Santa Clause – Nailing Hookers

You know, I’m no different than any of you. When I see a new review drop on Eccie, or anywhere else, for that matter… I’m ALL OVER IT. I, just, love to see girls get good reviews!

Lots of sites allow the full review to be read by anyone. Unfortunately, that is not the policy at Eccie. You must be a premium member to read reviews in their entirety, dirty deads and all.

As a provider, you can NEVER, EVER, read the ROS (rest of story) on there. Only the most, basic details are available to us. Even our very, own reviews are visible, only, up until the body description. If you’re female (well, most females), the rest is, just, a mystery.

Still, I get a bit excited. Of course, not every review is good, but, we, actually, have some wonderful providers on Eccie, so, thankfully, most are, usually, pretty positive.

I wasn’t with them very long when I began pickin up on differences between me and, most, of the other escorts I advertised alongside. In fact, too many differences to, really, count.

However, one of the most common things that seemed to cum out in the body description of, just, about, all the reviews, no matter, the female it was written about was…

This is great! You’re hangin on my every word, because, even, you are aware the many differences that exist amongst the females who choose this environment as their workplace.

Now, I’m, certainly, one of the older girls (btw: my B-Day is later this month, friends), so, differences are to be expected. (Notice, I said “older” rather than “more mature”. Yup. I’m kinda still workin on the ‘maturing’ part.)

I hate to have strung you along, oh, so, deliciously, but it’s, most likely, nothing like you’re picturing so, vividly, right now, anyway. Hey. I’m guessing.

What, always, stuck out, most, to me were descriptions that would go on and on AND ON about how pretty their provider’s hair was and how long, manicured, and brightly polished their fingernails were. Oh! And, how they were made up for a night on the town, sexy dress and heels, and, how all of that made it, just, that much, more exciting for them.

Stop right there… please. Number #1… Hair and nails and dressed to go out?? Well, Jesus! What the fuck for??

Sure. I go out to dinner with guys all the time. In fact, I don’t even charge them for the dinner date, as long as they pick up the tab. (Don’t worry. Lobster isn’t, really, my thang, fellas.) It’s a wonderful way of getting to know someone in an amazing atmosphere with fuckin KILLER FOOD. A win-win, in my opinion.

I’m not positive, but, I don’t, believe, another provider, in our area, provides that service for free. Although, I’m, sure, dinners happen. So, really? Just, what is it they’re getting all decked out for??

Truthfully. What they would wear didn’t, really, bother me, so, much. The fact that I wear negligees and lingerie and cute, lil, dress-up outfits doesn’t mean that what they’re doing is any different than what I’m doing.

You see… You dress the part. I like feelin classy and confident, sexy and sinful. Maybe they dress to play a different part. (Wife cums to mind.)

My bad. That was, completely, uncalled for. I am, merely, speculating. Does make you wonder, though. Doesn’t it??

Look. I dress skimpily, because I don’t plan on being dressed very, fuckin, long. I use my outfits to entice a man into taking those, very, same, outfits, right on, off me.

Dressin to go out on the town, just, never, even, occurred to me, because I’m much, more concerned with stayin in. Hence, my see-through, date attire.

To each their own. The common phrase, “dress to impress” cums to mind. Perhaps, that’s what my fellow escorts are, actually, doing.

I just wear whatever makes me feel good. I guess exposing myself does that for ME. Who knew??

Like, I mentioned, though. Their garments bother me not. It’s those beauty shop nails that I’m referring to. Those long, pointy, things that require a stop at a shop, at least, twice a month to maintain, properly. Simply astonishing to me.

Darlin, I’m not goin to a nail salon, even, a couple of times a year, nevertheless, every, other week. Any nails I’ll, ever, have will be done at home… My home. By myself. You can count on that.

Ladies? Seriously, though. How do you work at all when your fingers, more closely, resemble claws?? It’s a fair question, I think, because I’m very confused.

I, kinda, get the feelin that my confusion may have confused some of you. Well, do let me elaborate, because, dear friends o’ mine, we’ve, just, reached the juicy nectar at the core of this, here, paticular fruit.

Okay. So, I’ve known a, particular, gentleman, close to, 7 or 8 years, now. Correction. Just, because I consider him a friend does not make him, any less, of a client. But, you know how I feel about clients being my friends, so…

I think, I’ll call him Santa Claus, being that he cums adorned with a face full of snow white hair and an, oh, so, round belly. He might not be, all that, jolly, but… Hey. Even, St. Nick likes to get down, every, now and then.

Needless to say, his tastes have changed, greatly, over the years. He’s, always, been an, amazing, diner at my ‘ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET’. And, OFTEN, I might add.

When I first met him, he told me that, as a teenager, two lesbians taught him his, now, perfected, tongue tricks. A talent, so amazing, as to overcome his, complete, resemblence to the man I blame, to this very, day, for my Christmas in ’86, when I, hysterically, unwrapped the largest of computer boxes. Only, to find that it’s contents were, no more, than, that, of an, average, everyday, perfectly, ordinary, hairdryer. Thanks, again, Santa!

Truth is, I’ve, actually, heard similiar stories from, at least, half a dozen other gents, over the years. So, unless there was a gang of carpetmunchers spanning 3 or 4 decades that recruited “far too hot to be dikes” to prey in pairs on pupescent young men before their TIME… Where was I?

Oh, yes! There was, no doubt, that Sir Kringle possessed major skillz, and I’d, never, had any issues helping him to showcase that talent (by volunteering my snatch for his own amusement). Although, he, always, made sure to tend to MY NEEDS before his own. Personally, I think, he, truly, enjoyed that part best.

My way of returning the favor was a little more difficult. You see, Santa works hard all year long… I’m guessing. Far, far, too long to, ever, worry about trimming his nether region. He claims it’s because Misses Claus would, immediately, notice the diference, but, I have a strong feeling that she hasn’t traveled South in a very, very, long time.

Still. Santa DOES love his BJ’s. In fact, for years, it was his, only, requirement to get off. Oh… And, breakfast at my hairless snatch. Of course. (He, truly, loved that shit!)

Of course… Blowjobs are wonderful, and mine are, quite, assuredly, the very, best. But, over 7 or 8 years… Eh. I suggested upping the ante.

Cum on. After years of sexual exploration, it’s, almost, a given that you’ll, ANYONE, eventually, will delve into some unknown territory, and, should be expected. I’ve, never, thought bum exploration on men was a negative experience.

At least not for me. Hell. Y’all know my motto. “If it feels good, do it.”

So, we began with a lil prostate stimulation. (Hey. Don’t knock it till you try it.) Now, lickin his cute, lil bum was not something I, EVER, participated in, being that it, too, was covered in the longest and densest bush of solid, white fro I’ve, EVER, witnessed. But, just, playing with, in, and around his azz was never an issue.

For the very, first two or three years of our extra-curricular play, I was, quite, gentle with him. I would wet my finger, or fingers, and, just, encircle his anus, delicately. All the while, deliverin the dick lickin, I’m so, very, well known for.

And, for a long time, that was enough. But, like most things done habitualy, it became ordinary and mundane. Perhaps, even, a bit, for both of us.

Eventually, I began to introduce him to my pinkie and other digits. Slowly, progressing into small toys. I have a few that I’ve used, before, to reach my G spot, and they, seemed, quite, perfect for beginners, hell bent, on hind region exploration.

Anyway. He seemed to enjoy them. THOROUGHLY (I might add).

The one, good, thing about having a regular friend for so many years is that you can, truly, be yourself when they are around. Many times throughout our friendship, he’s called on me with very, lil notice, knowing I’d be, completely, honest about what I, already, had going on for that day.

Listen. Maybe it had, finally, begun to gnaw at me that, maybe, I WASN’T tryin, quite, hard enough to please the fellas who drove, so, far, to cum see me. I, certainly, did NOT intend on dressing UP in any way.

When I heard from my Santa Claus, this, one, particular, day, I was deep in concentration. Although, by that time, almost, finished, I’d spent the majority of the day, already, sculpting and polishing my, very, own acrylic nails. I must admit, they turned out pretty good.

Not, only, were they beautifully painted, now, they were, just, a bit, longer. Of course, not those stealthy, sharp, pointy things you, usually, see on the classier female escorts.

Nope. I settled for a much, more, sporty length. I found, very, quickly that any other size was, just, not conducive to house cleaning or dishwashing or typing. To keep from screamin everytime I jammed them on somethin, or other, I made, damn sure, they were a short, yet, classy, and respectable length.

By the time Santa reached my house, they were beautiful and sexy as hell. I showed them off to him, immediately, displaying them all splayed out in front of me at once, nestled against my chin in a thoughtful position, even, at my tits (because doesn’t everything look SO MUCH BETTER when in front of a pair of naked breasts?).

Immediately, he was going down on me, his tongue, quickly, melting away all nervous tension and stress with every flick of that lone, wet, appendage. Quite easily, he delivered to me the most delicious orgasms, causing my body to flail about and loud cries of pleasure to fill my entire home.

A few minutes later, I began to focus on showing him the most pleasure possible with my mouth and a toy of his own choosing. Mind you, it wouldn’t have been my particular, choice that day. Oh, we had used it before, but, it must be noted, that I was beginning to notice that the nails could be a big deterence in the fun.

Of course, he liked the little, purple, vibrating thang, and would have no other, this day. So, I began the intense licking and sucking that is my specialty, using the purple vibrator to stimulate him from within.

Santa has this trait that used to get me into the most embarrasing situations before I moved into my new home. You see, when he cums, Ole Saint Nick, always, screams my name as loud as possible.

The many years that I called a hotel my home, after he would visit me, I would, often, hear my neighbors calling out to me jovially just the same way, proving they were very aware that I’d been busy that morning. It was, only, slightly embarrassing (but, only, because I wasn’t fuckin any of those azzholes).

This time was no different. As he came, he let out the most vocal yell, my true name, screamed loud to the Gods, themselves. At that very same moment, his prostate bit down, hard, on the vibrator, then, quickly, snatched it from my glossy, tipped, fingers. I mean, completely, out of my hand, and pulled it further up inside until it was, totally, obscured from my site.

I just sat there astonished. Nothing like that has, ever, happened before. The toy I had, just, been using to stimulate his prostate had been ripped from my, very, fingers and taken up into his body beyond my site. I was, immediately, gripped by fear.

Of course, I attempted to retrieve it myself. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get to it without the possibility of skimming his sensitive and thin anal walls with my new, sporty length, nails. The actions, of which, I knew could hurt him greatly.

He was overcome by the intensity of his orgasm, but, eventually, noticed my face. I must have looked terrified and just overwhelmed.

He asked me to remove it, and I tried to explain. I couldn’t see it, so, I knew that it wasn’t a good idea for me to go plundering his asshole with my tipped fingernails.

He didn’t understand. I tried to explain, again. “I need YOU to get it out. I could scratch you very, easily, and it could get infected because of the area that is in.” You must be very careful, there, and I didn’t think it was a good idea. I needed him to retrieve it himself.

Listen. Maybe you’re freakin out right now. Know this. It was just beyond my fingertips. Merely, centimeters from my grasp.

It was locked in, so, tightly that I would have had to delve in, not knowing where I was, and, just, pull. I didn’t think it was safe for him, so, I asked him, again, “please, remove it yourself”.

Little did I know, he’d never, even, been in there. Period. That shocked me.

You mean, you allow others to navigate that region of your body, and you don’t, even, know what it looks like mapped out, yourself? Did he never feel the need to touch himself in that way?

The issue here was that it needed to cum out. He began hyperventilating and getting upset, so I joined him. Of course, we were on different wavelengths.

He was trippin, because he has, quite, a bit, of family and a very, important job, and could, only, envision an ER with everyone he knew finding out what had just happened between us.

I, however, was more concerned about his well-being. He was already a complete mess and, absolutely, unable to touch anywhere near his own azz. He wouldn’t, even, try to listen to any of my suggestions, at all.

My suggestion was to eat some of the leftover vanilla ice cream in my fridge and watch a little Law and Order. You see, things aren’t meant to go in your azz. They are meant to cum out. Therefore, relaxation, in my opinion, would do, just, the trick.

I melted down, hysterically, beggin him to return, as he walked away… Vibrating the entire way to his car. I’m sure, most, of you find that funny. It was, in no way, amusing to me, and, certainly, not to him.

About 20 minutes later, I raised my head from between my hands, where I, still, sat crying, to answer a phone call from him. He explained, he had been riding down the road to his home and passed a Whataburger. As he noticed the two for one special on their billboard, the lil, devilish, purple, monstrosity slipped out and into his underwear.

Of course, I was happy for him, but the damage was done. I felt guilty and ashamed. I looked at my hands and the beautifully, polished nails that made them so, much, more, feminine and dainty… And dangerous. I, immediately, took them off, never, intending to see them, again.

So, how do they do it?? I couldn’t. And, now, I know, for a fact, nails aren’t very, beneficial when it cums to playin. In fact, their an, absolute, nuisance.

All I’m saying is, if you like your butt played with, perhaps, ladies sportin these beautiful appendages should NOT be your first choice. And, my question is, how have you had those, particular, needs met by, such, women before??

Okay. Maybe, it’s just me. Clawing around inside of a man’s asshole is dangerous business for him. Truthfully, it’s dangerous for ANYONE!

The skin in your azzhole is thin and very tender and, extremely, susceptible to diseases of all types. If you have long nails, this is an area you should not traverse.

Hey. But, that’s just me. And, y’all know me. I don’t fake shit.

Word of advice… If you’re looking to fuck yourself, hookers with nails are the way to go. But, if you’re looking for something kinky, where the girl can, actually, participate…


Hunt for the Elusive Female Orgasm

I’ve, often, wondered if I, truly, qualify as a sex addict. The truth is, it really depends on where you look for the definition. It seems no one, quite, agrees on the precise parameters of that particular disease.

Of course, Wikipedia is always closest to my right hand, so, like many, many others, it’s always my first go-to when I’m in search of useless information. Most sources give a description, somewhere, along the lines of, an obsessive sexual disorder that grows steadily over any period of time where it is faithfully nurtured.

Although, each new definition I read differed from the ones before, they all contained main key points that I know all, too, well. Yes, friends. I, too, am infected with the deadly, fuck disease of sex addiction. I know. Right? Who could have ever guessed that??

Oh, but, hold up. I guess it’s, also, important to state that so are, most of, you. At least, by that extremely loose definition Wiki gave. Shit! So, would every other man on this planet!

Porn, masturbation, EVEN staring at the titties on the cheerleaders at your nephew’s Friday Night football game could be considered strong implications of you being a pervert by their methods of intuition. Thankfully, though, you’ll find you’re in good company. EVERYONE YOU KNOW IS, PROBABLY, ALREADY A MEMBER.

You see? Deep down, we’re all, really, just a bunch of fuckin perverts. Hey. Admitting that you have a problem is taking that very, first step to getting help. God knows, and few would disagree… I could, definitely, use some of THAT, every now and then. Some help!

Seriously, though. According to the online experts, engaging in ANY sexual activity that has, even, the POSSIBILITY of negative consequences is, truly, the surest sign of a full blown sex addiction. Oh, brother. There goes all of my favorite friends. Straight to rehab, junkies!

Oh, yeah. I can picture that. An inpatient rehab that only deals with sex addicts. Now, that would, definitely, be one, wild-azz place! Can you imagine??

Sure you can. You’ll be there. I’ll be there. Pretty much, just, about, everyone you’ve ever known would be laid out, up and down the linoleum hallways of that institution if that was, seriously, the only criteria required for admittance to such a distinguished, and well landscaped, group of quitters.

Oh, I’m not denying anything. I, most assuredly, spend far too much of my time engaging in a litany of sexual activities that are often obsessive and, no doubtedly, always lead to more and more of the same. So, perhaps I AM addicted to sex. Finally. Acceptance.

By far, stalking the local BP page is the most obsessive thing I can think of that I so, thoroughly, enjoy. I eyeball our local Pensacola listings, and others nearby, several times, just about, every, single day. Perhaps, not ALWAYS BP, itself, but, certainly, a site with the same exact information, plus some.

What?? Cum on. BP is a never-ending, human buffet spinning slowly, (almost rotisserie-style), and loaded wall-to-wall with local female flesh, pretty much, 24 hours a day. So, maybe not everyone strolls that meat market as frequently as I do, but… Don’t lie. I’m, pretty sure, I saw you pushing a cart there earlier this week.

Certainly, one of the main compulsions that incessantly work to drive me back to those photos and that site is the need to check for any new pictures from any of the girls that I’m already familiar with. Of course, I’ve met a few of them, but, I suppose, it must be the addiction. Once you’ve witnessed them baring their 2,000 parts daily to the entire community, you, just, kind of feel like you, really, know them.

Of course, it’s the fresh faces that bring us all back time and time again. Seeing a new girl causes a physical reaction that is a little hard to explain because it, usually, is accompanied by temporary, memory loss. Even, at times, a small amount of drool will form, right there. Along the crease made by your upper and lower lips. (Aha. Thought that I’d miss that. Did ya??)

Oh yes, there’s absolutely no doubt. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that anyone who found themselves drawn to that site in just the right amount of time to witness the unveiling of a new girls photos, absolutely, experiences a couple of those physical reactions I just named. Perhaps, even more. Yes. I, too, have been weak.

Can’t you feel it? Your heart begins to skip a little faster, pumping blood more swiftly to each extremity. Not, always, soon enough, evidenced by the slight perspiration forming in the basin made by the palms of your hands. It completely explains why your mouth is so damn dry, suddenly. Bet you feel the need to lick those parched lips, absent-mindedly. (LOL. This is so much fun.)

Regardless of how you may, actually, feel about what you’re viewing, your body is interested and on alert. That is never mistakable. Y’all know if that was Satan, we’d all be going to hell right now. But, it’s not. It’s, just, a silly,  sex addiction. So, perhaps if they were, truly, new and very hot… You would find yourself hiding behind your desk, imp+-atiently, waiting for that moment to pass. If you’re the men I know, all too well, you.

Jesus. Talk about the worst journey you’ve ever made. Can you, even, imagine what those 12 STEPS would look like? Ugh. I’m positive no such trip could ever be confused with a good time.

Okay. Is it, just, me, or does anyone else, sometimes, find themselves searching for imperfections? Do you look, and then, look even deeper on the hunt for flaws of any kind? I don’t mean, checking out how many idiots are standing in the mirror, in full view, snapping pics of these ladies.

I guess, what I’m trying to say is… Do you find yourselves in a never-ending search for women whose bodies are not,quite, perfect? Perhaps, a lil something extra around the hips. Even a lil bit o bed head or some poorly thought out, but, quite vivid, haircolor, on an, otherwise, practically, faultless, female specimen makes a girl seem so much more approachable to me.

Now, the women themselves?? How would I know? I don’t actually go out on dates with them. Y’all do. So, of course, in my world (the one I, just, created to help you understand), there is no, such, thing as perfection. Flaws are so, commonplace, they are hardly given a second thought. A happy, healthy female filled with genuine sexual enthusiasm glows with beauty as brightly within as without.

I guess there could be a lot of reasons that I do that. Personally, I think it’s me making a split decision that, just, the slightest of imperfections seem to lend credence to any girls claim of providing legitimate services, and give me hope that she’s genuine and, actually, WANTS to have a good time. She easily fits the GFE stereotype. Yes. Much more personable with, just, a few flaws, in my opinion.

It is, likely, that every, single, person, reading right now, has already surmised that THIS method is, probably, the worst, possible, way of discerning real escorts from scams. Logically, I realize that.

However, my brain has not always served the needs of my vagina very well. Nope. I have learned to allow my body to think for itself, and that, definitely, includes going with my gut. (It, certainly, has proven to know far, far more than I, ever, could.)

Now, is that just my own insecurities talking? Am I unfair by not giving more credit towards personality and sincerity to make up for their “12 on a Scale of 10” physique? I realize how much time, effort, and pain (from incisions to “Insanity”, must be sacrificed for such a thing, and I have mad respect.

The fact that I could have a hard time relating to someone so IDEAL of form, may be the issue. I get uncomfortable. Tongue twisted. Don’t know what to say. 

Whatever! Everyone knows COMMUNICATING with others IS NOT my problem. Shutting up, oftentimes, is! Talking to people, has, just, never been an issue for me. Fat, skinny, tall, short, yellow or brown. Whether they look like me or look, absolutely, nothing like me, at all. Bet you didn’t know that about me.

I like people. Correction. I like, most, people. I, certainly, like talking to people. In fact, it is, likely, the source for the majority of knowledge I, now, store in this sexy noodle of mine. Most, likely, derived from a conversation with someone rather than from some shit I learned in school 20 years ago.

Arrrrgggghhh. Okay. Maybe, more, like, twenty-some-odd years ago. Damn, I’m gettin old.

Senility aside, I’ve learned so much in the last few years, just, from communicating with people I meet. My thirst for that knowledge, certainly, make this career more appealing to me. And, far, more enjoyable than orgasms could ever do alone. (What? I’m still a fuckin chick. Lol.).

Recently, I was caught, completely, off-guard, by an attack on those orgasms, I love so much. Mind you, my attackers, neither of them, have, ever contributed to any of them. In fact, I’ve never met either fella, at all. So, that’s, highly, improbable. Not impossible. But, DEFINITELY, improbable.

I, firmly, believe that it was boredom that sent them to persecute my cute, lil, butt-sex meme. The truth is… It was fucking hilarious. But, while I was still laughing my azz off, here cums negative shit. Whoopty-doo. Like that’s a new thing for me.

Don’t worry. I’ve had enough shit thrown at me before to know when to duck. Okay. That day, I forgot to duck. Like I said, completely, off-guard.

Can you believe that he had the nerve to say that the female orgasm was created by the fem Nazis in the sixties?? The fucking nerve. Right? Well, you know me…

I gave him one hell of a big Lol, and extended my regrets upon learning of his, obviously, absent, first-hand knowledge of a REAL female orgasm. Help. I should have, just, stayed in bed.

I was no match for anyone that, particular, day. First and foremost, I think I was ridiculously butt-hurt over them not even snickering at my damn, joke. Y’all, it was fucking hilarious. I swear it!

But, maybe, I questioned myself a bit. Ever since I’ve been able to experience orgasms, OF ANY KIND, women have shied away from joining me in a conversation about such.

The truth is, throughout my entire life, I can, only, recall a handful of women I’ve ever been able to speak freely, OR EASILY, with about orgasms in general, and 0% of them were workin escorts. Certainly, not without it, swiftly, leading into the, most, uncomfortable shift in topics.

I’m, also, pretty sure, I’ve never met any woman who claims to orgasm as much as I do. Oh, but, then… There was Susan. She gave no warning. Not before we jumped, naked, under her sheets, together. Certainly, at no time during our short tryst.

Honestly, she didn’t have to. Less than 30 minutes between her legs, and I was forced to retreat out of that room, my fingers, severely, pruned. My ears, I can, almost, swear, temporarily, deaf. And, my face, wet… With far too many shades of Sue. Now, THAT WOMAN could orgasm.

Not only am I feeling all the physical sensations produced by orgasming, quite frequently, but my body excretes real cum, friends. Imagine that?? It’s, well, something, maybe, more reminiscent of a common water sprinkler. ONLY, much, more obscene. It is, definitely, NOT everyone’s cup of tea.

In fact, initially, I found myself quite humiliated by encounters that would lead to this sexual phenomenon. That didn’t last very long. Fuck! I love cummin! Don’t you? Why wouldn’t anyone and everyone?? But, I’m the one with crazy ideas??

If you think it’s rare to hear a woman talk about orgasms, it’s even rarer to hear any woman discuss squirting. In fact, I can’t recall a woman, ever, admitting they share this abnormality with me. Except on film, of course. Nope, that info seems to always be gleaned from a man. They always seem so, much, more proud of the accomplishment. Although, it is, truly, not there’s. Can’t deny it does incite the, most, genuine of expression of joy from everyone involved, quite naturally.

As an escort on review sites, there’s not a whole lot of privacy. That squeaky, lil tidbit of mine was leaked, it seemed, almost, from the onset. How could I hide it? If a man is willing to share his time cummin by allowing me to cum, as well… Party on. Right? No one has EVER complained. (Although, not watching the clock, for me, is, merely, my largest expression of appreciation. Thought y’all had figured that one out, for sure.)

I won’t lie, though. He brought up something I’ve wondered myself, at times. Hey. I’m still a woman. I’m capable of faking it, just, as well as any other. I’ve just been blessed enough to never need to.

So I went on a search. It wasn’t very in-depth, that’s for sure. I traveled as far as Google and YouTube would take me. I looked into the infamous, mythological, showstopper, itself… The elusive, female orgasm.

Guess what? I’m not so, fuckin, special. Actually, quite a few women out there can orgasm as much AND as frequently as I can. It’s, really, not, all that, uncommon. I guess fake orgasms are just easier… (For who??)

They’re definitely not as much fun! Well, in my personal opinion. I mean, you do you, and, if you don’t want to do to you… Don’t do you. It’s, likely, that’s why others don’t want to do you, either. Now, if you want a REAL experience you can, actually, FEEL…

I am, actually, a very empathetic person. I, honestly, believe it is why I am so good at being an escort. Probably has, quite, a bit, to do with my obsession with documentaries, also. Oh, for me, they go hand in hand.

Documentaries are true accounts that, quite, often, pull at one’s heartstrings. Because they are the real-life experiences of those on this planet, not so, dissimilar from myself, I can tap into their, most, sensitive emotions I’ve witnessed, easily. By hearing their stories, I can, just about, feel their joy and their pain and their fear, almost, as if it is my own or someone’s I am, fairly, close to. I believe that I am, probably, far, more addicted to that sensation, that tsunami of feeling, than I’ve ever, truly, been to sex, itself.

My, never tiring, need to hunt for those docs, just, powerful enough to stir me, inside and out, simply affirms my belief that empathy is actually my true hidden addiction. That, same, sensitivity, that keen sentiment, winds, all, within each and every date I choose to meet. Undoubtedly, touching someone intimately with an unseen, empathetic hand is the most sensual thing I’ve, ever, experienced to date. Turns me, the fuck, on.

Look. I’m not trying to convince you. If you prefer it another way… Please. Orgasms for everyone.

But if you allow pride to cum between you and a power, so great, it can cause a mob of angry women to burst forth into jubilant song… Ahem.

Boy. That’s some powerful shit.

Dear Mason the Dixon

Your comment shocks me. It shocks me that you think that an act so intimate as sex should cum with NO feelings, whatsoever.

Everyone I fuck is given the opportunity of becoming my friend. Indeed, anyone I meet is, also. I have many different types of friends. Some closer than others.

I feel very sorry for you and the life that you now lead. A life that does not include the love and respect of others… FRIENDS.

You think that because I’m a whore I don’t deserve friendship. That is outrageous to me. But it says so much about YOU.

Almost two weeks, after my surgery, I had quite a scare. It would have been my fourth kidney failure. I went immediately to the emergency room in Alabama to the hospital that performed my surgeries two years ago.

To my friends, Mason the Dixon, YOU ARE NOT INCLUDED, I have some good news. For the past two years I have been sweating the determination I was given December 2015.

At that time, I was given the diagnosis of Erdheim Chester Disease. Look it up. It scared the fuck out of me.

I’ve been concerned about my kidney function ever since. At the time that I left the hospital it was 13% function in one kidney and 83% in the other. In essence, my kidneys aren’t doing so fucking good.

The emergency room visit answered so many questions for me. They immediately rushed me back and checked my kidneys.

Greatest news ever, they aren’t that much worse than when I left the hospital, two years ago. In essence, I ain’t dying yet! And the likelihood that the prognosis given to me of two to three years, then death, most likely, was wrong.

Of course, I’ve changed my habits quite a bit, also. I’m proud to say that, I believe, I have improved my health by a great deal with nutritious eatin, lots of sleep, and exercise. In fact, I’m living better, now, than I ever have, in my life, at any other age.

Unfortunately, they did tell me that I’m missing a disc between the L2 and L3 vertebrae in my back. That means that the majority of the pain that I thought was radiating from my kidneys was actually my disc obliterating itself to pieces.

And I have gallstones. But who gives a fuck about that right now.?? I’M GOING TO LIVE! I’m going to live to see my babies have babies! Mason the Dumbass, you can’t take this joy away from me.



suck meter
After just having surgery, the lack of support has been amazing to me. Thanks, friends. I have received your hint and have, finally, turned my phone off. Guess I’ll get back to you when my services are available.

BTW: Thanks again…friends.

Sweet, Sweet, Sugar DATY

Well, well, well. Hello, there, and a happy, belated Halloween to all of you. Hope your treats were sweet and your tricks… Oh, so, sticky.

What an evening! What a day! It’s, absolutely, the only holiday I know of, when anyone and everyone has the ability and opportunity to do all sorts of CRAZY, AZZ SHIT, have a shitload of fun, all the while, free from guilt, judgement or shame. HALLOWEEN ROCKS, PEEPS!!

We can role-play any person we’ve ever known of, past or present, real or imagined. All, without, even, a single person finding it necessary to question the motives behind our final dress decision.

We could walk into a party sportin, just, a long, black, tail and these skinny, little whiskers drawn with a black Sharpie, thrice, along each cheek (meow), and, absolutely, NOTHING, FUCKIN, ELSE, and, still, be in the running for sexiest costume, rather than the sluttiest.

I almost forgot! You can frighten the shit out of WHOEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT on Halloween! Anybody at all! Just for fun! A chuckle to be shared amongst you and your buddies repeatedly throughout the years. Recited time and time, again, at parties, weddings, and reunions to lots of uproarious fun.

No doubt, on any OTHER day of the year, I’m sure such a thing could, still, be able to illicit a few half-hearted snickers, here and there. You know, just a few non-holiday laughes, that are, all too quickly, forgotten once the laughter has died down.

Shit! Just imagine that face. The distinct features, spontaneously, becoming panicked, and, suddenly, contorting in fear. Hold up. Now, draw a little face paint on him. Maybe, picture him wearing a cap or cape of monstrous size.

See him, now? Yup. Goofy lookin, huh? Lol. Only on Halloween, my dear friends. Only on THAT ONE SPECIAL DAY could such a similiar situation produce such an extremely different response.

Only All Hallow’s Eve, this fella you had, only moments before, made the “butt” of your spooky inspired joke, would, probably, just fall right in along with the rest of you lil scoundrels, laughing, far louder and much, more, hysterically. Even, just a bit, too insanely at such a ridiculous prank. Yea. That kinda shit is definitely a guy thang, for sure.

Then, finally… FINALLY! After dressin, walkin, and beggin, close to an hour and a half, it all, finally, culminates in… Well, just, the most euphoric high. I’m talkin, the most epic proportions of energy and enthusiasm, delivered to me, directly, by the tiniest of hands.

Oh, cum on! I’m talkin bout candy! OF COURSE, I’m talkin bout candy. Bout that sugar! I’m talkin bout sucrose, dextrose, and high-fructose corn syrup… Molded expertly into some of the strangest shapes and sizes imaginable, and ranging in a multitude of colors. It’s like a beacon to children of all ages. Even, mine. Damnit. Even, me.

This Halloween I planned on doing a little visiting. After walking with my daughter, her five siblings, and my bestie (her other mother) for, somewhere around an hour and a half in my lowest of heels and my “Little Red Riding Hoe” costume (minus the hoe)… Shit! I was beat!

Suddenly, there cums a great stampede through the screen door. Lil feet are hastening, skipping, suddenly, flat-out, RACING hurriedly in my direction. Each small person, absolutely, intent on being the very, first to offer me a grab inside their own goodie bag!

Then, gleaming back at the runners up with the most intense pride, as I shower down my lovin and huggin, and squeezing all over them, for all to witness. Shit. It’s what I love most about Halloween!

Those youngins love me. They do! Halloween, or any other holiday. In the past decade, they were the only reason I still celebrated the working holiday at all.

Damnit. Okay, truth is, by the time the day rolls around for festive, dress-up, fun, each and every one of them (including the wee, wittle, one year old) are all, quite, aware that X-mas is, just, around the corner and sneaking up pretty, fuckin fast.

Of course, Eh. I suppose that could be, in some part, due to my, repetitively, reminding them of that, ever, thinning gap in holidays, just, yet to cum. You damn right! I do this EVERY SINGLE TIME I visit. I told ya. HALLOWEEN KICKS AZZ! It is the beginning of my Christmas fun, if you can believe it. Lol.

What? Y’all don’t do that? Shit! Then y’all are missin one, of, only, two days out of each year, where children (any children) most, closely resemble… The sweetest, most thoughtful, most beautifully behaved lil angels, ever to walk this Earth.

I tell ya! Try it sometime. Talk about sugary sweet! Ooh-ee! That is, until the unfortunate time arrives, once again, for me to return to my own home. (God only knows, how them lil hoodlums act after I’ve left! Lol. I can only imagine. Argh!)

I guess, the short of it is, I’m talkin bout ALL THINGS SWEET! Look, every now and then, even, I get a bit of a sweet tooth. Sure, it doesn’t, really, happen that often, and it, certainly, doesn’t ever last for very long.

Still, I try to keep some candy corn, jolly ranchers, sometimes, even, a few dum-dums hidden somewhere nearby, always, around my home. You know. JUST IN CASE. Okay. Perhaps, that’s not, quite, 100% truthful.

The truth is, sometimes, I find myself hunting all over, finding nothing. Suddenly, I’ve located a single, most likely, stale, breath mint, loose, at the bottom of my purse. With a quick flip, my hand becomes a unweilding claw, scraping steadily within, then, miraculously, pulling the unwrapped candy piece, from the deepest regions inside.

Oh, cum on, people! IT WAS A LUDENS, for God’s sake! Look, Ludens Throat Lozenges are so, fuckin amazin that they remain preserved awaiting a single breath, hot and hard, and a simple swipe of my sleave… VOILA! Good as new! (Dude, those things are CRAZY DELICIOUS! Wish someone gave THEM out at Halloween.)

Recently, I discovered a whole, new, way to cure my candy-coated craving WITHOUT acquiring, even, a single toothache or cavity! Talk about fantasy fulfillment! Talk about the sweetest ecstasy! OMG!

I’m talkin, far, far, too much like an elegant pastry, flush to the brim with fresh fruit and cream cheese, almond slivers, and drowned in hot, gooey, white chocolate. The first taste, leaves you, immediately and hopelessy addicited. Now, could a dessert such as this just be titled “sugar snack”. God, no! There’s just no comparison.

The dark, rich, full- flavored fella I am, now, referring to could, never, don such a simple tag. No way! This gentleman was quite the delicacy.

Actually, I can think of no better comparison than the thickest of thick, that dense, syruppy goodness of, only, the purest of honey! Oh, so, natural, so very needed, and, an ABSOLUTE NECESSITY in my life. AND, the life of my lil Greedy!

He wasted no time. I mean, it was only moments later. I had opened the door of my home, welcoming this handsome, new stranger inside with a hug, a kiss, and flirty little wink.

Suddenly, I find myself jerking spastically above him, my Greedy’s nether lips were kissed and licked and nibbled. Then, forced wide by his own full set of lips and the curiousity of his thick, wet tongue. Hey, he asked me to sit on his face.

Shit! I was so gone with passion at that very moment that I could have just made that all up. Maybe it was all my idea. I, seriously, have NO CLUE how I ended up there, but, I, certainly, didn’t object.

He placed me above his hungry mouth… So, I fed the fucker. In fact, there were two very distinct moments that I’ll never forget. In both instances, I came so hard that I, practically, forget where the hell I was. One look down, and reality hit me hard, bringing with it, a wee bit of guilt.

I had killed him! I mean, he HAD to be dead. My first orgasm hit super hard, causing both of my hands to flail out, instinctively, as I was thrown from my stride and forced forward, mid-“OOOOOO”, just barely catching myself on the cool glass of the mirror next to my bed.

As my awareness, slowly, returned, suddenly, I became concerned. Well, there I was (a petite lil thing, by no means)… Rockin and resting, then rockin, and resting, momentarily, again. My weight being distributed consistently all over his skull, as I grinded up and down the coarse hair and features of his face, furiously.

Shit! My concern for his welfare melted swiftly and easily enough away, the very moment I felt his long, hot, tongue, delve unabashadly and fearlessly into the depthes of my channel hidden behind my delicate pussy lips. My feverish flesh within erupted like a volcano, more aggressive and blind in it’s search for another deliciously, ecstatic moment of bliss.


If, ever, a contest were to be held in the competition of pussy lovin and lickin, Sir Sugar Daty would have every judge blushing and crying out in vain, just as I did several times on that, our first date. Believe me, this handsome gentleman, ABSOLUTELY, LOVES to eat pussy, and IT, CERTAINLY, SHOWS.

I am humbled, even now, just, remembering those stolen moments perched above his masculine features, only moments before falling, clumsily forward, and catching myself, once again, against the mirror on my wall.

The skill of his silky tongue, had taken me by great surprise. This knowledge hit me hard and quick, causing the, usually, passionate and assured movements of my body to spasm most uncontrollably, startlingly me shitless.

This man was much, more potent that any trick or treat I’d ever received. The simplest flick of his lips, his tongue, even, just, the crinkling up of his nose along the delicate flesh between my legs… Suddenly, I was thrust, headfirst, into a most full and orgasmic stutter, ending in long wailing cries and a few unconscious thrusting of weakening limbs.

I had just overdosed on the sticky, sweet, full-bodied orgasms that responded so willingly to all of his own freakish desires. If I’m to be completely honest, I’d have to say that it’s possible… Wait, actually, it’s probable…

FUCK! The truth is, in about an hour, I’d become helplessly ADDICTED to the thick, rich, goodness of Daty, the man.

That sticky and, oh, so sweet, full body, orgasmic stutter and jerk, produced so quickly and easily with each skilled flick of his slightly rough, curious, and roving tongue, only, reinforced the weakness of my will and proved, loud and clear, that I still have a very addictive personality. Just a taste of his delicous candy, and I was, downright, hooked.

FYI: Someone who carries a name with as much presumption as “Masterhead” or “Sugar Daty”… Well, let’s just say, you’d do much better to just believe it. It takes a whole lotta confidence to wear such a descriptive name. Without the anonimity afforded by a simple mask or, just a bit face paint allowed only that one special day every year, all in the hopes of acquiring the sweetest of treats from strangers.

Besides, you gotta be tough to carry those titles. Trust me. It’s like wearing a challenge every single day of your life. God! I do, so, love a challenge!

Sweet Treats for ALL My Friends! Love y’all! See ya next slut day!

Oh, and thank you, Sugar Daty. The memories of our tryst, certainly, helped to curb the sweet tooth that was plaguing me that day. Unfortunately, it’s kinda common knowledge that my memory isn’t always so good. Just saying. Better not stay away too long. I might forget how amazing that shit really was.

Naaaaahhhhhh!!!! Sit on ya, soon!



Masterhead69 aka Laney Lixx just discovered the greatest beauty trick of the 21st century!!

Better than toothpaste, even.

Remove hair dye with




Followed by…

Lots of soap!

Tell em, I told ya!!

Damn it! Did I just pee on my dog, again??

I know. You’re thinkin, where else could this possibly go? What is this crazy, fuckin, bitch going on about this time? What the fuck did she just say??

Hold on. Lemme, just, stop laughing, first. Unfortunately, it’s, still, all, too true.

As everyone from my little corner of the world knows firsthand, we experienced a hurricane a few nights ago. It was only supposed to be a category 1, but, still, it managed to split one of the trees in my front yard forcefully, and took out a light pole on the opposite side of my fence at about 9:30p.m. that evening.

I recall wakin up, so, fuckin, hot. I have most of the windows in my house nailed shut, so, there was no chance of much of a breeze through my home without the help of the air conditioning. I slumbered onto the porch and out into the road with my small Chihuahua to check out the damage. Just as any good Floridian knows how to do.

The tattered limb lay, just above, the lip of the fence, instead, landing squarely in the center of my street. But, thankfully, just passed my home. Everyone else, however, were almost, completely, blocked off from theirs. Eek!

I called my daughter’s mother, my bestest of girlfriends. Within the hour, she arrived at my house with two of her sons in tow to help me clear out my fridge of all it’s cold inhabitants. We rushed back to their house, so, that she could head out to work.

About a week ago, my ex had a motorcycle accident and injured something in his shoulder, pretty, good. So, he’s been at home all week. I’d have to say, he, probably, wasn’t, completely, awake when I first got there. But, he sure got to movin, pretty, quickly once he realized that I had arrived.

He shuffled kids off to the left and off to the right, trying to get everything just to his satisfaction. Impossible. Within the very, first, ten minutes, my daughter had resigned herself to her room. He had, already, by that time, insulted her, quite, graciously and unfairly several times. After everything settled down, again, he called her back to us. We ended up spending the rest of the day sitting in front of the TV, watching Netflix, and last season’s, American Horror Story, with a few of the kids.

Hey! Don’t judge me! Just kidding! It was my daughter’s idea. She’s so much like her mother.

All in all, it ended up being a, pretty, fabulous day. I enjoyed everyone’s company, as always, and was filled with only love and enthusiasm when I, finally, left their home that evening.

However, upon arriving at my own, I realized my small pet had some new, very, large, black, friends hijacking on his back from my daughter’s, very large, dog, Buddy. Now, he needed to be thoroughly scrubbed clean. And, being that I, also, needed to wash up, we both hit the tub.

Ooh! No. No. No. I sat on the SIDE OF THE TUB, people! Jeesh! You freaks are so NASTY!

I doused us both in warm water from the sprayer, then, began scrubbing away at him with some flea shampoo. He didn’t like this very much. In fact, he doesn’t like bathes, altogether. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. Those little black travelers had to go.

When he was rinsed and clean, and all bugs had cycled down the drain, it was my turn. Never once, did it occur to me that my dog, now, trembling and cold, would feel safest and warmest, just, under the shelter created by my legs, now, jutting out over the edge of the tub. Oh, come on! Should I have??

There I am, singin, loud as hell, to the music blaring from my speakers, warm water is flowing. I’m taking body wash onto a loofah and commenced to creating bubbles all over my prickly flesh. I shaved quickly, then finished up with the delightfully, citric-auromaed, pussy wash. The entire time, bubbles and suds, and, I suppose, dirt and grime, were, just, oozing down my baby’ back. Ooh.

You guessed it. It does get worse. I felt the need. So, then, I peed.

Oh, he must have been, oh,so, happy to feel that warm liquid, because he, suddenly, laid heavily into the back of my calf, jolting me to the realization of what had just occurred. I, ABSOLUTELY, COULD NOT STOP LAUGHING.

But, you wonder, I thought she said, “again”. Didn’t she say, she peed on her dog, AGAIN??

Aigh! You are right! And, I have an answer for you. I guess, I meant that figuratively. Truth is, it slipped out before I even realized I’d said it. So, it must have been meant to be. Or, perhaps…

A little foreshadowing of something to cum?? Doo doo doo doo. Doo doo doo doo. Poor Spaz.


A great, big, “hello”, to all of my friendly, fellow, fun-lovin, freaks. I do, so, love all of you, my comrads in kink. It’s a, truly, wonderful feeling to belong to such an amazingly, diverse group of individuals. You like me. You, really, like me. Despite, my many perversions…

Oh… Thank God, for that. Because… Well, I’ve, kinda, been a bad girl, recently. A bad girl.  A bad adult.  A bad mom… Just, plain, BAD! 

Okay. So, I suppose, it started, several days ago. One of the fellas on ECCIE posted a link in our SANDBOX to an amateur porn vid. And, not, just, ANY kinda porn, either. 

Nope. This one was starring… Dum, Dum, Dum, Dummmm… Vern Troyer. Oh, yes! Mini Me, himself!

Look. I’ve seen a lot of porn in my lifetime. I mean… A LOT of porn. I’ve, even, starred in a few (ahem) artistic pieces, myself, a time or two. But, this video was… Absolutely, mind-blowin, to say the least.

Hold on. I know what y’all must be thinking. In, NO WAY, was I, even, remotely, turned on by that teeny, tiny, little fellow. 

Intrigued?? Perhaps. Unable to turn away?? Indeed. Intensely fascinated in some obscene, slightly, grotesque way?? Yup. Yup. Yup. You know me, too well, my friends. 

But, turn me on?? Eek. Nah. That, it didn’t do. Well, not THAT video, in particular. NOT the wee, little man in that dark and grainy, homemade film.

Certainly, NOT the lil guy from the link posted, that had barely been recognizable, as he perched between the spread legs of an, absolutely, average-sized, lady. He used this, most intimate, of positions to pound away feverishly, at her sweetest of spots, laying, splayed, before him.

Man, he was just going at it with everything that he had, resembling, disturbingly enough, an infant throwing a very dedicated tantrum. Hilariously, enough, he, just, pumped and pumped away, furiously for moments on end. 

Then, suddenly, he would collapse into this small heap of naked flesh, right down, on the center of her flat stomach. Thoroughly, exhausted. 

You see, that’s, about, as far as his little arms COULD, even, reach in that position. He was standing (probably, on his little tiptoes), and perched at the, very, edge of her delicate, nether lips, poised to remain within her body. No matter what. 

From that vantage, his fingertips could, only, reach as far up her long, lean, female form, as his own body would allow. Then, no further. That spot was on her lower stomach. It was alarming to see him like that! What a sight! 

Surely, now, you can, clearly, see why I found it, so, difficult to turn away from the carnage of that video. When the screen, finally, did fall into darkness, there I sat. Stock still. Frozen in disbelief. I, just, couldn’t believe that I watched THE WHOLE FUCKIN THANG!

Oh, but, I, most definitely, did watch the whole dang thang. In fact, I, probably, would have watched it, at least, once or twice, more. If not, for the sheer abundance of EVERY, SINGLE PORN IMAGINABLE available, RIGHT NOW, and RIGHT HERE, on my, very, own phone. 

I do, so, love a short man. But, perhaps, a midget is, just, a little WAY, WAAAAYYYY, too small for me. Jesus, I would be far, too concerned for his safety to, ever, have a good time. True story. 

I didn’t spend, even, one more moment of my life thinking about that tiny movie star, again, without his clothes on. Although, admittedly, that image is, most likely, going to be burned into the back of my skull forever, more.

Surprisingly, as I turned away from the little man on screen, I noticed a bit of slickness had formed along the tender crease created by my closed thighs, hiding my swollen nether lips, and guarding the entrance to my body from prying eyes. Instantaneously, the faint buzz of a live, sexual, current began to creep, like static electricity, along my flesh. 

Now, how shocked are you to find out that I, immediately, felt the need to watch something as titillating, as it was disturbing?? Yup. Exactly as I thought. Y’all, truly, do know me, so, very, very, well. 

It was, only, after, about, three or four of these short, hardcore, porn videos that I realized, IT HAD BEGUN. My body was aflame with desire and need, and, just, the most intense craving to get off, began to overload my senses and begged for relief. I was desperate for that deeper satisfaction that has, always, accompanied my, truly, grandest of squirts.

There was only one problem. On THAT DAY, my son and his girlfriend were visiting. We had, already, enjoyed a good dinner, earlier, and, then, settled down onto my king size bed to watch a couple of new movies. Only, about halfway through the first one, I turned to find them snuggled down comfortably in my pillows and blankets and, were peacefully snoring, right away.

I left them behind me, and snuck out of the room, quietly, and retreated to my dining / office / laundry / family room to begin checking my messages and cruising the usual websites. 

ECCIE’s Panhandle Forum was, unusually, quiet as shit that day. Sundays, can, sometimes, be like that. But, there, in bold print, was a thread I’d been ignoring for the past several days. 

It was a link to an amateur porn tape of a, rather, famous, fella. I, really, wasn’t sure I wanted to watch it at all, considering…  Well, I was, almost, 100% positive that I WOULD NOT enjoy it.

Cum on. Y’all know me. It was a porno! Of course, I’ve GOTTA watch it! I mean, eventually. So, that’s exactly what I did. I watched THE ENTIRE FUCKIN VIDEO! 

Are you beginning to understand, yet, the depths of my perversion, my dear friends?? There I was, attempting to perform the duties of a kind, patient, understanding, loving, mother, all, in one moment. Watching midget porn, the next moment. Before I know it, I’ve become, completely, immersed in the, ever-rising, fever that I’ve cum to recognize as a side effect of my MANY, wild, porn marathons. 

This, my entire descent into the dirty and obscene world that is banned porn, all, took place while those two love birds, simply, slept the afternoon away in my bed, just, in the room, next door. I knew I shouldn’t, but, I, simply, couldn’t help myself. 

Okay. Perhaps you’ve picked up on the fact that I’m, really, not used to having friends sleepover. Or children. Or animals.  Or… You get it. 

So, you can imagine, I had, absolutely, NO basis for comparison in this type of situation. How long DO teenagers sleep for, during naps?? Argh. Naps! Must be nice! 

Under the, usual, circumstances, I, really, could have cared less. But, just… NOT THAT DAY. On THAT DAY, I found myself struggling against the magnetic force of my, very, own, unbridled lust. Suddenly, the answer became, so, very, very, clear. I was, desperately, in need of a good vibrator.

Unfortunately, every, last, one of my toys were tucked safely and discretely away… IN MY BEDROOM! Through the slight of the crack in the door, I could observe them, still, stretched, haphazardly, across the expanse of my large bed. 

I snuck, quietly, past them, again, and made my way into the bathroom, fully expecting to find my favorite toy, right, on the other side of the door. It would be plugged in, fully charged, and ready to go. Like, always.

Only, it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. As a matter of fact, not only was my massager missing, I didn’t, even, see the charger for it that had always hung, right there, next to the bathroom door. It was the, only, thing in my house capable of charging my beautiful, buzzing, buddy, so, I, never, ever, moved it anywhere else. 

It, just, wasn’t there. Not on the counter. Not on the floor. Not anywhere, that I saw, nearby.

I’m sure, I, probably, could have put forth, a bit, more effort in the search for my beloved friend, but, the truth was… Well, I was incapable of MUCH, by that time. 

I was aching to touch myself. Or, have something (OR SOMEONE ELSE), do that for me. Being, that, my toy bag lay, only, about three or four feet from my first born and his girlfriend’s entangled limbs, I was left with very few options.

NEVER, in my life, have I eyeballed appliances, OF ANY KIND, in, quite, the same, disturbingly, filthy way, that I did, on THAT DAY. Like, I was doing…  At that, very, moment. 

Sure. I have a big, ole, washing machine that vibrates and gyrates, and shudders, rhythmically, with each and every load interjected into it’s boring life. Oh, yeah. But, it is out on my back porch and shared by myself AND two of my neighbors. 

I could, just, picture myself sitting high, atop that jostling, beastly, machine. I’m interrupted, unexpectedly, by someone. Could be ANYONE. This person would, undoubtedly, never, fully, comprehend my true intentions, and, possibly, even, think me, some kinda, pervert. 

But, most likely, they would run from me. Run, just, far enough, away. They would share this, newfound, info with, just, about, anyone. Most likely, someone, like, my landlord. Just, for a good reason to chuckle, a bit. Great. 

It’s fucked up, really. I guess. But, I, just, needed something. Urgently! I, suddenly, caught sight of an old friend. 

There, on the bathroom counter, sat a boiling pin shaped, bottle of bath wash, that, somehow, I’ve managed to keep wth me for over 3 years, now. It was completely full, still. It’s contents, ALL, very much, intact. It swiftly disappeared inside my vagina, without any effort, at all. Sweet. 

Within, just, a few moments (And, I AM talking moments, NOT minutes), I heard the creaking of the door to my bedroom as it was pushed wide, slowly. Out, stumbles my son and his new girlfriend. One, right after, the other. 

Groggy, and with eyelids, half-shut, against the reality of the afternoon sun, now, beaming through my living room windows, they entered the room, slowly. Very, very slowly. 

Shuffling along, together, both, seemed, deeply enmeshed within a trance-like state, as they glided across my carpet. Their gait, very similar to that of the zombies, we’ve all become so accustomed to seeing on tv and in, so, many, movies, these days. 

No worries. Even the living dead, walkin, couldn’t frighten me away from the current mission, I found myself on. I had to soothe that beast of desire, right now. 

You know what I’m saying. That monster… The one, snarling and pacing, so deep, within me.  It HAD to be tamed! 

The young couple, just, seemed to appear in my living room, together. Dazed by slumber and semi-consciousness, they had left my bedroom standing vacant. I would bet, they weren’t, even, aware of my swift departure into it’s darkness, timed simultaneously, with their arrival. 

Indeed. They WERE, already, here! I, just, stood, motionless, as they excited my room. Then, I made a direct bee-line for that room. Now, the hunt, truly, was on.  The search for my, MOST FAVORITE, of ALL, my toys… 

I scanned the space, swiftly, from one side to the other. Then, back, again. And, then, once more. Nothing. Nothing, nowhere. Nada. No how. 

A few months ago, I, impulsively, purchased a vibrator from Walmart. AHA! Didn’t know they, even, sold them! Did you?? Me, either! 

It was the simplest of wands, only offered in the color, purple, and made by the Trojan brand. Even it’s $35 price tag, did nothing to persuade me that Mr. Sam Walton, or, ANY, other, Walmart employee, gave, even, two craps about me experiencing orgasms in this lifetime. But, I refused to be daunted. 

The bag, where I store my, most, personal of toys, leaned, heavily, against one of the legs at the foot of my bed. It’s sides bulged, greatly, beneath the sheer magnitude and weight of my, many, different, fake cocks, cock rings, and, countless, containers of lubricant.

I shifted several of the dildos and bottles of lube to one side of my naughty, toy bag, steadily searching for my, all-time, favorite, orgasm creator. You, simply, would not believe how distracting it can be to find a phallus when wading through a sea of phallic objects. Whew! Talk about WORK! What a mess! 

Suddenly, one of these objects began rattling from beneath the heap. I jumped, then, furiously, began taking down the pile, one rubber penis, at a time. Until, the bag was, practically, empty. As the culprit, finally, came into view, my Spidey senses began to tingle, alarmingly. 

Who shops for dildos at the 24 hour, corner store?? Of course, that was NEVER my intention. Well, not originally. 

I was, actually, in that aisle to purchase a new batch of condoms for my “JOB”. Seated, directly, beside the vast “Safe Sex” department in my local Wally World, there was an entire row of empty slots. Together, they formed a large, naked hole, at the center of the entire display. 

This wide, open, space was void of any stickers, tags, or merchandise. There were channels built into the shelf, capable of holding many, different, retail items. 

Only, it seems, someone must have forgotten to stock this area, because, absolutely, NOTHING was placed, there. NOTHING, except one, single box that stood, all alone, at the furthest edge of it all. 

You see, I had, previously, ordered the cutest, little, pink vibrator, about a week earlier. I’d been waiting, impatiently, ever since. Yeah. Well, I, definitely, do not, even, cum close to excelling in the patience department. NOT EVEN CLOSE.

So, on my trip to Walmart that week, I cruised the condoms aisle. Just, like, I always do. My anticipation for the brand new, pink stimulator, due to arrive in my mailbox, just, any day, had steadily grown into, the most, unavoidably, high fever pitch that, I feared, everyone else would, eventually, also, be able to hear it. 

It’s vibrating pulse mimicked a heartbeat, (the truest sign of life for a living being) by pumping away, increasingly, in response to the intensity of sexual frustration, actively, being emitted through the pores in my skin.

Like a beacon of hope bursting forth, amidst a sky of dark and angry storm clouds. Suddenly, the bright, purple base of a cylindrical object, violently, jerked it’s length across the open palm of my left hand. 

In fact, it shook, SO, FORCEFULLY in this small space, that EVERYTHING, laying ANYWHERE, nearby it, was, also, forced to move and jerk, ever, rearranging the terrain made up of sexy stimuli on the floor of my toy bag. 

Truthfully, I’m surprised I hadn’t used it more than I have. I mean, it’s small stature was the primary reason it had, recently, become my favorite when enjoying an afternoon snack of mutual masturbation with any of my friends. 

But, overall, it’s existence has been, quite easily, forgotten by me, as it sat quietly at the, very, bottom of my toys. It’s life’s purpose, totally empty and unfulfilled. 

I know. It sounds, as if, maybe, it, really, wasn’t much different from, most, of my other, adult, play-things. Lemme, just, assure you, though. That didn’t have ANYTHING to do with it’s ability to bring me pleasure OR give me satisfaction. 

Actually, it was, kinda, excellent at both. Rest assured, Trojan made this fella, one, powerful, little, mother fucker. Each of its five speeds were intense as fuck, and all were proficient at creating multiple orgasms for me, at any given time. This very, small machine was totally capable of thrusting me directly into the path of some of the, most, extremely explosive and, downright, delicious climaxes I’ve, ever, had the privilege of experiencing, firsthand.

Then, just, two days after it’s purchase, my pulsating, pink, princess vibrator arrived in the mail. Immediately, my tiny, Trojan friend, just, seemed to blend into the scenery of my life, and drop, steadily, closer and closer to the very bottom of my bag of tricks. 

I snatched up the purple wand, the word, “Trojan”, clearly engraved into the hard plastic of its handle. I didn’t, even think. I, simply, rushed for the bathroom door, and slung it shut behind me. 

After two more trips into the dining room, the living room, and the bedroom (AGAIN!), to check for batteries, it was, finally, up and running away. Or, rather… I had it Down and VIBRATING away… LIKE A DEMON. 

Now, picture this. There I am. My shorts have been yanked down, furiously, and, now, were, just, hanging there, just barely, around my ankles. My feet are perched, tenuously, on the edge of the tub, allowing my body to lean, even further, back against the seat and bathroom wall.  

Although, I was seated, the jerking motion of my new, purple friend, was swathing a path of pure pleasure across the entire landscape, now, exposed by my ditched clothing. And, I COULDN’T STOP.  I, simply, could NOT stop, and I, certainly, didn’t want to.

All of that day’s activities had, finally, culminated into this, one, act of self-love upon myself. My earlier, lofty expectations of being the best mother possible, were, also, ditched, at that, exact, same moment. 

You see, in that moment, there was nothing of concern to me. Only, one thing, truly, seemed to, matter. One thing. 

I WAS GONNA CUM. I was gonna cum. Not later, but, right, fuckin, NOW. I WAS GONNA CUM.

Despite my initial, natural, God-given, instinctive, reaction to turn on the tap, crumple up a paper wrapper, or cough, feverishly, I did nothing to disguise the buzzing echoing loudly along the tiny bathroom’s four walls. I didn’t, even, try to whisper the many pleas, now, spilling, unconsciously, and often, from my barely parted lips. 

And, when my climax had reached it’s highest apex, and, deliriously, I began to mutter the, single, word “no”, over and over, and over, again, repeatedly, with ever-increasing passion and, far more, volume… Well, I just went with it. I, finally, came. I came loud and proud. 

After reaching my second orgasmic, plateau, I didn’t, even, attempt to try to stop the operatic expletives, brought on by that blissful emotion. They, just, came, pouring freely, from my lips, ever louder, each and every time a wave of pleasure crashed along my throbbing and sensitive, exposed flesh. 

As I cleaned up, reality, finally, seeped back in. Oh, no. What had I done? I had to regain my composure. Quickly. I needed to exit that small, humid, space and face the confusion, I’d, most undoubtedly, left in my wake. 

My attempts to keep the kids from discovering my, purely, greedy and, completely, selfish intentions throughout, most, of that day had, just, been laid bare to everyone within earshot. I know. I, really, should have been embarrassed.

But, NOT THAT DAY. Certainly, NOT at that moment. It wasn’t, even, possible. Because… Well, there was, already, another one on it’s way. FUCK! 

“No.  No.  NO.  NO, NO…” 

“Oh, God! YES!!”

Fuckin Fantasies

Hello, everyone! Holy shit! Can you believe it? Well, here I am. Again. I can’t believe this is actually the third post I’ve made in the past seven days. I’ve set a few small goals, and it looks like I’m beginning to, actually, reach them. Yay for me.

I can honestly say that, hands-down, the best part about my job as an escort has to be the residual effect it has on my sex life. (What the hell is she jabbing about now??)

I’m a people person. Y’all know this. I love people. I love talking to people. I love picking the brains of, just about, everyone I meet. I use this information to help me to form better opinions about why people act like people when they’re around people. Just kidding. (I couldn’t resist.)

You would think that someone who enjoys meeting new people as much as I do would never get uncomfortable or nervous with a first date. Oh, how I wish that were true. Actually, usually, it is pretty true.

However, there are those times that it is apparent, almost immediately, that I have made some, kind of, a mistake, because the fella standing on the other side of my door and I are as mismatched as Hulk Hogan and Honey Boo Boo.

My whole 2017 “going with my gut” ideology has worked out pretty fuckin well, so far, but nothing is foolproof. Every now and then, I get a straggler of a date. Someone who is as different from me as one could get.

There’s no chemistry. There’s no attraction. And at this point, there’s not likely to be very good communication. Overall, there’s just nothing there.

If you think that I’m fixing to tell this fella that he has to go home, you’ve lost your damn mind. I didn’t get all gussied up for nothing. I’m here to hit on this man. Of course, at this point, I’m, probably, not holding out the highest of hopes when it cums to securing a second date, either.

How about if you look at it this way?? When you find that your enthusiasm has waned and your interest has turned, wouldn’t it be nice to have a little pick-me-up? Trust me, it is. Want to know how I change the mood from “wah,  wah” to “woo, hoo” ??

I dig down deep… Deep, deep down… Way down… Oh, so deep.

There’s a Cavern locked up so deep within my subconscious,  and it’s full, wall to wall, just, stuffed to overflowing with delicious honey flavored memories of previously experienced ecstasy. Here, I have stored orgasm upon orgasm, and they’re all splattered with a free-for-all worth of squirt. (Lol. I told you, I truly can’t help myself.)

It only takes one juicy little memory of pleasure fulfilled… Perhaps, a vision of a frightened little newbie after I’ve tied him to my bed… Or, just a simple flashback of several hours on end with my pink fleshy, pulsating wand, placed right between my clit and G-spot.

It doesn’t matter which memory I choose. These are all capable of serving the same purpose. By replaying the events of a better date, I begin to relive the excitement, as well. My body tunes in to the previously recorded frequency and feeds from this main line of sensation until my present form has finally acclimated to the same excitement.

Yes. In simpler terms, I just fantasize. Hey. Don’t fault me for it. Sometimes I do it, quite simply, because it, actually, works.

Here’s the interesting part. It doesn’t matter how I get my engine revved up, crossing ANY finish line still feels fuckin excellent. Never, once, have I questioned how the fuck I got there.

You can’t fake attraction. You, certainly, can’t force it. But, you CAN give it a little kick start, every, once in awhile.

My friendly advice for today:

Never waste another minute of your life worrying about what others think of you. If they wanted you to know, they’d tell you.

(True story!)