He got up and grabbed handfuls of my hair, held my head in place as he thrust his cock repeatedly, without mercy, into the back of my throat. I took some, gagged on some, kept taking it, gurgle moaning, eyes streaming with tears. I choked him out. With it strings of spit stretched from my mouth to the tip of his cock, messily dripping down my chin and onto my chest. I rubbed his cock on my face as I caught my breath, swallowing the spit that collected in the back of my mouth. I looked up at his face, haloed with a mess of curly blond hair, smiling, cooing sweet nothings in that lazy Southern drawl of his that lulled me while he throatfucked me. More at MAYCAM.
Wanna play foosball with my pussy? Go see the video and tell me if you think you can play me.
Devil’s Slide is closed to traffic. I used to drive that bit of Route 1 from Pacifica to Montara quite often. It’s a park now, Devil’s Slide Coast, the trail used only on foot, bicycle or horseback. I think that’s exciting.
I’d love to see it again. There was only so much I could see while navigating at 40 miles per hour. Sure, I’ve stopped many times at Gray Whale Cove, gotten nude on the beach and played many different ways. But the rest of Devil’s Slide… is breathtaking!
We used to take walks at Pillar Point Bluff overlooking Mavericks at least twice a week. One night we fucked on a park bench, inspired by the bright light of Venus on the horizon.
I miss NorCal. Hella.
It’s been a year since we moved to our old farmhouse in Maine. I survived all four seasons. We’re starting to settle in. There are still many unpacked boxes upstairs in the barn, but we’ve started to make some friends. Yay team!
It’s tough being freaks in the real world. Scheduling, for instance, is a challenge. Most people go to work from 9 to 5 on weekdays. That’s when my man and I are free while our kid is in school and after-school activities. When most people are free on weekends, we like to spend our weekends as a family.
I was really psyched to get an email from Will, and then got to know him a little better by phone. He’s an organic farmer, originally from the South, moved up to Maine (Why?) “to get away from the South.” He’s free during the day (hurray!) the earlier the better (say, what?). Well, nobody’s perfect.
Will showed up in our kitchen at a bright and early 10:30 am. It was a cold gray day, and my man was chopping potatoes for soup. Will is 27, tall, blonde hair dreadlocked, blue eyes, beautiful. He brought me flowers and chocolate. Very expensive. The kind I like.
He said he’d like to go to the Philippines someday. (Why?) For the surf. Of course, a surfer! We also got talking about scuba diving and snorkeling. And he mentioned he goes spearfishing with his dad. My mermaid senses were tingling.
As soon as the soup started to simmer, we headed out to what used to be the hayloft in our barn. Now in the absence of hay, we are calling it the party loft. Toys, games, antique furniture, pussies (the kittens, I mean. The kittens have moved out to the barn to get whatever outdoor warmth is left before winter).
“So what kind of games do you guys want to play?” I asked, standing between the two of them in a skimpy dress with hieroglyphics print, a chocolate brown sweater and knee-high brown leather boots. My dark hair fell straight down to my waist.
Will sat down, not really sure how to respond. I looked over to my man for encouragement, then unbuttoned Will’s fly.
He was nervous and soft at first, but grew big as I pushed him deep inside my mouth, touching the tip of his cock to the back of my throat. I love doing that. It’s like diving in and touching bottom first before exploring the rest of the reef.
I could hear my man instructing Will to hold my hair with both of his hands. “Make her feel taken,” he said, as I felt Will grab handfuls of my hair, holding me in place as he thrust his cock deeply and swiftly into my oral cavity.
Spit was welling up in my throat as I took him, fighting my gag reflex, gurgling as I moaned. My man turned me around to face his cock and show our guest my ass.
“Fuck my ass,” I begged. I was fertile and dripping that morning. “That’s where I like it.”
Will pushed his rock hard cock into my ready ass and plowed me hard, fast and deep. His strong farmer’s hands dug into my ass cheeks, holding me in place as he rammed his cock home.
We’ve got a video of it. Go see.
Sometimes, though, the best stuff happens when the camera isn’t rolling. Like when my man pulled my dress and sweater up to show Will my body. I remember feeling the cool crisp autumn air coming in through the hayloft door tickling the tips of my nipples, my man behind me kissing my mouth, and Will running his hands all over my body, squeezing my breasts hard, finger-fucking my wet cunt.
All too soon the nearby church bells tolled noon, and Will had to go. He was on his way to Brooklyn to pick up his sister and together they were driving cross-country to Humboldt for harvest. He’ll be back after Thanksgiving.
I was still coasting on the high of playing with Will when I logged on to Facebook and found several RIP Liam’s on my newsfeed. What??? No! People I’ve fucked don’t die! I saw Mitchell in New York last summer and he was in such a decaying state, I thought for certain he would be first to die among the people I’ve fucked. He may surprise me though, and be like a cockroach that will outlive us all.
I tweeted some half-coherent thing about feeling strange that someone I fucked, an old friend, died, then deleted it. Maybe if I reboot, and re-log on to Facebook Liam won’t be dead and it will just be a funny little glitch that I can laugh about later.
Nope. Still dead. What the fuck! I went on a rampage and @replied to his Facebook comments. Fuck you!!! You’re supposed to be a superhero! You’re supposed to die out at sea, in a gigantic storm, rescuing whales and dolphins. You’re not supposed to OD, you fuck! What an asshole! Come on, defend yourself! (If I delete my comments, ghosts can still read them, right?)
Then I remembered that time when we had a party and Liam came to play music with us. My man said when it was time to go home, Liam seemed to want to be invited to stay.
“He was supposed to stay!” I protested. “That was the original plan. He was supposed to stay overnight, then at the last minute he decided he wanted to go home.”
I realized Liam may have wanted to fuck me that night, but changed his mind after he found me sitting on Sam’s lap while playing my ukulele. Oh, if only…
Do you see where my deluded mind is going here? Like my fuck could have saved him.
I remember how we met. It was the summer of 2001. An old lover of my man’s, Louisa, wanted to make a porno vampire movie. She cast me as the virgin Cherry, who was betrothed to the vampire hunter Rip Van Hymen. She cast her boyfriend, Liam as Minister Geddum, the other innocent who would be corrupted by the vampire. We were to shoot it in what used to be an old church in the Mission in San Francisco.
Liam was a sea captain. He was big and buff, every bit what you imagine a sailor to be. He and I spent the summer making music for the movie, me on my piano and he on his guitar. I wrote us a duet (One of these days I’ll record it.):
Mother said I’ll be a virgin
Until I walk down the church aisle in white
I’ll be singing a love song of longing for your touch
And you’ll know with one look in my eyes
Who I’m singing it to
Just for you…
Minister, my minister
Minister, my sweet minister
All my life I’ve been alone
In the house of the Lord in the service of God
Than one morning an angel came into my life
And awakened me into this world
Soon I’m marrying her
God give me strength, I’m her counselor
(… my minister)
I’ll be baptizing her children
What’s more the bridegroom depends on me
(… my sweet minister)
I cannot betray him
Louisa had this idea that we needed to practice the sex scene in private before we stage it in the church. So one night in our bedroom Liam and I had sex while Louisa shot the scene. I lost the tape on one of our many moves. I wish I could see him moving, feeding me his cock, fucking my pussy, pulling out to cum on the pillowy cheeks of my ass. We were so young.
Liam’s cock was long and went past my gag reflex deep and snug in my throat. I remember dreamily looking up at him as he moved his cock in and out of my throat, seeing that little smile on his lips before he pulled his cock out of my mouth so he could bend down to kiss me. He wasn’t fucking me, he was making love.
The movie fell apart after that. My man and I went on a trip to New York City in September that year and got caught up in the whole 9/11 thing. It hurt to come home to California and find out the project we had been working on all summer was shelved. We all had a falling out.
Many years later Liam and I found each other on myspace, then on Facebook. Whenever he came ashore to San Francisco we’d make plans to see each other and play music. There was a time when any storm would bring my thoughts to him out on the high seas. He was a romantic and he wooed me like I was the mermaid that got away.
I wallowed for days on Liam’s Facebook timeline, a virtual funeral. People who barely knew him wrote long eulogies. An old lady expressed shock at his brother’s anger over the circumstances of his death. It’s strange, grieving on Facebook. It’s not like a real-life funeral, in which you can walk away and it’s over. Facebook is always ongoing. Facebook is forever. Like whenever I log on and look back at some of my profile pictures I’ll find his comments.
The last non-RIP-related post on his timeline was mine. I had tagged Liam for my 15 songs list-let me see your list thing. Two days later his father posted an announcement that Liam died.
My man teased me about killing Liam. “He was writing his list of songs, then he got to number 13 and realized there were more songs and only two slots left. ONLY… TWO… SLOTS… LEFT!?!”
I killed him.
I killed him.
Fare thee well, sailor.
Think of the best caption for this photo and type it into this blog entry’s comment box by the end of Sunday, September 14. Adult participants only please. The winner gets a week-long MAYCAM pass down, down, down the rabbit hole. Don’t be late!
Yesterday I met a man and his son. The man is in his late 30s and his son is 10. The man is a Columbia University Med student. Maybe a little naive, but he’s a sweetheart. The boy has shoulder-length hair and is beautiful! His wife is in Paris. He and his son are going hiking at Acadia. I wanted to adopt them both.
It was clear the man and I were really attracted to one another. We talked all night, eyes smiling, flirting. The three of us spent the evening playing games. I miss my family too, so I let myself pretend I was his wife and his son was mine. We shared just a few hours together, but during those hours I loved them both.
When it was time to say goodbye, I was taken aback by his request for a hug. I was bracing myself for the inevitable parting of ways, keeping polite distance. But a hug? It was the closest thing to intimacy he and I would share forever. I gave it to him. A tight hug, my breasts right up against his chest, body close, arms fully around his neck. Love, no matter how briefly shared, needs more than a polite goodbye.
Aside from being eaten alive by mosquitos and other gnarly bugs, summer camp is a blast. I love hanging out with outdoorsy people. I am the total opposite. I’m the kind of girl you would find in a library or an office, more comfortable in the literary or virtual world than I am in the physical world. Unless of course, we’re talking about sex.
When it comes to sex, outdoorsy people and I go together like bees and honey. Someone who can build a fire and pitch a tent gets my juices flowing. It’s Hump Day at summer camp.
Tonight is The Bees Knees fundraising art event at Alexi Era Gallery. There will be an online auction for some of the artwork, so keep your eyes open for that within the next few days. Proceeds go to Honey Love, an organization dedicated to urban beekeeping.
I finally recorded a song I wrote so long ago. Has it been three years?
Three years ago I read book 5 of the How to Train Your Dragon series to my daughter at bedtime – it was How to Twist a Dragon’s Tale. I found myself weeping toward the end, and after my daughter had gone to sleep, I wrote this song on my ukulele.
So long I’ve waited
For my lover’s sweet rescue
Warm are the nights
When I’m dreaming of you
My Hooligan Heart
Beats only for you
Listen to Hooligan Heart.
This past spring, artist Mani C. Price suggested we collaborate on a painting for submission to The Bees Knees, a fundraising art event to benefit Honey Love, an organization devoted to urban beekeeping.
I was really excited about it, being the self-proclaimed Patron Pornsaint of Honey Bees. I sent Mani some image files from which she could draw inspiration.
She is Queen Bee, Bhramari Devi. She was on her way to the Alexi Era Gallery when she got lost in the mail.
Someone commented, “The Muses demanded a sacrifice.” If so, I hope that the painting pleased them, and that the sacrifice becomes fuel for more exciting future endeavors.
If you can, please go to The Bees Knees on Saturday, July 19 at 6pm. Taste some raw local honey and buy some art.
Alexi Era Gallery
1426 Washington Ave.
St. Louis, MO 63103
This is my erotic podcast, Your Wildest Dreams. Earlier this year I finished narrating the audio book, Armageddon’s Princess written by Anthony Pacheco. Search for it at Audible.com and on iTunes. Armageddon’s Princess is a science fiction murder mystery set in the future. A very sexy future.
We follow the adventures of an American war heroine named Lexus Tolouse, who has four husbands, a sex bot maid, an A.I. warship who also happens to be her lover and in this clip, Lexus is about to become Princess Concubine to the Empress of Japan. Listen.
I have codes available for downloading Armageddon’s Princess on Audible for free. If you would like one, send me an email at maylingsu at gmail or comment on this blog entry. I’ll send you the code and instructions on how to redeem it. In return all I ask is a review on Audible or iTunes. I only have a limited number of these codes, so if you’re interested contact me right away.
Till next time,
I remember taking this picture first thing in the morning. I had just gotten a new camera, the Nikon Coolpix with the swiveling lens, one of the earliest cameras released with selfies in mind. I didn’t know how to use it beyond point and click. My earliest photos were like this: blurry with streaks of color coming from light sources unknown to me.
But I like this picture. A lot.
The room is a magical hue of blue. Not quite awake, I look elven while my dream is fresh off my eyelids. I lounge lazily on his back, that smooth warm strong back, curving to meet my body curled around him. On his shoulder and into my forehead are electric streaks of pink and blue. The body electric.
I look forward to a good siesta. You know that feeling after lunch when the sun is high and you’re feeling lazy? I love getting to indulge in that once in a while.
I love a good anal pounding in the afternoon. Anal sex makes me cum harder than I do any other way. I still remember losing my anal virginity. I remember the loft in New York City, dimmed by coffee-colored fabrics, but warmed by the afternoon sun. I remember how nervous I was when I felt his hard cock pushing into the pursed lips of my anus, how painful it felt at first. After my body relaxed, his cock moved smoother in and out of my ass, and I felt a rush of pleasure. I came in a way I never had before.
After a good hard ass fuck in the afternoon I like taking a warm bath, then it’s off to a power catnap.
You deserve a siesta this weekend. Come spend a lazy afternoon with me.
I dreamed that a strange tree grew in the middle of our living room. My man pissed on it and it flowered and bore a big juicy orange, which I promptly ate.
I’ve been dreaming a lot more often lately. Actually more than likely I’ve been dreaming just as much as I always have, except that I’m remembering them more. Must be the bananas I’ve been eating before bed.
This morning I dreamed about a woman I was in bed with in Thailand. In my dream, she had tattoos of jungle animals on her abdomen all the way down to the top of her thighs. I remember tracing the lines with my fingers, and making the zebra talk by moving the lips of her cunt open and close. I woke up laughing.
I should make surrealist porn.