwards, you must write to tell me how you did, when you came, what you were fantasizing about, and how well you obeyed everything I asked of you (and perhaps your playlist). And of course what you found out about yourself and how well you can take and enjoy rough sex at your own hands.
What follows is written to Mabel—in second person, which may suffer from literari-lameness, but the idea is that she’ll hear my voice in the writing and set the mood for herself. Although she should read all the directions first, it doesn’t hurt to have them up as a reminder, lest she find herself caught up in the moment. If you’re a female out there and want to play along, feel free to do so, but leave a comment and let me know how it goes (or cums?). Without further ado, here is Mabel’s first chore:
Undress to your panties, but leave them on.
Take out your nipple clamps, and tighten one around each nipple until it hurts enough to make you wince.
Once both clamps are on, pull out iTunes and put on a song, around 3-4 minutes... good nipple clamping music. If you want some recommendations, I’d go with “The World is Not Enough” by Garbage, or perhaps (if you have a copy) “Ava Adore”, Smashing Pumpkins. But really anything slow and powerful will do. “Fade Into You?” “Mad World?” “Lighting Crashes?” Eh, I’m sure you’ll come up with something good. For Christ sake, no Brittany.
While the song is playing kneel in the middle of your bed facing the head of it, with your knees pressed together. From this point forward you must leave your knees here until you cum... but no touching yourself yet.
Put your nose into your pillows, and your hands on the small of your back with your butt in the air directly over your knees. Your face should be shoved into the pillow by your weight unsupported by your knees and the jewels dangling from your nipples slowly them to fire.
If you’re too comfortable, move your knees back and let your face shove harder into the pillow. Patiently wait for the song to end, with your face buried into the pillow and your pinched nipples dangling. No moving.
When the song is over, rise to your knees and pull your panties down to your knees.
With your knees still together, and your nipples still clamped, masturbate using only your hands, until you cum.
If you get off without removing your nipple clamps once then you obviously left them too lose. While you’re cumming, you must tighten each nipple clamp, further and leave it on until for as long as you can.
If the pain overcomes you, and you have to take off the clamps before you cum then pull your panties back up, pull up another song and put your nose back into the pillow, hands on your back, and wait for at least three minutes, or until your nipples regain their strength. Then re-secure your nipple clamps, again as tightly as you can bear, drop your panties, raise to your knees. Only then may you resume masturbating until you cum.
If you have to take the nipple clamps off again, keep repeating the previous step until you finally do cum.
There may come a point where you haven’t cum and you can’t take the clamps any more, even after a several minute break with your head in the pillow. If this happens you must then pull your panties back up, and if you still want to masturbate, must leave your head in the pillow, reach over your back and rub yourself from behind, over your panties. If you cannot get off like that, you may not touch yourself until the morning.
Any time when you cum, you must leave your knees together and on the bed, with your ass above them. Only after you’re done orgasming and convulsing may you collapse to the bed, remove your clamps, and enjoy the rest of your night—save one last chore.
Afterwards, you must write to tell me how you did, when you came, what you were fantasizing about, and how well you obeyed everything I asked of you (and perhaps your playlist). And of course what you found out about yourself and how well you can take and enjoy rough sex at your own hands.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Craigslist Success Story, 17th Month Anniversary
So it’s been over 16 months since I’ve posted on here. Which is kind of amazing. Not amazing because I’ve completely ignored a blog for so long (a lot of people do that) but because Katie (who henceforth would prefer to be called Mabel... neither being her real name) and I have been dating the entire time, and still are happily together. So there’s your CL success story, through craigslist casual encounters. Unfortunately, the casual part got screwed up by both of us, as we find ourselves now quite serious... hell even “in luv” and other such nonsense.
However, this summer we find ourselves geographically separated, and it’s given me a good excuse to go back to turning her on in the manner in which I was first perfected talking to Mabel—Internet text.
Unfortunately, the only time right now I have access to the internet is at work and at the cafés (seriously, it’s like living in some third world country.) Thus cyber sex is unfortunately out for us until I add a fourth wall to my cubicle. But what I can do is compose blog postings at home (like this one) and find a few minutes every now and again at work (like now) to post it, with the hopes of turning her on. And since the blog is still up, although readership is undoubtably way down, I figure this will make as good a forum as any.
Ideally, I want Mabel to write me stuff too (that she’ll let me post this site hopefully, just because I like the whole joint exhibitionism of blogging, but I’ll leave it up to her.) Unfortunately, she incorrectly believes that she isn’t much of a writer, even though she’s probably put more work into revising some of the things I’ve written than I have in writing them. And worse still she is convinced that someone will track her down to this site and then tell her mother.
Nonetheless here’s the plan, should Mabel chose to accept it. (Reading here constitutes the first she’s heard of it) I plan to come up with little “chores” for her—sexually submissive requests mixing self-discipline, self-flagellation, and self-indulgence of course. All the while performing such chores, I should expect she’d be imagining me there watching her, firmly making sure she doesn’t cheat and skip to the good parts. And although maybe some of them will have a separate writing component, those that don’t every time I give her a chore, she must write back to confess:
1) The Chore:
a. What you liked and what you didn’t like?
b. What turned you on and what didn’t?
c. What hurt and how badly and for how long?
d. Whether or not I should have you do it again?
e. Any suggestions to make it better (or “worse”)?
2) Following Directions:
a. How well did you follow directions, and when didn’t you?
b. If you didn’t follow directions, why not? Do you think you deserve to be punished?
c. Whether you thought any of it was unfair or impossible?
d. Would you be able to better complete the chore and follow directions if you were made to do it again?
3) Orgasms:
a. When and how you came, how many times, how strongly.
b. If I let you cum when you did during the chore, you should thank me.
c. If you came when weren’t allowed to, you should apologize.
d. Any fantasies you were having before, during, or after.
e. Any other times you came, touched yourself since you last confessed.
So, if she agrees, and I think she might, I’ll post a chore on here soon. Otherwise, maybe I’ll just go back to exchanging fiction when I find myself with freetime.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Well allow me to retort... Casual Encounter Part III
In the interest of fair debate, here, in its entirely is Katie's point of view recollection of our "casual encounter" as detailed in my two part series that precedes this post. And I'm even so generous as to not cut her off. Told you she could ramble as well as I can...
it started out the typical way. iming various pervy, "send me your pubic hair" posts back and forth with a friend. then i read dante's post which was a welcome break from the skeevy fetishists and sounded relatively sane. much more sane than one would expect on craigslist. i was feeling particularly lonely and particularly commitment-phobic so i responded with a similar list of 10 of my own and figured his response would be less intelligent, funny, and thoughtful and more "send me clippings of your pubic hair mixed with ketchup". unfortunately, it was brilliant, hilarious, and pensive. so i googled him like any self-respecting woman does in this day and age and found his blog, realizing that no, he's actually quite a creepy person and probably watches csi to laugh at the amateurs. i crafted what was intended to be a snarky response but ended up digressing myself with my own long winded verbosity.
so. over two weeks, 20 emails (20 emails?!), and a foolproof plan involving four friends in three separate states, i assured myself that the odds of becoming the next ripped from the headlines episode of law and order were tolerable. i told him to meet me at 1100 in the arena district at a low key bar designed for such tawdry trysts. of course, that was the night that all the middle aged, former hippies came out to play creating a loud, crowded, not at all low key atmosphere. so i left at 1110. yes, i know i told you 1115. what are you going to do? refuse to fuck me?
i came home and explained the situation to my friends. being nicer than i am, they pointed out that since it was late on a saturday night in the arena district, traffic was likely a bitch and he couldn't find a spot to park and i should have at least waited 30-45 minutes. in the comfort of my own home while wearing fuzzy slippers instead of four inch heels, i could admit to them that i might have acted a touch hasty in leaving. but i'd be a disgrace to my gender if i wasn't able to spin the entire evening to make it all his fault.
after only ten words:
wow. you sure fooled me. i actually showed up. whatever.
as you can see:
"Anyway, I do suck and you don't have to grant me anything except to believe that I had no intention of standing you up, or being late, or otherwise fucking up your Saturday night. Any degree of forgiveness would be great, but I think your "whatever" is likely a justified final word in the matter."
i succeeded.
so i wrote back to cut through the shit and say that after two weeks and a failed attempt to meet, it's ridiculous to continue as we had been. it may not have been the most erotic thing he's ever read, but honestly dante, would you have preferred to jack off to my email or actually come over to fuck me? ........... actually, don't answer that. so i gave him my number, told him to call me, and we'll see what happens. so he called. and since his voice didn't sound anything like a ketchup and pubic hair masturbater, i gave him my address, called my friends, and grabbed a bottle of vodka that i proceeded to consume while getting dressed and being berated by my friends.
so, he came over and we quickly realized that the combined strength of our will wasn't enough to force the sun to set at noon. and even though talking politics is the equivalent of talking dirty to me, the silliness of the situation just wasn't making me hot. now, granted i was pretty inebriated, and dante insists that this is an indication that my memory of the day won't be as crystal clear as his faulty memory, but i do remember that he was the whining about being sober. i perked right up with an offer of rot-gut vodka. three or four shots later, i did not say "this is as drunk as i'm going to get, so this is your last chance" and he did not "flinch" or "try to get comfortable". what happened is that i sat down and said "wow, i'm drunk" and he said "finally" and then grabbed me and started kissing me. i remember this because in my drunken frame of mind i thought that was a little shady and was going to shove him away. but, ahem, i opted against that course of action.
i'm sure most women will commiserate on some level the apprehension to allow a man you've just met to take a glance at your cellulite ridden, non waxed butt in the unforgiving light of day. however, now that the entire internet is under the impression that i'm a boring lay with mundane body image problems, it's unlikely that you'll need to worry about my quirks, anal or otherwise.
Alright, we'll have to agree to disagree as to who kissed whom first. I will concede that I made the motion for alcohol. And to be fair, I thought "wow I'm drunk" was Katie being sarcastically cute and trying to get something to happen--not honesty brought on by a third of a bottle of vodka. Maybe I was going for a hug, saw a vulnerability and made a move. I do remember that once we locked lips I was pretty determined not to let go until we were well underway, lest she realized how ridiculous the whole situation was. By the way, Katie is not and was not a boring lay, nor does she have body image problem, lest there was any confusion. And she's got a cute butt, shaved or otherwise.
it started out the typical way. iming various pervy, "send me your pubic hair" posts back and forth with a friend. then i read dante's post which was a welcome break from the skeevy fetishists and sounded relatively sane. much more sane than one would expect on craigslist. i was feeling particularly lonely and particularly commitment-phobic so i responded with a similar list of 10 of my own and figured his response would be less intelligent, funny, and thoughtful and more "send me clippings of your pubic hair mixed with ketchup". unfortunately, it was brilliant, hilarious, and pensive. so i googled him like any self-respecting woman does in this day and age and found his blog, realizing that no, he's actually quite a creepy person and probably watches csi to laugh at the amateurs. i crafted what was intended to be a snarky response but ended up digressing myself with my own long winded verbosity.
so. over two weeks, 20 emails (20 emails?!), and a foolproof plan involving four friends in three separate states, i assured myself that the odds of becoming the next ripped from the headlines episode of law and order were tolerable. i told him to meet me at 1100 in the arena district at a low key bar designed for such tawdry trysts. of course, that was the night that all the middle aged, former hippies came out to play creating a loud, crowded, not at all low key atmosphere. so i left at 1110. yes, i know i told you 1115. what are you going to do? refuse to fuck me?
i came home and explained the situation to my friends. being nicer than i am, they pointed out that since it was late on a saturday night in the arena district, traffic was likely a bitch and he couldn't find a spot to park and i should have at least waited 30-45 minutes. in the comfort of my own home while wearing fuzzy slippers instead of four inch heels, i could admit to them that i might have acted a touch hasty in leaving. but i'd be a disgrace to my gender if i wasn't able to spin the entire evening to make it all his fault.
after only ten words:
wow. you sure fooled me. i actually showed up. whatever.
as you can see:
"Anyway, I do suck and you don't have to grant me anything except to believe that I had no intention of standing you up, or being late, or otherwise fucking up your Saturday night. Any degree of forgiveness would be great, but I think your "whatever" is likely a justified final word in the matter."
i succeeded.
so i wrote back to cut through the shit and say that after two weeks and a failed attempt to meet, it's ridiculous to continue as we had been. it may not have been the most erotic thing he's ever read, but honestly dante, would you have preferred to jack off to my email or actually come over to fuck me? ........... actually, don't answer that. so i gave him my number, told him to call me, and we'll see what happens. so he called. and since his voice didn't sound anything like a ketchup and pubic hair masturbater, i gave him my address, called my friends, and grabbed a bottle of vodka that i proceeded to consume while getting dressed and being berated by my friends.
so, he came over and we quickly realized that the combined strength of our will wasn't enough to force the sun to set at noon. and even though talking politics is the equivalent of talking dirty to me, the silliness of the situation just wasn't making me hot. now, granted i was pretty inebriated, and dante insists that this is an indication that my memory of the day won't be as crystal clear as his faulty memory, but i do remember that he was the whining about being sober. i perked right up with an offer of rot-gut vodka. three or four shots later, i did not say "this is as drunk as i'm going to get, so this is your last chance" and he did not "flinch" or "try to get comfortable". what happened is that i sat down and said "wow, i'm drunk" and he said "finally" and then grabbed me and started kissing me. i remember this because in my drunken frame of mind i thought that was a little shady and was going to shove him away. but, ahem, i opted against that course of action.
i'm sure most women will commiserate on some level the apprehension to allow a man you've just met to take a glance at your cellulite ridden, non waxed butt in the unforgiving light of day. however, now that the entire internet is under the impression that i'm a boring lay with mundane body image problems, it's unlikely that you'll need to worry about my quirks, anal or otherwise.
Alright, we'll have to agree to disagree as to who kissed whom first. I will concede that I made the motion for alcohol. And to be fair, I thought "wow I'm drunk" was Katie being sarcastically cute and trying to get something to happen--not honesty brought on by a third of a bottle of vodka. Maybe I was going for a hug, saw a vulnerability and made a move. I do remember that once we locked lips I was pretty determined not to let go until we were well underway, lest she realized how ridiculous the whole situation was. By the way, Katie is not and was not a boring lay, nor does she have body image problem, lest there was any confusion. And she's got a cute butt, shaved or otherwise.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
A casual encounter--seriously! Part II
The Internet is full of sex. That's what it's for. But can you use it to actually get some? That was my experiment. And when I last left off (Part I) I had seemingly missed my chance. I had meant to post part II right afterwards, but I've been far too busy having sex. And while Katie is a pretty good sport about most everything I've subjected her to, she's pretty adamant about me not blogging during sex. I can't even briefly check my mail on the laptop while she's going down. Consequently I've had to chose between the internet and sex, and while there's rapidly less and less that the internet can't replace, I'm less optimistic in my waiting on my 1990's promise from Dennis Miller:
Sunday, February 12 I wake up mid-morning after having gone out to a bar for a casual encounter that did not come to pass. I finish up the last 20 pages of "Life of Pi" and trying to decide whether there's something compelling me to get out of bed. There really isn't, but I'd drug my laptop to bed with me the night before to write Katie her apology for having inadvertently stood her up. So I decided to check to see if I got a response. For better or worse I had. It was neither forgiving nor accusatory nor reconciliatory nor anything useful. It was in summary this:
The plus side to meeting your potential insignificant other during the daylight is, as Katie pointed out, that CSI cases don't take place during the day. The downside, as became glaringly apparent throughout our encounter, is that the goddamn sun is shining. Now I don't know what your experience with blind dates is, but there is virtually nothing you can do to get around the fact that it will be really awkward. This was the first time for me to be on a casual encounter (well, a planned one). It was her first blind date ever. So how do we meet? I have to phone her to come out to my car because the visitor code on the gate won't work and then drive her in the Ohio cold back to her apartment. Really hot.
So we're sitting on the couch discussing Ohio politics, what we want to be when we grow up, and generic small talk. It's fun, but palpable sexual tension doesn't quite describe it. Again, the daylight didn't help. Then there's the issue of the fact that we were completely sober. Don't get me wrong, Katie's a cutie and I'm... uhm, fairly tall.
Unable to block out the sun, we attacked problem #2 with shots of cheap vodka while we talked. Aside from the problems aforementioned we were developing another one; we sorta liked each other. Not a liability, per se, but not very conducive for casual sex. Time was running out as her meeting for work was looming. We were very awkwardly cuddled on the couch and on our third shot of vodka. I'm not quite sure the direct quote, but her sentiments were something to the effect of "this is as drunk as I'm going to get, so this is your last chance to make anything happen." I think I flinched, or maybe was trying to get comfortable on the couch. Whatever it was, she was moving my way, so we hit face to face and started making out.
Not to "yada yada yada" through the sex, but it's not as if anything ever works well enough to commit the script to memory. It was good fun: nervous anticipation of kissing, stripping a partner's layer, kissing some more, repeat until naked. Nothing kinky, nothing to throw anyone for a loop, nothing out of a traditional order, and nothing that would cause anyone to flip out. That said she only flipped out a little.
She was, by her own admission, fearful of anal sex. Fair enough, it's never really appealed to me either. But now it appeared to extend to an entire fear of me catching a glimpse of her butt. Oh well, a few little quirks are cute. Anyway, we were having sex missionary position, the theme of the afternoon being nothing that would offend the sexual sensibilities of a devout Catholic (other than the random hook-up of two people who'd formally met 90 minutes prior). At some point however, she'd suddenly hit her limit and threw on the brakes mid-coitus. Not that the sex was bad, or at least that wasn't her complaint, but had just sobered up too much and was dismayed by the ridiculous situation she'd found herself in. (I would later find out that she'd finished off 1/3 of a bottle herself before I'd opened the door.) We stopped short, put on some pants (our own pants even... still keeping things customary), and went back in the living room to see what we could make of the mid-afternoon.
Sobered up and settled down, we decided that the sex was at least as fun as it was awkward, we liked each other's company, and that we weren't bothered with love or marriage or commitment. It was thus agreed that we should try our hand at the casual encounter thing again, and maybe mix it with date or something similar.
So is it a craigslist fairytale? Didn't quite fit the casual encounter ideal, but I'm counting it as a success story. Not only that, but one to be continued...
Scientists estimate by the end of this century, via the means of virtual reality, a man will be able to stimulate making love to any woman he wants through his television set. You know, folks, the day an unemployed ironworker can lie in his BarcaLounger with a Foster’s in one hand and a channel-flicker in the other and fuck Claudia Schiffer for $19.95, it’s gonna make crack look like Sanka, all right.Kinda makes you want to sing along with Conan O'Brien, "In the year two-thousand..." Damn scientists had better get cracking, as the demand curve for the Claudia Schiffer market get's a touch slimmer every year. Anywho, sex, craiglist, the promise made complete...
Sunday, February 12 I wake up mid-morning after having gone out to a bar for a casual encounter that did not come to pass. I finish up the last 20 pages of "Life of Pi" and trying to decide whether there's something compelling me to get out of bed. There really isn't, but I'd drug my laptop to bed with me the night before to write Katie her apology for having inadvertently stood her up. So I decided to check to see if I got a response. For better or worse I had. It was neither forgiving nor accusatory nor reconciliatory nor anything useful. It was in summary this:
This is getting vaguely ridiculous and we need to either meet in person to decide if there's enough of a spark to actually fuck or stop emailing altogether...Not exactly the most flowery of erotica and a strange ultimatum to say the least. But who am I to pick a fight at this point. She continues:
Ideally what will happen is you'll call before 11:00, I'll give you directions to my apartment, we'll meet, joke around, the sexual tension will be palpable, we'll fall into bed for a while, and I'll still have time to go to my meeting.The only way to make a casual sex ultimatum hotter and less stressful is to impose a deadline. But the ideal, as described, is what happened. Well, more or less--but as far as unrealistic ideals go, I'd say we came reasonably close. Okay, she did miss her meeting for one, but let me back up...
The plus side to meeting your potential insignificant other during the daylight is, as Katie pointed out, that CSI cases don't take place during the day. The downside, as became glaringly apparent throughout our encounter, is that the goddamn sun is shining. Now I don't know what your experience with blind dates is, but there is virtually nothing you can do to get around the fact that it will be really awkward. This was the first time for me to be on a casual encounter (well, a planned one). It was her first blind date ever. So how do we meet? I have to phone her to come out to my car because the visitor code on the gate won't work and then drive her in the Ohio cold back to her apartment. Really hot.
So we're sitting on the couch discussing Ohio politics, what we want to be when we grow up, and generic small talk. It's fun, but palpable sexual tension doesn't quite describe it. Again, the daylight didn't help. Then there's the issue of the fact that we were completely sober. Don't get me wrong, Katie's a cutie and I'm... uhm, fairly tall.
Unable to block out the sun, we attacked problem #2 with shots of cheap vodka while we talked. Aside from the problems aforementioned we were developing another one; we sorta liked each other. Not a liability, per se, but not very conducive for casual sex. Time was running out as her meeting for work was looming. We were very awkwardly cuddled on the couch and on our third shot of vodka. I'm not quite sure the direct quote, but her sentiments were something to the effect of "this is as drunk as I'm going to get, so this is your last chance to make anything happen." I think I flinched, or maybe was trying to get comfortable on the couch. Whatever it was, she was moving my way, so we hit face to face and started making out.
Not to "yada yada yada" through the sex, but it's not as if anything ever works well enough to commit the script to memory. It was good fun: nervous anticipation of kissing, stripping a partner's layer, kissing some more, repeat until naked. Nothing kinky, nothing to throw anyone for a loop, nothing out of a traditional order, and nothing that would cause anyone to flip out. That said she only flipped out a little.
She was, by her own admission, fearful of anal sex. Fair enough, it's never really appealed to me either. But now it appeared to extend to an entire fear of me catching a glimpse of her butt. Oh well, a few little quirks are cute. Anyway, we were having sex missionary position, the theme of the afternoon being nothing that would offend the sexual sensibilities of a devout Catholic (other than the random hook-up of two people who'd formally met 90 minutes prior). At some point however, she'd suddenly hit her limit and threw on the brakes mid-coitus. Not that the sex was bad, or at least that wasn't her complaint, but had just sobered up too much and was dismayed by the ridiculous situation she'd found herself in. (I would later find out that she'd finished off 1/3 of a bottle herself before I'd opened the door.) We stopped short, put on some pants (our own pants even... still keeping things customary), and went back in the living room to see what we could make of the mid-afternoon.
Sobered up and settled down, we decided that the sex was at least as fun as it was awkward, we liked each other's company, and that we weren't bothered with love or marriage or commitment. It was thus agreed that we should try our hand at the casual encounter thing again, and maybe mix it with date or something similar.
So is it a craigslist fairytale? Didn't quite fit the casual encounter ideal, but I'm counting it as a success story. Not only that, but one to be continued...
Sunday, February 12, 2006
A Casual Encounter...No seriously! Part I
Okay, it's not at all casual and it's not at all serious. But it is sex and it is due to craigslist. Cheers Craig.
Again I've been a little lacking in my posting, but it's been largely been because I've been hard at work to bring you this story. Yes a story of a craigslist casual encounter. It was by no means easy, by no means traditional, and there much much more story than sex. But the story is memorable, to say the least.
As you may recall, I posted a craigslist CE post under the title "If I'm Half as Good in Bed as I am at Long Winded Rants." It debut with little acclaim, aside from a few people trying to peddle internet porn who wrote me. But after a bit I received a bite from someone who seemed to be real, who wrote:
Your ad caught my eye. Was it because I like being spanked, bondage, oral sex, healthy sexual appetites, big dicks, tall men, or all of the above?
Extraordinarily promising, but it was not to be, as she never wrote back after my response. My theory is that she googled me and decided that she could do without the publicity of having her sex blogged. But some day 500 years into the future I'm pretty sure my uncovered blog will be the part of a graduate thesis paper with the title: "Mating habits of the early 21st Century American Internet User" and it will be Molly's loss to not be a part of it.
A week later though, a new someone named Katie dropped me off an email. And though I'd love to share with you the entirety of our email correspondence (and maybe will pick out some highlights for a future post) the total when I now copy and paste into Word consists of 20 emails, 40 pages, 17,438 words and 97,018 characters. So yeah, Katie and I have talked. Which is why I haven't been doing as much blogging. I know, it's a bit selfish of me to expend so much energy on one person when my writing was just starting to get a fan base, but this was an opportunity not to pass up... a documented successful story of a craigslist casual encounter. Oh yeah, and sex. Sex is cool.
I fought hard to gain Katie's trust as she was pretty sure I was going to turn her into a CSI or a made for TV movie where our innocent heroine succumbs to the vile temptations of Internet boys. Eventually we made plans to meet at her favorite bar on a Saturday night, with the caveat that either of us could nix the entire shebang at any time.
Sadly, the gods conspired against me, and like some horrendous teen coming of age movie, I was comically thwarted before I even had a chance to make my case. On the way out the door for our meeting, the house phone rang. A very uncharacteristic thing for the phone to do, as I'm not horribly popular (must be all the hours spent writing rambling blogs). It was a friend I'd been promising to not blow off, but had been blowing off anyway, who now was having some sort of sobby Valentine's season crisis with a lousy husband. I did what I could to console and make it out of there, but I was definitely running late. A mile drive later I realize I have no idea where I'm going and have left the directions and the name of the place in the printer. All right, turn around, get the directions, let's try this again.
I finally arrive at the bar, only about 10 minutes late and only mildly panicking that she's going to give up and flee--or hook up with some other guy. But before I could so much as get parked, I realized I had absolutely no cash on me, and the guy collecting for parking wasn't giving any breaks. Stupid, stupid! So I had to find an ATM. For those of you familiar with Columbus's Arena District, please explain to me why there are no gas stations and no ATM's anywhere within a mile of the whole area. I mean, hundreds of thousands must be spent there every week, and not a single bank? A disorienting drive around part of the short north and I finally found a bank... My branch even. And yes, I was a little excited at the prospect of saving $4 in ATM fees even as the opportunity for sex was slipping away. Of course there was no ATM. Son-of-a... Drive around Columbus a bit more, find a gas station, get the cash, drive back to park in the arena district, half trot over to our meeting place. It's 11:25, much less forgivably late, especially to make someone wait who thinks you're going to stand them up, kill them, or be a 40 year old pervert.
I get inside, and it's packed. Okay, I've seen one picture of Katie, and I know the vital stats, but I have no idea how I'm going to find her. So I do the only things I can think to do... pace up and down the bar trying to make eye contact with random women, hoping that at some point there'll be some mutual recognition and I'll be able to shmooze my way into a forgiveness. So I fight my way from one end of the bar to the other, blatantly making eye contact with almost every girl I pass. I'm pretty sure by my third trip back and forth I was probably less popular than I've ever been--and that's saying something. So I eventually gave up actively looking, grabbed a beer, and tried to enjoy the styling of the jam band on stage and the atmosphere of a pretty fun bar.
Alas, time passed, as did a few more beers, and it looked like the casual encounter was not to be. And though I had a few laughs and a few dances and a general good time, I was a touched bummed. The fear that it was my fault was verified when I got home around 3 am to find the most concise of Katie's emails to date:
"Ah, fuck me," I thought. Rather than crash I jotted out a last ditch apology explanation at 3:10 AM, hit the pillow and went to sleep. Today, everything is worked out. Which is to say it's also strange, improbable, funny, and a long story. Unfortunately it's late and this is already wordy, so I'm going to save it for another time. I promise though, the next message will contain some scenes of sex. Hey, if you think the suspense is killing you, try 20 emails over 13 days.
Again I've been a little lacking in my posting, but it's been largely been because I've been hard at work to bring you this story. Yes a story of a craigslist casual encounter. It was by no means easy, by no means traditional, and there much much more story than sex. But the story is memorable, to say the least.
As you may recall, I posted a craigslist CE post under the title "If I'm Half as Good in Bed as I am at Long Winded Rants." It debut with little acclaim, aside from a few people trying to peddle internet porn who wrote me. But after a bit I received a bite from someone who seemed to be real, who wrote:
Your ad caught my eye. Was it because I like being spanked, bondage, oral sex, healthy sexual appetites, big dicks, tall men, or all of the above?
Extraordinarily promising, but it was not to be, as she never wrote back after my response. My theory is that she googled me and decided that she could do without the publicity of having her sex blogged. But some day 500 years into the future I'm pretty sure my uncovered blog will be the part of a graduate thesis paper with the title: "Mating habits of the early 21st Century American Internet User" and it will be Molly's loss to not be a part of it.
A week later though, a new someone named Katie dropped me off an email. And though I'd love to share with you the entirety of our email correspondence (and maybe will pick out some highlights for a future post) the total when I now copy and paste into Word consists of 20 emails, 40 pages, 17,438 words and 97,018 characters. So yeah, Katie and I have talked. Which is why I haven't been doing as much blogging. I know, it's a bit selfish of me to expend so much energy on one person when my writing was just starting to get a fan base, but this was an opportunity not to pass up... a documented successful story of a craigslist casual encounter. Oh yeah, and sex. Sex is cool.
I fought hard to gain Katie's trust as she was pretty sure I was going to turn her into a CSI or a made for TV movie where our innocent heroine succumbs to the vile temptations of Internet boys. Eventually we made plans to meet at her favorite bar on a Saturday night, with the caveat that either of us could nix the entire shebang at any time.
Sadly, the gods conspired against me, and like some horrendous teen coming of age movie, I was comically thwarted before I even had a chance to make my case. On the way out the door for our meeting, the house phone rang. A very uncharacteristic thing for the phone to do, as I'm not horribly popular (must be all the hours spent writing rambling blogs). It was a friend I'd been promising to not blow off, but had been blowing off anyway, who now was having some sort of sobby Valentine's season crisis with a lousy husband. I did what I could to console and make it out of there, but I was definitely running late. A mile drive later I realize I have no idea where I'm going and have left the directions and the name of the place in the printer. All right, turn around, get the directions, let's try this again.
I finally arrive at the bar, only about 10 minutes late and only mildly panicking that she's going to give up and flee--or hook up with some other guy. But before I could so much as get parked, I realized I had absolutely no cash on me, and the guy collecting for parking wasn't giving any breaks. Stupid, stupid! So I had to find an ATM. For those of you familiar with Columbus's Arena District, please explain to me why there are no gas stations and no ATM's anywhere within a mile of the whole area. I mean, hundreds of thousands must be spent there every week, and not a single bank? A disorienting drive around part of the short north and I finally found a bank... My branch even. And yes, I was a little excited at the prospect of saving $4 in ATM fees even as the opportunity for sex was slipping away. Of course there was no ATM. Son-of-a... Drive around Columbus a bit more, find a gas station, get the cash, drive back to park in the arena district, half trot over to our meeting place. It's 11:25, much less forgivably late, especially to make someone wait who thinks you're going to stand them up, kill them, or be a 40 year old pervert.
I get inside, and it's packed. Okay, I've seen one picture of Katie, and I know the vital stats, but I have no idea how I'm going to find her. So I do the only things I can think to do... pace up and down the bar trying to make eye contact with random women, hoping that at some point there'll be some mutual recognition and I'll be able to shmooze my way into a forgiveness. So I fight my way from one end of the bar to the other, blatantly making eye contact with almost every girl I pass. I'm pretty sure by my third trip back and forth I was probably less popular than I've ever been--and that's saying something. So I eventually gave up actively looking, grabbed a beer, and tried to enjoy the styling of the jam band on stage and the atmosphere of a pretty fun bar.
Alas, time passed, as did a few more beers, and it looked like the casual encounter was not to be. And though I had a few laughs and a few dances and a general good time, I was a touched bummed. The fear that it was my fault was verified when I got home around 3 am to find the most concise of Katie's emails to date:
To: dante.hunter@gmail.com
Date: Feb 11, 2006 11:32 PM
Subject: Re: craigslist ad
wow. you sure fooled me. i actually showed up. whatever."Ah, fuck me," I thought. Rather than crash I jotted out a last ditch apology explanation at 3:10 AM, hit the pillow and went to sleep. Today, everything is worked out. Which is to say it's also strange, improbable, funny, and a long story. Unfortunately it's late and this is already wordy, so I'm going to save it for another time. I promise though, the next message will contain some scenes of sex. Hey, if you think the suspense is killing you, try 20 emails over 13 days.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Red State Nation
Sorry I've been a week without posting. And this post isn't new material either, I'll confess. I've been traveling, and I promise to have a new story soon. Anyway...
Every summer since 1999, the Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Newsgroup has held a summer short story contest, where amateurs are encouraged to submit a <500 word spanking fiction story. In recent years the quality has gone down, and the site administration has faultered, but the idea still seems good. Of course, there still haven't been awards (they're unofficial, non-financial) given from last summer, when we're now closer to the next. But there are reviews for essays on the site with an award ceremony planned soon. I invite you to read some, as there are a few gems, and they're only 500 words tops. And better yet, submit your own story when next summer comes around and raise the quality of the postings. Of course, if you just want to read my contribution, I've posted a copy of it below. It was inspired while reading "What's the Matter With Kansas" by Thomas Frank. A good book, but nothing to do with spanking, FYI...
Every summer since 1999, the Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Newsgroup has held a summer short story contest, where amateurs are encouraged to submit a <500 word spanking fiction story. In recent years the quality has gone down, and the site administration has faultered, but the idea still seems good. Of course, there still haven't been awards (they're unofficial, non-financial) given from last summer, when we're now closer to the next. But there are reviews for essays on the site with an award ceremony planned soon. I invite you to read some, as there are a few gems, and they're only 500 words tops. And better yet, submit your own story when next summer comes around and raise the quality of the postings. Of course, if you just want to read my contribution, I've posted a copy of it below. It was inspired while reading "What's the Matter With Kansas" by Thomas Frank. A good book, but nothing to do with spanking, FYI...
Red State Nation
A tiny part of Trisha considered herself lucky. Unlike her male peers, at least she wasn't being forced to die in some horrid war in Iran, Venezuela, China, Israel, North Korea or a dozen other countries not really on her mind at this moment.
"Trisha, you were found guilty of interstate distribution of illegal propaganda by a United States' court, and are to now be sentenced to 25 strokes of the cane. Do you have any comment before your sentence?"
"I love big brother," came to her mind, but she held her tongue and replied simply, "no sir."
Trisha was in fact guilty of distributing her manifesto detailing the history of her corrupted government, its culpability in corporate scandals, and the deliberate swindling of workers dating back to Ronald Reagan--now virtually a patron saint of American politics. The piece was a work in progress ever since her introduction to muckraking and a Gender Studies graduate degree at Harvard, one of the last holdouts of liberal academia. That combined with her doctorate in public policy barely qualified her to the life of another American slave, commuting in her Neon through 70 miles of suburbia to sit in a desk manipulating numbers for some insurance company.
Now she was carrying out her sentence as the first person convicted under the new federal American Patriotism and Loyalty Act. Corporal punishment had been recognized as neither cruel nor unusual by precedent set decades earlier, but few had predicted it ever being used in a non-violent case. But lest the desperately poor ever realize their candidates were mainly serving the pockets of the filthy rich, grandstanding must progress ever further against the alleged evils of liberalism.
Trisha was presently dressed in an orange regulation button top that barely covered her belly and red cotton panties. A few steps' climb was made to her metal podium and she was bound first by ankles, then folded across the cold top and wrists fastened to its front. She tried to humor herself in the irony that this nation of God-fearing Americans would likely soon be masturbating en masse to her martyrdom as they watched live on Fox-Span webcast her white curvy butt turn red and blue striped, contrast against her tan, long legs.
Trish's legs were bound just barely enough to permit a guard's single-motion removal of her underpants to her ankles. As she tried not to think about it, she inadvertently made eye contact with the camera, and her face flushed bright red. A microphone was placed in front of her to capture her anguish, displayed in the form of a moaning, "Oww!" as a thin cane deftly dug and rebounded deep into the meaty middle of her rear.
"One!" went up the cheer of the gathering of well-dressed businessmen, privileged to be well connected to Republican leadership for prime seats. Trisha projected a glare of outrage through her bangs into the camera and ground her teeth as a second stroke rebounded with a loud thwack.
The End
© Copyright Dante Hunter 2005
Reviews
Sir Hal
The author of this story really put a lot of work into it. This was not a easy story to construct. I checked by TV Guide channel but the station is not available in my area. What scares me, is this might not be fiction, the way things are going. I enjoyed the word pictures that the writer painted for us in this story. This story reminded me of a book by Angus Balfour, Shades of Singapore. I don't know if it still in print or not. I sure hope that this writer continues to write for us. I know that I will be looking for more stories from this writer.
SG <kitten_klaws(at)webtv(dot)net>
I read through this story a number of times and found the ending to always be a turn-on despite the unseemly realism of this fictitious fantasy. I wouldn't mind discovering Ann Coulter in a similar scenario in a story entitled Blue State Nation. Whip it good!
Poiesia <poiesia(at)gmail(dot)com>
I enjoyed this story. It was well written, thorough, satirical and maybe more dead on than is comfortable to think. The cynical truisms made this a very identifiable piece and the story is original in situation and setting. I really, really enjoyed this story.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Sugasm Volume #18
Odds are high that you've found your way here through Sugasm. Well now you can find your way back.
For the rest of you, Sugasm is a weekly compilation by Sam Sugar of Sugarbank.com of clever filthy musings by fellow bloggers. Well this week's featured my post, "Dante's Guide to Cybersex–Part II: Descriptive Writing" from last week. It also included a bunch of other folks' stuff. Though I haven't yet, I hope to read through all of them, and comment when I can. Anyway, without further ado:
T he best of the blogs by the bloggers who blog them (this week starting with the letter 'S'):
- Sex Type Thing (chaosnoir.blogspot.com)
- Six Girls Skinny-dipping on Abby Winters (iloveabbeywinters.com)
- Coach T…..Chapter Two ( whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com)
- Sometimes You Just Miss Having A Penis ( berkeleybiboy.blogspot.com)
- Strapping One On? (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com )
- Tangled up (lumpesse.com)
- The Listening Brief ( gentlygently.blogspot.com)
- True Secret: A Night With A Star (secretbrain.blogspot.com )
- Vixen, In All Her Sultry, Devilish, Glory (tirepaddle.com)
- Brett and Hiromi interview themselves (sexblo.gs)
- Hot teen lesbian sex on Sapphic Erotica ( simply-sapphicerotica.com)
- Condom Conversation… (shayssexcolumn)
- Cherished (ambientstorm.blogspot.com)
- Dante's Guide to Cybersex–Part II: Descriptive Writing (damneddante.blogspot.com)
- Darkness (nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com )
- Exactly where I want you… (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com )
- Expectations (swelteringcelt.com)
- Father Knows Best (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
- Fucking Wifey To Make Me Jealous (radicalvixen.com)
- How do you jack-off? ( whatsyourpleasure.blogspot.com)
- Join the Sugasm?
- How to Get a Killer Lapdance ( sugarbank.com)
- Hot teen lesbian sex on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com )
- I might like you bettah if we shaved togethah (realadultsex.com )
- KITKAST #1.12 - AVN 1/2, Howard Stern and Porn Battle Kits (kitkast.com )
- Masturbation (sexinga.blogspot.com)
- Mindfucking and Oral Service (talkingdirty.blogspot.com)
- Men: What Are Your Best Blowjob Tips? (sexeteria.blogspot.com)
- More angie6969 (eroticandy.blogspot.com )
- My best fuck (damnjezebel.com)
- Phone ( anyonesgirl.blogspot.com)
- My Fun Night at Work (MOCK POST) (tinastrangeworld.blogspot.com )
- Realizing Mortality (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com )
Friday, January 20, 2006
If I'm half as good in bed as I am at long winded rants...
Thus began my most recent posting to craigslist Columbus Casual Encounters . I don't expect it to work, but at very least I hope to lure someone in to responding and see what I can do from there. (I've been taking all of my advice from the Single women reading my blog, got any advice? Anyway, without further ado, my posting:
If I'm half as good in bed as I am at long winded rants...
Reply to: pers-126887406@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-01-20, 1:38AM EST
Date: 2006-01-20, 1:38AM EST
...well, yeah, you'll get the idea. Anyway, if you're looking for a CE, here's 10 things worth knowing about me.
10) I'm very literate--smarter than I am sexy even, which is not to say that I'm not good looking. I feel that good sex is at least half mental and that the brain is the largest erogenous zone in the human body and should be treated accordingly.
9) I'm 6'0", 175 lbs, 24, white, straight, single, and disease & drug free.
8) I have a 7.5" penis. I really don't know whether that's important to you (or any woman for that matter) but I can't see any disadvantages to letting you know.
7) I care about my sexual health (and yours) at least as much as you do. I won't have unprotected sex with a "casual encounter." And my history of casual encounters/one night stands in single digits... not a nympho.
6) I will spank you. I know, you haven't yet ask to be spanked, but in my experience there's a high percentage of women who secretly want to be spanked during sex/foreplay who won't ever confess such a fantasy. A quick slap to your bottom during foreplay will give you the chance to let me know whether or not you appreciate it. If you don't, I'll cut it out no problem, and there's still 5 more reasons to read.
5) You don't know me. Your friends don't know me. No one does, as I've only been in Columbus a few months and unless you're one of the people living in my building or at my job, anonymity shouldn't be a problem. I don't go to OSU and never have.
4) I'm not looking for a relationship, but am not such a callous bastard that I don't care about human beings, their feelings, or their needs. I'm looking for something casual without commitment, not fleeting or abusive.
3) Oral sex is fun, giving is fun, receiving is better, and both at once is hard to top. Bondage, whipped cream, tickling, teasing, role-play, and mild dom/sub are certainly part of my sexual vocabulary, so there's little you could have in mind that I wouldn't consider. Vanila sex is fine too, but
2) I have enough patience and free time for an email relationship with someone I find interesting and literate and wouldn't blame anyone who didn't want to rush in.
1) I'll do everything on agreed upon terms, accept "no" for an answer at any point, and always make sure everything's safe, sane, risk-free, mutually enjoyable, and consensual.
Thanks for reading this far. I hope to hear back from you. And yes, I can send you a picture.
"Panties for Books" exchange
I know, this post I found doesn't compare with posts on the craigslist Best Of, but it definitely merits a best of Columbus mention, and at very least is worthy of my blog. And who knows, by reposting I may put our pride of the Buckeye babe in touch with a panty-loving philanthropist interested in putting her through college. If so, I'd like a copies of a few of the pics.
Want to buy my panties? OSU college girl - 20
Reply to: pers-126739263@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-01-19, 3:46PM EST
I'm not sure if this is allowed here, so if it isn't feel free to remove it and let me know the correct place. I'd never even heard of craigslist until recently.
I'm a 20 year old early education major at OSU (originally from southeastern ohio so i'm a country girl). I've vowed to save myself for the "right guy" (if that ever comes along) but need to make some money quick to help pay for books and all that other stuff i am forced to buy for school. I'm wanting to sell my panties and will deliver them to your mailbox or mail them and will ALSO provide a disc with pictures of me wearing them :). If interested, email me
Date: 2006-01-19, 3:46PM EST
I'm not sure if this is allowed here, so if it isn't feel free to remove it and let me know the correct place. I'd never even heard of craigslist until recently.
I'm a 20 year old early education major at OSU (originally from southeastern ohio so i'm a country girl). I've vowed to save myself for the "right guy" (if that ever comes along) but need to make some money quick to help pay for books and all that other stuff i am forced to buy for school. I'm wanting to sell my panties and will deliver them to your mailbox or mail them and will ALSO provide a disc with pictures of me wearing them :). If interested, email me
- this is in or around Campus
- no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Anyone else hot for teacher? By the way, what do you suppose "deliver them to your mailbox or mail them" means?
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