Blood Lust (9/45)

He wrote:

Confession:

I want to suck your blood.

Question:

What do you want to suck?

Exposition:

I savor the red copper my teeth excavate from your neck.

Your tortured pain feeds my decadent delight.

We revel in the spurts of smoke and jasmine.

Come to me, or I'll come to you.

I await haunted dreams of us.

I wanted to donate blood for the survivors of the Orlando attack, so I thought he could come with me.

We told them he was my “moral support.” After, I donated and before they put all the tape on my puncture, we told them I had to go to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, he kissed and gently sucked my boo boo.

I felt nervous, but on the fringes of the fear I was excited.

It didn't hurt, and he stopped when he started to moan. I noticed his hard on.

He looked down at his pants too and looked up and smiled.

“I think I need to stay here for a while.”

I smiled and left to get taped and eat my juice and granola bar.

I didn't see him again.

My Personal Rainbow (8/45)

I loved how you were so excited to show me your new aberrometer. I had never thought of ophthalmology as creative. You proved me wrong. 

I had always had my eyes checked on a phoropter, so I knew that the constant, lengthy shifting of lenses might make for an interesting "read the chart until you cum story." But, I wasn't sure how you were going to be sexy in a few seconds.

Well, five seconds later, I was standing next to you looking at very interesting "wavefront" map of my pussy. The rainbow contours of my intimate geography were actually pretty. 

I was honored to be your first "pussy portrait" and smiled when you asked for my autograph.

I had never taken a picture of my vagina, because I thought it kind of ugly.

You made it beautiful.

I hope your collection goes well.

Thanks, Doc.

Kondescending Kunt Unsolicited Online Dating Advice #8 What's Shame Got To Do With It?

Some of my friends and some of you Charlottesville craigslist readers think this project is a waste of time, and I am only going to broaden my network to include anonymous bullies, the painfully socially awkward, and craigslist killers and rapists.

But, I think this project has helped me see that a lot of the men on craigslist are dealing with some sort of shame.  And, it is the shame that drives them into the anonymity and the awkwardness.

I feel this, because when I am shameless and focus on what I want, some of the men shift from the normal craigslist tropes and invite me to do some of the most fascinating play I've never done.

Some, however, think that my sexual liberation must mean creating more shame in them.  They want me to engage in traditionally BDSM humiliation tactics with them such as golden showers, anonymous oral sex, anal stretching, and adult baby play.  They send me constant requests for this, even though all of the experiences I've shared are about glorification and exploration not glory holes and degradation.

Interesting, I advised one of my responders who was pretending to be a Charlottesville, sapiosexual,  UVA professor to find a dom chick who would want to do some of the things he asked.  Next, I see the familiar cucumber anal stretching request in the casual encounters from the very young man in Waynesborro who used to repeatedly advertise how he wanted a woman who wouldn't hurt him.  I don't pretend to know which he really wants, but I did notice the change in his tactics.

And, I think his choice to lie and poorly pretend to be what someone wanted does not stem from being an asshole but from shame.  If you are continuously honest about what you want and who you are and you get no attention, eventually shame sets in.  And, when you see someone asking for someone, you want to be that someone... at least to get what you want.  

This type of shame made one gentleman treat me first as a fraud.  Then, when he realized his accusations, secrecy, and mendacity might block him from a fun experience, he adjusted and was honest with me.  We hung out and did an exhibitionist photo shoot. 

However, another chose to try to shame me for taking the exhibitionist's photos and writing a poem about him, because he supposedly did not fit the appropriate, attractive male body image.  Only shaved or hairless, thin or athletic men deserve to be photographed or lusted after. As a larger, size activist familiar with how cruel people may be with fatter people, I saw this as more of the shamer's problems than problems with my photography or choice in model.

And, I've dealt with these type of "normal" people more interested in shaming than having fun in my regular, offline life.  I am sure you have too.  Maybe, that is what brings you here... a hope for a place where shame does not reign supreme.

Truly the Charlottesville craigslist casual encounters community isn't very different from the offline one.

I mean, women find plenty of the bullies, the socially awkward, the killers, and the rapists without ever looking at a casual encounter ad.

So, here's to the shameless Charlottesville craigslist guy!  I know you are out there and willing to play!  Thank you for making this project interesting, and my personal life more enriching!

My Piano Man (7/45)

He wrote:

"First, I am not a poet; I am a pianist. But, I really enjoyed the Wild Nights poem you wrote about. It reminded me of the Eddie and the Cruisers song "Wild Summer Nights." The movie also had another beautiful song called "Tender Years" with a sweet piano solo extro. Here, are the lyrics and here is my photo... Hope I have your interest.

When the moon hung soft and low
Catching stardust in the light
You held me closer and closer
There was magic in the night.

A sweet love song, a melody
That I still can recall
Two young hearts filled with dreams
To walk away with it all.

Whoa, whoa tender years
Won't you wash away my tears
How I wish you were near
Please don't go, tender years.

A summer love, a beach romance
Sought her kisses in the sand
Two young hearts filled with fire
Lost in never-neverland."

His response was surprisingly sweet. And, I remembered loving that movie. So, I met him on the front steps of the Music Resource Center church. And, I swear the sun came out just when our eyes met. We walked to his place on 5th street.

We undressed to our underwear, and I sat in his lap facing him on his piano bench. Although I couldn't do a Middle English accent, I leaned forward and whispered the good parts of Chaucer's "Miller's Tale" into his left ear while he played an interesting, piano rendition of Procol Harum's "A Whiter Shade of Pale," my favorite song from a movie soundtrack.

I don't know why I cried. I guess I was moved.

Then, he kissed my tears.

And, our time was up.

Thank you, F. It was a moment.

Our Cock Fight (6/45)

I know I usually only reward folks who comply.  And, I asked for nothing rhyming, however he wrote the dirtiest, funniest limerick about my pink hair I have ever read!

Also, he suggested the most unusual sexual act I've ever encountered.

He wanted to cock fight me.

He had to play early this morning, because he worked two jobs and had to be at the first one at around 8.

I woke up this morning smiling, because he seemed like such a character.

So, after a quick meet up at Bodo's Bagels on Preston, we went to his apartment over in Eagles' Landing. He had one of those nice, little two bedroom ones and had not been assigned a new roommate yet.

I helped him duct tape aluminum foil on his living room's patio glass windows.

He helped me into a strap on with about a nine inch brown penis attached.

He then gave me a red, glow in the dark condom, and hardened himself and put on a green one.

He then turned off all lights.

And, he said, “The force is mighty with you.”

Then, he started making light saber noises and started hitting my strap on with his cock.

I started laughing uncontrollably, and he did too.

Eventually, I started hitting him back and making my own light saber noises.

We played for about fifteen minutes, then he came.

I found the whole thing silly, hilarious, quirky, and good exercise.

Thank you, R for being you.

Thank You, Professor (5/45)

He writes...

"I loved your Hamilton's piece.  I've attached a photo and my master's thesis about Emily Dickinson's use of the dash.  If you find it smart enough, go to Alderman Old Stacks Level 1 at 3:30 and find the carrel with Emily Dickinson's Wild Nights: Selected Poems.  Sit staring straight ahead with your feet on the floor and your palms on the desk.  Don't touch the collection till I cum to you.  And, don't wear any panties."

It's 3:40, and as I stare straight ahead, I occasionally let my eyes look at the book cover.  I really love how the blue sky and fuchsia clouds create a pleasant contrast.  And, I really like the black and white image of Emily Dickinson.  Until now, I did not really know what she looked like...

At 3:45, a man moves behind my wooden, hard chair and tells me not to turn around.  He hands me a bag over my right shoulder and tells me to open it.  In the bag, was another clear, sealed bag with a small, purple pleasure orb.  He tells me to unseal the bag and give him the orb.  He then tells me to stand and lean over the desk.  He tells me to turn to Wild Nights and recite it till I cum.

As I find the poem's page, he turns on the orb.  As I begin to read the poem aloud, he reaches between my thighs and puts the orb on my clit.  The battery is very new, so the high intensity of its vibration make me stutter. He tells me to read slowly and clearly.

Wild nights - Wild nights! 

Were I with thee 

Wild nights should be 

Our luxury! 

Futile - the winds - 

To a Heart in port - 

Done with the Compass - 

Done with the Chart! 

Rowing in Eden - 

Ah - the Sea! 

Might I but moor - tonight - 

In thee! 

I recite the poem four times and crumple in the chair at the fourth Rowing.  He leaves.  As I turn to watch his retreating figure, I see him put the orb in the pocket of his slacks.

Thank you, Professor.

A Sunday Brunch (4/45)

I was uncomfortable and torn.

On one hand, I had to bite back a bit of my poverty snobbishness, when I first saw you wanted to have an encounter at a brunch.

On the other hand as I told you, every time I passed that Downtown Mall restaurant, I was always tempted to steal one of their perfect, cobalt colored, water glasses and longed to feel the linen textures of their very white table cloths.

But, a project is a project, so I agreed and went.

When I saw how handsome you were in your official UVA blue suit jacket, khakis, and orange and blue bow tie, I was curious what I had got myself into.

Also, I felt under dressed, because I had worn the flip flops per your request instead of something strappy and more formal.

I sat down and discovered you had already ordered for me.  This felt chivalrous and rude at the same time, since you knew nothing about any of my possible food sensitivities or allergies.

Then, I heard a bell.  I thought it meant you had to leave.  Instead, you told me to take off my shoe and put my foot in between your thighs.  I knew the table cloth that turned out to be very soft was long enough to hide any misbehavior, and I felt subversive doing something like this in such a posh place.

So, I complied.

You answered your page, unzipped and took out your cock, pressed my sole to it, and used unknown words like borborygums, hypoxemia, and purura into your cell phone.

I felt your warm drops of pre-cum when you said, "Ecchymosis."

I felt your climax's sticky globs spurt as you rubbed them into my foot when you said, "Analgesia."

You asked the server if I may have the water glass.  He said yes though I think he charged you for it.

You rose, presented me the victory cup as you put it, kissed me on the cheek, and began your walk back to the hospital.

It was amazing, interesting, weird, educational, and erotic.

And, the fifteen dollar crab cake was good too.

Thank you, A.