My last post

I am tired of life and everything that comes with it.

Take care!

Deja Vu

My days with a wolf

Where was wisdom when I needed it?


Before I blog my hot escapades when I was on a sex tour in California for a month, let me share my worst blunder ever when it comes to men. In this way, my worst experience with this man won't keep on popping in my head and bother me when I start writing about my memorable trysts with my Johns.

I met this Assyrian guy in a weekend after-hours club in San Francisco known for drugs and good house music. Due to the influence of my friends, I was on seven pills of ecstasy from Friday night through Sunday afternoon. I spent most of the time in the club dancing, drinking, smoking cigarettes, and teasing men. Ashor, an Arab-looking man, exploited the moment and my mental state weakened by booze and drugs.

When I was very high, everything suddenly became beautiful and profound. I became friendly and touchy with strangers. He approached me first. I chatted with him. His soft voice and minimal words were soothing to my cheeks and ears. His touch was a comfort to my feverish arms fried by ecstasy pills. I felt secured in his assuring demeanor. His smile put me at ease. He was very protective of me from rough men whose eyes were visually undressing me endlessly. It must be my revealing get up screaming "fuck me." He was very giving. I felt I needed him.

I ended up taking him with me to my hotel. We did everything except anal sex. I didn't trust him yet. I blew him with a condom on and uncurled my lips when we kissed. I did not feel passionate at all. What I had in mind was paranoia even though I was a little bit horny. I wanted more of a companion to hang out with than a one-night fucker. Eventually, I found myself moving to his apartment and sleeping with him for the next five days.

He introduced me to smoking speed. I became high instantly with that shit. I began loosening myself up. I could not think independently. I could not even talk straight. My vocabulary was gone. I remained meek and silent all the time. All I wanted was to be kissed and cuddled. We had safe sex except when we kissed. I tasted blood oozing from his tongue. He bit it while on ecstasy. The pill made him grind his teeth uncontrollably. I got very scared. I incessantly asked him about his health. Fortunately, I had no cuts or scrapes on my lips, gums, and tongue.

I felt so happy being with him. He took me out and stood for me when somebody called his attention that I am a man. He introduced me to his cousin. He was very open. He did not treat me like a freak. I felt I was his woman. The first two days, he spent his own money wherever we went. I felt Ashor really liked me. He drove me around, brought me to straight clubs, and hooked me up with drugs. I fell for him. I really thought he liked me. I could pick sincerity and personality over money and looks anytime.

On my third day with him was the start of my ordeal. He told me he was broke. I instantly became a sugar mama. I paid wherever we went including food, drugs, and booze. He also started to annoy me with his petty complaints. He did not want me to be affectionate when we were in clubs even though it was dark. He hesitantly responded to my kisses. He called me dumb. He started bossing me around. He yelled at me. I did not say anything. I was high. My being passive to his tantrums and drug-induced craziness even made me feel like a dominated woman. It felt natural. I still smiled. We still had sex. I was still passive and accommodating to him.

In fairness, I like when he kissed my back wet and nibbled on my ears, cheeks, neck, and nape. When he ate my ass, I felt like I had a vagina. He sucked me good too. His cock was big, and he knew how to fuck. His kisses were wild but not passionate. His embrace was tight but calculated. He was not falling for me. I was just another piece of ass to him.

On the last day, the effect of drugs was waning in my system. I was slightly back to my senses. I questioned everything related to him. I could not believe I was with him for almost a week. I condemned myself for such a blunder. He became nasty to me too. He wanted me out. He insulted me. He called me names. He confessed that he was just playing me. He pushed me out from his car on our way to a club. He did not want to be with me anymore. I was hurt and broke. I felt so little and alone. Depression set in.

He agreed to let me stay at his place until my flight the next day. He started demanding money from me. He forced me to have sex with him, but I refused. He wanted me to clean his entire house which I did not bother to listen. I hire a housekeeper to clean my mess at my place. Why would I clean a nasty stranger's shit? He left me at his apartment and went to a club alone. I was already free from the influence of drugs. I was mad and embarrassed. What a realization!

I was with Ashor, a hairy man with facial wasting, huge wounds on his face, potbelly, and bleeding acne on his back. He looked awful. His cock had warts. I got scared. He looked like he had HIV/AIDS. It was good that I always used a condom with him even when I blew him. The guy was mean and ugly. In my normal mental state, I would not waste a glance at him. He was broke. He was boring and dumb. He had nothing to be proud of. He used me. I could not forgive him for what he did. I blamed myself too. I could not believe I spent almost a week with an ugly, dirty beast. I left San Francisco with a lesson: drugs is really bad.

Looking back, I realized everything happened because of drugs. I was longing for a sense of security. I wanted someone to be with. It was not all about sex. I needed a companion who understood and accepted me. Even a sweet Chihuahua would do that time. Unfortunately, I was with a nasty, mean, playing chimp. Ashor was my biggest mistake to date. Never again will I put myself in such a brutal, demeaning, exploitative mental game of an evil, horny man. What an awakening!

The commercialization of the right wing idiocy

She hates anything liberal including herself.


The rise of Ann Coulter in the mass media has made me think and question the critical thinking abilities of her supporters. Hating anything liberal does not make one a conservative. A true ideologue bases his views on acceptable reasons. Miss Coulter is an angry bitch who uses argumentum ad hominem as her tactic to market herself as an intellectual giant in the conservative arena. She uses her hate and anger as her dramatic persona to commodify her conservative thinking. Simply, she is selling mass hysteria and ignorance to the passive, fundamentalist zombies. If you dissect what she says, her ramblings are shalllow, illogical, and sophomoric. She is an intellectual bonsai adored by mental midgets whose logic is grounded on Genesis and sense of history on Noah's Arc. These morons are lucky that the idea of God exists. Without it, they have no outrageous reason to support their laughable, bizarre thoughts.

Her angry, bombastic style of expressing her dumb, empty, hysterical ideas is not new. Camille Paglia pioneered it in the academe. Miss Paglia's scholarly writings are more admirable and readable. She uses solid history and sound logic as the core of her theses. Her obnoxious style is just a literary ploy to rattle minds and raise adrenaline. Ann Coulter does not stimulate my mind. She is no Camille Paglia. She is a disgrace to women in the early days who fought for a liberal stand- freedom of expression. Without such radical thought centuries back, Miss Coulter would not have been a disgusting, boring blabbermouth that she is. She would still be flipping the bible pages daily, reserving her mouth for singing praises to the Lord, and spending the rest of her day in silence and subservience.

Ann Coulter's case is like that of a close-minded priest, who abhors fucking but jerks off a lot.

Politics

Sex tour extended

I am still alive and fucking men.


I am currently in Los Angeles sucking and fucking with hot guys. I make them fuck each other too while I watch. My sex journal is almost filled. Bear with me. My blog will be a sex riot soon. I had too many group sex escapades. Wonderful sex life, indeed.

Oriental top

The sensuality of the Orient is my mystique.

I have been fucking a lot of bottoms lately. Fucking hard asses is like a kung fu work out. I have sensed that my face has been changing lately. It is becoming like a face of a Shaolin monk. It must be the result of fucking and cumming too much. I use energy and excrete female hormones every time I hump and shoot. I need to be a bottom again soon if I don't want to look like Jackie Chan.

Being a covered top, I minimize the occupational hazard in my line of work. Besides, men cum easily when I bury some of my inches in their asses. Yoga has been a help lately. I can anal fuck a guy in a missionary position and blow him at the same time. I think I can blow myself soon if I continue my hardcore kundalini yoga flexible bending I have been working on. Self-suckers do exist.

I will be right back. Another bottom is in the area ready to get fucked. Ciao for now.