Way Too Much Tuesday

There hasn't been a meme or quiz or anything really that I've felt at all interested in taking for a long time, so I've been pretty filler-less for a while. But I was thinking about giving too much information recently, and I realized that, let's face it, most of the information I give out would be entirely too much information for most people. And yet it's a normal day on the blog for me.

So I thought instead I might talk about some elephants in the room. Things that don't get discussed, even on blogs about things that don't get discussed. We're not talking about delving deep into my psyche or anything either. We're talking about topics that might be too much, even for me. You've been warned. I have no idea where this is going, and the train will doubtless jump the track and kill innocent bystanders

1) Once, with a guy I was crazy about but had never been with, things were moving satisfactorily toward the expected intercourse of two humans naked, and he was hard and I was wet and everything was just super terrific, and he got me on my hands and knees, his hand on the small of my back as he guided his cock into my pussy, and just as he slipped into me, like I was some kind of slide whistle, I let out this enormous, brain-crushing fart. If it had been a cartoon the timing couldn't have been more perfect (and for perfect, read horrible); had I not known better, I would have sworn that his penetration caused the fart. For a second nobody moved. I think he thought, for an instant, that it had been a monster queef or something. Then the smell. It was horrible, that smell. How cute little me could have produced such a terrifying smell is a mystery.

In that situation, what do you do? Had it been different circumstances, say with Mike or someone with whom I was comfortable, it might have been a moment of high comedy for both of us, leading to joking and then back to sex. As it was, he caught a whiff of the reek and it was like his cock had suddenly been popped. I've never had a cock go from rock-hard to flaccid so fast in my life, particularly not while still inside me (it was, on examination, a very interesting sensation, one which I wish I could replicate only in reverse). I had no idea what to do, which is why I sat there, naked, my ass in the air like I was hoping for an encore, while he pulled his clothes on as fast as he could and vacated my life forthwith. Just sat there, ass up. Couldn't do anything else.

Looking back on it now, it's funny as hell. I wish I had video. It was such a perfect storm of awful that there's really nothing to do but laugh at it. I wasn't gassy, so it wasn't like I should have been aware of the danger. I've rarely been so loud in my life. And it had never happened before and has never happened since. I've had some noises during an enthusiastic thrust, but nothing like that.

Too much?

2) Sheri and I went through a prank war in high school. It began, I believe, when I got fed up with something she was doing and threw my drink at her (not the glass; I just tossed the drink over her). It was supremely amusing to me; one minute she was doing whatever it was (I've honestly forgotten) and then the next she was standing there, dripping and glaring. Totally unexpected. I had no cause to do it either, but at least it wasn't premeditated.

She got me back by putting white pepper on one of my tampons. Kids, do not, I repeat, do not do that to anyone. It's evil. Pepper's active ingredient reacts unpleasantly with mucous membranes of any kind. Seriously, I am not recommending this as a prank tongue-in-cheek; it's probably dangerous and at the very least not nice at all. I'm not blaming Sheri or anything, but it was a stupid thing for her to do. Fortunately it became apparent that something was wrong before anything went too wrong, but I was sore for a while.

I retaliated by filling her shoes with mayonnaise. All of them. Not completely, but in the toes, where she wouldn't figure it out until she put them on. Which she did. And screamed. It was pretty funny, though perhaps not as funny as watching me running around the house naked with a tampon waving around in my hands, blood dripping down my leg because damn it I'd needed that tampon. I can look back on it now and laugh. At the time, mayonnaise in her shoes seemed light punishment.

Things went quiet for a while, and though I was a bit suspicious, Sheri seemed to have made peace. Then, the night before she knew I had a big date (I say this in hindsight; at the time it wasn't so obvious) she started getting amorous. We got to the point where I was bent over the bed with her running a dildo in and out of my pussy, when she started to do something with my ass too. It felt like she was squeezing some liquid into my ass, and when I turned around to see what was up, she grinned and said, "Don't stand up or you'll make a mess." When I asked her what the Hell she meant, she replied that she'd just filled my ass with green dye, and unless I wanted to ruin the floor and make things even worse, she'd advise me to keep tight.

Then she started teasing me again, until I was sure that dye was probably leaking all over me, then she ran off, giggling. And I was stuck. I eventually ascertained that I wasn't making a mess of the floor, so I crawled to the bathroom and managed to evacuate without too much difficulty. It was only when I examined myself that I realized the true fiendishness of the plan, because this was definitely permanent green dye, food-safe or not, and thus I looked like I'd just taken a cumshot from the Incredible Hulk. Try as a might, I couldn't get my genitals de-greened, so I had to go on a date with a guy I really wanted to let into my panties, but not let him into my panties because I was mortified he'd think I had some horrible disease. I couldn't even let him get me down to my panties because the green spot was too large to be concealed by even enormous granny panties. I came home, fuming, to find that Sheri had left a shamrock on my pillow. I suppose this part of the story would be more appropriate for St. Patrick's Day.

Let's see, what else?

3) I used creamy peanut butter as anal lube once. It wasn't all that satisfactory. But then it wasn't my ass. It was his. It worked, but I don't think it was terribly good lube because even creamy peanut butter has tiny chunks in it. Still, it got my fingers in. And he came buckets in my mouth, all of which tasted like peanut butter, not because of some miraculous transfer of taste by marinating his prostate or something, but because everything smelled like peanut butter.

The next day, I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, open face, and jacked him off onto it, then ate it. It wasn't that either of us were peanut butter fetishists; the lube idea had been because we had nothing else, and the sandwich was in reference to the lube and because I thought it would taste good. It did, actually. I keep meaning to try it again, except I don't usually waste semen on sandwiches.

4) I once walked in on a man having sex with a pork roast. Raw. He tried to explain; I told him that while I was an open-minded girl and didn't mind many things, if he was going to put his cock near raw meat, it wasn't going anywhere near me. The thing was, I didn't mean it judgmentally. I'm slightly, just slightly, bacteriophobic about raw meat. If there had been some way for him to guarantee that icky wasn't going to transfer from the raw meat to his meat, I would have been perfectly fine with it. I think he'd been expecting that I wouldn't mind; he didn't stop when I came in until I said something which indicated that I wasn't pleased. Really, it was more that a guy who'd do that probably would do other things I didn't want to get into. Also, why the hell was he having sex with a pork roast when he could have been having sex with me? It wasn't like I was playing hard to get at that point. Anyway, I guess my point is that I would be happy to let a guy with whom I was currently fucking have sex with an irradiated pork roast, since that wouldn't be a bacterial hazard.

Yeah. I hear bread dough and warmed-up watermelons are good too. Really, men need to get on the sex toy boat. I have a giant collection of various "marital aids" and that doesn't mean I'm a loser or can't get laid or prefer sex with a toy to sex with another person. So why is it that men can't keep sex toys too? Why do they have to go looking for strange simulacra when they could just buy a nice Fleshlight or something, just as a masturbatory aid. Masturbation is not only natural, it's fun, healthy, and keeps one occupied between bouts with a partner. Men need to stop having to fuck raw meat. Okay, no other man I know will admit to having fucked raw meat, but still, it's the principle of the thing. There, that's one elephant in the room down.

Anyway, the point of this story is that I was turned on by watching him. Even as I told him that I didn't approve, I got wet. I really wanted to watch him some more, watch him fill that pork loin with cum, then maybe bake it. I wouldn't have let him go near me, no matter how aroused I became, but I was aroused nonetheless by something I find, cerebrally, disgusting. Perhaps I have a culinary fetish after all, given the previous two stories.

5) I once became so desperate that I sought out a public restroom for the purposes of a little manual stimulation. Nothing odd about that (okay, not for me). But this restroom was filthy. It smelled awful, the floor was awash in dirty water, and the toilet seat was covered in things at which I didn't take too close a look because I didn't really want to know. There was no door on the stall. And yet I found two dry spots on the floor, closed my eyes to block out the sights, held my breath as much as possible to block out the smell, and reached my hand into my pants and got myself off despite the horrible surroundings. Seriously, I was just too desperate to do anything else. And there was nowhere else I could go. I felt like vomiting a little, but I got the job done and then beat it out of that bathroom like a bat out of Hell.

I'm sure that, given time, I could come up with further horror stories or tales of my own embarrassment. When one has experience, some of it is going to be bad. I felt like sharing way too much information today, just to prove that it can be done.