Variety isn’t just the spice of life it’s the very life blood of my sex life. I’ve never been a “one penis” girl. I tried it a few times, but it didn’t really work. There was something missing in my sweet vagina hole and in my heart; something only one dick would never be able to fill. At 24, I finally figured out why. I had been trying to adhere to society’s “dating rules.” I guess I need more balls to play with.
From then on, I wanted to make my own “dating rules.” I wanted to forget what society, family, friends and other people had to say. There are no universal laws for dating. Not everyone is supposed to get married and produce children (I would never put my lady business through that!). My advice? Come up with your own rules. March to the beat of your incredibly horny lady drum. That’s what I did. My pussy thanks me every day.
Here are a few of the rules I follow for myself:
Open relationships – I need to play with other bats. It takes a lot of action to keep me satisfied. One dick will never suffice as there are so many different penises in all shapes and sizes out there. And they’re a swell time for all the holes in my body (except for my nose and ears, gross).
Plus you can’t find everything you like in one guy. One guy may be a wonderful lover, but carries on a conversation like a brick wall. Save him for a late-night booty call. You may have a sexy man as you’re official arm candy. Take him out to make all the other girls drool. Another guy may be incredibly sweet, but isn’t that great in bed. You can teach him but in the meantime keep him around because we all love being spoiled with gifts and flowers.
Bottom line, guys are like Campbell’s soup. They may be put together the same way, but they taste incredibly different. Why settle with just one? Eating tomato soup for the rest of your life sounds terrible.
No kids, no marriage – Enough said. Not for me. I mean, do you know how many kegels I’d have to do to enjoy sex again?
Living alone – I’ve lived alone all my life. Even when I grew up with my parents, I took care of myself. It’s sexual freedom in the best possible way. I can have that variety I need without ever being an inconvenience to anyone. Three a.m. sex craving? Just call one of my guys. No one’s there in the house to judge me, or care that some loud noises are coming from my bedroom (or the bathroom, or kitchen, or…). It’s incredibly hard to have more than one penis when another one is living with you. Just because I like a guy doesn’t mean I want to share a load of laundry or see his tacky 60-inch flat screen TV over my fireplace. I prefer having a man come (in more ways than one) over for a few hours rather than staying for a lifetime.
The sooner, the better - I prefer to sleep with guys sooner than later. Guys love that about me. So many girls want to “get to know” the guy better before sleeping with them. What a waste of some quality humping time. The only knowing I want to do is in the Biblical sense. Nothing is worse than getting to know someone for a while only to realize that he’s about as talented with his dick as a twelve-year-old.
I want to know all that up front. I don’t want to waste my time getting to know someone if they suck or don’t suck down there. I mean, a girl’s got needs. Every guy needs to be able to go down on me, and well. If I suck your cock you better return the favor on me! Period.
Sex – Leave work and your problems at the door. I’ve got no time for your lazy ass in my bed. You’ve got to earn the right to be there. My house of love is for pleasure only. Nothing is worse than when a guy gets too comfortable when he fucks me. I want someone who’s going to constantly spice things up. Try something new and exciting, cause you can bet your ass that’s what I’m going to do. When you make a date with me, it’s our time together. If you’re too tired, or if it’s too hard to get hard… reschedule. I’ve got more dicks who can get the job done. A quick fuck isn’t in my vagina’s vocabulary. I make sure I give them my all and I expect the same in return, especially when it comes to sex.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Showing posts with label Los Angles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Los Angles. Show all posts
Friday, April 27, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
The Toilet Guy
I was out on the town enjoying a fun night with my girlfriends. We were at the bar ordering drinks, one Mandrian Sprite after another. The club was as busy as my vagina on any given weekend. The DJ was playing some great hits, an eclectic spin on modern day and top 80s and 90s jams. Normally I don’t need an excuse for a good ass shaking, but this disc jockey made it almost impossible to keep my buns from jiggling (in a hot way).
After a bit of dancing, I decided to get a better look at the man who had such excellent tunage selection. If this guy held the secret to get my ass shaking, I wondered if his dick was the key for my vagina. I went over to request some music, and the young guy definitely took notice of me. We flirted for a little bit and I cracked him my best cleavage smile.
At the end of the night he decided to bust a move. As the bar was clearing out, he asked me to come with him. I was immediately game for following him, or cuming…whichever game first. He took my hand and led me away. At first, I was intrigued. Where was this young hottie taking me?
Soon I noticed he was taking me to the restrooms. He can’t be serious, I thought. I’m a classy girl and I don’t mind having sex near a toilet if the dick is right. Location hardly matters to me. But I didn’t even know this guy! Bathroom sex was sacred ground. Only the guys I’m most comfortable with get to pin me against a hygiene-questionable wall and fuck me where people go to take a shit.
I’ve been around enough penises to know that when a guy takes a girl to the toilet, it’s for his own pleasure. Not mine. I’m no Good Samaritan; I’m not going to suck a stranger’s cock just to make his night. If I’m going to let a guy bang me bent over the pot, you better believe I want to get off, too. Besides, I only suck on dicks if they have a return rate later in the evening.
I let him lead me into the bathroom stall. My curiosity was intrigued. I wanted to see what this guy’s moves were. He quickly closed the bathroom stall and started making out with me. Two seconds later, he unzipped his pants and whipped his dick out.
“Suck on it?” he asked. His meat popsicle was already hard.
I laughed in his face. “Thanks for the offer. Really… I’m touched.” I usually appreciate a sexual eagerness in a man, but not when it’s completely one-sided. My pussy has needs to, ya know.
Turning to leave, the bathroom door swung open. It was one of my friends. She stared at me, and quickly looked at the wide-eyed DJ with his dick hanging out of his pants. We burst into laughter as we left, and I rehashed the story in the car.
Later, I realized that I had given him my number earlier in the eveing when I thought he might take me out on a proper date. Didn’t realize our first date would be in a toilet stall. He kept texting me that night, practically begging me to come over. If a girl won’t suck your cock when you offer it up on a silver platter, she’s not going to invite you over. Too bad, this young DJ didn’t know how to please a beaver as well as he knew his music.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Taking It To The Next Level...
When most people decide to become more serious and take their relationship to the next level, they usually talk about being exclusive and setting a bunch of rules for their new budding romance. (Gag me.)
My idea of taking things to the next level doesn’t exactly involve picking out china patterns. When I decide to get more serious with someone, I make him my “Number One.” In other words, his dick is getting the most action from my lady parts.
So Brian decided that he wanted to take our so-called relationship to the next level (not exactly a shocker).
Due to my line of work, I get tested monthly. I’m a disease freak, and I don’t exactly want crabs covering my beautiful pussy. In order to take things to the next step, I told Brian that he had to get tested and show me his results. It’s kind of like a foreigner trying to get citizenship in America – his dick had to get a green card in order to set up camp in my vadge. But I already know he’s not “the one” for my pussy but still want to see his results. I’m still testing out others. Hey, I’m a popular girl!
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
My idea of taking things to the next level doesn’t exactly involve picking out china patterns. When I decide to get more serious with someone, I make him my “Number One.” In other words, his dick is getting the most action from my lady parts.
So Brian decided that he wanted to take our so-called relationship to the next level (not exactly a shocker).
Due to my line of work, I get tested monthly. I’m a disease freak, and I don’t exactly want crabs covering my beautiful pussy. In order to take things to the next step, I told Brian that he had to get tested and show me his results. It’s kind of like a foreigner trying to get citizenship in America – his dick had to get a green card in order to set up camp in my vadge. But I already know he’s not “the one” for my pussy but still want to see his results. I’m still testing out others. Hey, I’m a popular girl!
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Monday, March 12, 2012
Why NOT To Make Love Like A Porn Star
Many men want to learn how to have sex like a porn star but that only leads to disaster. They sit themselves on a comfy chair and watch some good ol’ fashioned pornography to “research” all their sex positions. I like my nudies as much as the next pussy, but let’s be real. Porn is about as realistic as Pamela Anderson’s rack. It mostly focuses on men and pleasing the unruly one-eyed snake in their britches. It rarely has little to do with a woman’s sexual satisfaction.
For example, I don’t want to be chocked with a guy’s cock and I don’t want cum sprayed in my face, eyes, or (God forbid) my hair. And don’t even think about slapping your dick against my face! I don’t let guys slap me across my face period so why do guys think it’s okay to slap a girl across the face with their cock?
Somehow through watching porn men got the message that it’s acceptable to treat women like animals. They bang us, flip us, pound us, and bounce us with no concern as to how we feel. Now don’t get me wrong, I like a mind-numbing, meaningless sex session. I don’t need to know your first and last name or where you’re from before I’ll fuck you. But when I do decide to bang you, you can bet your nutsack that I want to get off. It’s not all about you and your joystick; my vagina has needs, too.
Even though porn may be your best friend, men, don’t let it be your sex guide. I don’t want a fuckin’ circus in my bedroom. I’m not a contortionist; so don’t flip my body into positions that even Gumbi couldn’t manage. I know some pornos show women twisted in (God only knows) how many ways, but that’s for all the douches that get their jollies on a woman in pain. That isn’t real life.
I mean, what’s wrong with staying in the same position for a few minutes? I actually like enjoying my lover’s cock; I can’t do that when we’re constantly playing a game of hot potato with your balls.
I never had a guy flip me around so much until I dated this one guy. The first time we had sex, he flipped me around so many times and in so many different positions that my body was sore. My mind was spinning. And my girls were frustrated. My pussy couldn’t enjoy his dick because he was too busy getting in his aerobic workout for the day. I’m sorry but last time I checked, my vadge wasn’t your elliptical.
Our second fuck session, he started moving me all over the place again. It’s like this guy thought I was his dick, he could turn and twist me as much as he wanted. It didn’t take me long to realize this guy had been to Pornography 101. That coupled with his intense case of ADD, and his sexual expectations were as porn-tastic.
I had to slow him and his Johnny Rocket down. He was a great lover, but it took him a while to calm his amped-up dick. Eventually, I had to start taking control to prevent him from fucking me like a jackhammer. I taught him some valuable lessons while we dated. Every woman he fucks seriously owes me.
Take a lesson, men. I know you’ve all been porn-again, but don’t let the fuck sessions on the screen be your guide to sex in the sheets. Let your lady friend actually enjoy your dick. We are likely to fuck again if you just calm the hell down. Experiment with different positions, but be realistic. Remember, we’re only human. Our bodies can’t bend like we’re made of condoms. Take your time; be gentle, and leave the “professionals” to the screens.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
For example, I don’t want to be chocked with a guy’s cock and I don’t want cum sprayed in my face, eyes, or (God forbid) my hair. And don’t even think about slapping your dick against my face! I don’t let guys slap me across my face period so why do guys think it’s okay to slap a girl across the face with their cock?
Somehow through watching porn men got the message that it’s acceptable to treat women like animals. They bang us, flip us, pound us, and bounce us with no concern as to how we feel. Now don’t get me wrong, I like a mind-numbing, meaningless sex session. I don’t need to know your first and last name or where you’re from before I’ll fuck you. But when I do decide to bang you, you can bet your nutsack that I want to get off. It’s not all about you and your joystick; my vagina has needs, too.
Even though porn may be your best friend, men, don’t let it be your sex guide. I don’t want a fuckin’ circus in my bedroom. I’m not a contortionist; so don’t flip my body into positions that even Gumbi couldn’t manage. I know some pornos show women twisted in (God only knows) how many ways, but that’s for all the douches that get their jollies on a woman in pain. That isn’t real life.
I mean, what’s wrong with staying in the same position for a few minutes? I actually like enjoying my lover’s cock; I can’t do that when we’re constantly playing a game of hot potato with your balls.
I never had a guy flip me around so much until I dated this one guy. The first time we had sex, he flipped me around so many times and in so many different positions that my body was sore. My mind was spinning. And my girls were frustrated. My pussy couldn’t enjoy his dick because he was too busy getting in his aerobic workout for the day. I’m sorry but last time I checked, my vadge wasn’t your elliptical.
Our second fuck session, he started moving me all over the place again. It’s like this guy thought I was his dick, he could turn and twist me as much as he wanted. It didn’t take me long to realize this guy had been to Pornography 101. That coupled with his intense case of ADD, and his sexual expectations were as porn-tastic.
I had to slow him and his Johnny Rocket down. He was a great lover, but it took him a while to calm his amped-up dick. Eventually, I had to start taking control to prevent him from fucking me like a jackhammer. I taught him some valuable lessons while we dated. Every woman he fucks seriously owes me.
Take a lesson, men. I know you’ve all been porn-again, but don’t let the fuck sessions on the screen be your guide to sex in the sheets. Let your lady friend actually enjoy your dick. We are likely to fuck again if you just calm the hell down. Experiment with different positions, but be realistic. Remember, we’re only human. Our bodies can’t bend like we’re made of condoms. Take your time; be gentle, and leave the “professionals” to the screens.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
The Anal Lover
You should know by now that I’m not like most girls. Many times women want to feel a special connection with a guy before she’ll allow him to enter her backdoor. She wants to have dated him for a while and have all those warm fuzzy feelings before she’ll open up her keister. My vagina’s not made of stone, but I don’t need those mushy feelings. If I’m in the mood for a good butt fuck, I don’t have to know the guy for very long before I’ll bend over. Sometimes I need to give my vagina a break for the night.
My third date with Seth was pretty standard. We started off our night with dinner before heading to a popular dance club. I drained several drinks to loosen me up (not that my vadge and I really needed it). Little did I know, my ass was about to experience a whole new anal world.
When we got back to my place, we almost immediately started bumping uglies. This was our second time having sex, since I didn’t give it up so quickly on our first date (Girl Scout Badge for me!). Usually if I like someone, I like to make him wait. If I fuck you on the first date, it’s not because I care about you. It’s because I’m horny and you’ve got the penis I need. I don’t actually care if you ever call me again.
Seth started off fucking me vaginally, but it wasn’t long before his one-eyed willie was trying for another entrance. My ass is no Virgin Mary; she has already taken in her fair share of huge cocks. Seth had a big dick, but it wasn’t as wide as some I’d taken up the tailpipe. I knew my ass could handle him.
His cocked slipped perfectly in between my tight cheeks. Anal always makes me come as fast as a thirteen-year-old boy. I quickly came all over his cock, and he followed soon after. God, it was amazing.
“Perfect,” I thought. “It was such a nice night out, and this was a great ass fuck! Now I’m ready for bed.”
After we both get cleaned up, I came back to the bed. His cock rose to greet me. I couldn’t believe he was already hard again. I would expect that from someone in his twenties, but Seth is in late thirties! It was a nice change of pace. Normally my dates’ penises can’t keep up with my horny beaver.
He was hard as a rock, so I decided to reward him for his sexual stamina. I began using another hole he hadn’t yet experienced. I worked his dick in my mouth, blowing him well. I knew there was no way I’d be able to finish him off, since he just came in my ass. But before I knew it he was coming again! Normally I don’t let guys finish in my mouth. Does anyone really like the taste of cum? It isn’t exactly the whip cream on top of a meat popsicle.
Seth, however, was in a league all his own. He had the best sperm I’ve ever tasted. It was clean, clear, and clump-free. I let him fill my mouth and swallowed it with ease.
After blowing him, I passed out. Surely, he was exhausted too. I wasn’t asleep more than twenty minutes before I felt him rubbing against my body, slowly trying to wake me up. This guy was like fucking a twenty-year-old boy. He gently caressed my skin until I started to stir. He immediately noticed that I was waking up so he began rubbing my breasts, letting me know he wanted sex again.
“Holy shit,” I thought. “What the hell is this guy on? Can’t he let me just sleep until the morning?” I am, after all, awesome at morning sex. I always have extreme lady wood.
Instead, I decided I was up for another round. I mean, how many times did I have the chance to fuck three times in the span of an hour and half? This time he went straight for my ass. Apparently his dick didn’t need a map or an invitation. It felt just as amazing as the first round. I started to believe his dick was made of gold.
When we both finished, I hoped it was for good or at least till the morning. I was going to get spoiled on all these orgasms in one night. Thankfully, his dick calmed down after round three. He had to get up early for work so there was no time for morning sex. My ass was happy to see him leave; I needed to recoup before my buns met his powerful bratwurst again.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
My third date with Seth was pretty standard. We started off our night with dinner before heading to a popular dance club. I drained several drinks to loosen me up (not that my vadge and I really needed it). Little did I know, my ass was about to experience a whole new anal world.
When we got back to my place, we almost immediately started bumping uglies. This was our second time having sex, since I didn’t give it up so quickly on our first date (Girl Scout Badge for me!). Usually if I like someone, I like to make him wait. If I fuck you on the first date, it’s not because I care about you. It’s because I’m horny and you’ve got the penis I need. I don’t actually care if you ever call me again.
Seth started off fucking me vaginally, but it wasn’t long before his one-eyed willie was trying for another entrance. My ass is no Virgin Mary; she has already taken in her fair share of huge cocks. Seth had a big dick, but it wasn’t as wide as some I’d taken up the tailpipe. I knew my ass could handle him.
His cocked slipped perfectly in between my tight cheeks. Anal always makes me come as fast as a thirteen-year-old boy. I quickly came all over his cock, and he followed soon after. God, it was amazing.
“Perfect,” I thought. “It was such a nice night out, and this was a great ass fuck! Now I’m ready for bed.”
After we both get cleaned up, I came back to the bed. His cock rose to greet me. I couldn’t believe he was already hard again. I would expect that from someone in his twenties, but Seth is in late thirties! It was a nice change of pace. Normally my dates’ penises can’t keep up with my horny beaver.
He was hard as a rock, so I decided to reward him for his sexual stamina. I began using another hole he hadn’t yet experienced. I worked his dick in my mouth, blowing him well. I knew there was no way I’d be able to finish him off, since he just came in my ass. But before I knew it he was coming again! Normally I don’t let guys finish in my mouth. Does anyone really like the taste of cum? It isn’t exactly the whip cream on top of a meat popsicle.
Seth, however, was in a league all his own. He had the best sperm I’ve ever tasted. It was clean, clear, and clump-free. I let him fill my mouth and swallowed it with ease.
After blowing him, I passed out. Surely, he was exhausted too. I wasn’t asleep more than twenty minutes before I felt him rubbing against my body, slowly trying to wake me up. This guy was like fucking a twenty-year-old boy. He gently caressed my skin until I started to stir. He immediately noticed that I was waking up so he began rubbing my breasts, letting me know he wanted sex again.
“Holy shit,” I thought. “What the hell is this guy on? Can’t he let me just sleep until the morning?” I am, after all, awesome at morning sex. I always have extreme lady wood.
Instead, I decided I was up for another round. I mean, how many times did I have the chance to fuck three times in the span of an hour and half? This time he went straight for my ass. Apparently his dick didn’t need a map or an invitation. It felt just as amazing as the first round. I started to believe his dick was made of gold.
When we both finished, I hoped it was for good or at least till the morning. I was going to get spoiled on all these orgasms in one night. Thankfully, his dick calmed down after round three. He had to get up early for work so there was no time for morning sex. My ass was happy to see him leave; I needed to recoup before my buns met his powerful bratwurst again.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Mr. Personality
My vagina is like a metal detector. Instead of finding loose change, it’s constantly turning up annoying habits of all the ball-sacs trolls I date. Sometimes they’re hard to find, like the penis of my first sex partner, but most of the time my dates’ irritating habits are staring me right in the face (like the cock of every guy who begs me to blow him).
While I appreciate the effort, if a man has the personality of a brick wall… I’d rather you just shut up and nut up. Otherwise, I’ve got a dildo back home that can get the job done. Unfortunately, those with the worst qualities almost always think they’re God’s gift to vaginas.
I met this guy out at a bar one night. He seemed harmless on the outside, definitely fuckable but nothing my lady parts and I couldn’t resist. But the second I discovered my date was on a first name basis with our bartender and everyone else at the bar that immediately threw up a red flag for me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I hate friendly people I just don’t like overly friendly ones. I could barely remember his first name and I didn’t care about learning his last name. The more he talked, however, the more I realized I needed an alcohol-IV pumping in my arm, before I could handle this guy and all his charisma.
It’s a mistake to think that charmers can easily sway my vagina and me. Sure, I may laugh at your retarded jokes. I’ll smile and nod when you pretend like you’re the greatest thing since a six-inch vibrator. That’s only because I want to fuck you. You’re not actually funny. I just want to get in your pants and introduce you to my meat cleaver. One-eyed willies have a much better shot to impress me than the giant hole in a guy’s face that he can’t ever seem to fuckin’ close.
The date proceeded to get more annoying with Mr. Personality when he started using my name in almost every sentence.
“Sienna, what do you do today?”
“How’s your drink, Sienna?”
“Don’t you love this bar, Sienna?”
Listen, I’m not about to blow you because you remembered my name. I can barely remember yours, Einstein. My hair may be blonde, but I know my own goddamn name. You’re not earning yourself any points by reminding me that you know who I am. The only time I want to hear you say my name is in the bedroom. (Cause let’s face it, you totally will.)
For some reason (I blame my vagina) because I let him take me out to West Hollywood a few days later. Every pore on this guy’s body was dripping with charm. He seriously needed to put a cork in it.
When we got to the restaurant, the hostess greeted us. My date smiled and told her the name of our reservation. By this point, I wasn’t really paying attention to their conversation. I knew I was going to have to listen to him for the rest of the night, might as well enjoy the few seconds of reprieve.
All of a sudden, I heard something that didn’t sound quite right. My date and the hostess laughed. She looked super uncomfortable. I thought maybe I had heard wrong. After all, I wasn’t really paying attention maybe I had missed something. Good lord, I hope I missed something. Surely he can’t be that lame…
“What did you just say?” I asked.
“I told her my name for the reservation, but then I said how funny would that be if I said we were here for a spa appointment?” he said, cackling like he had just come up with the best joke ever.
What the fuck? I thought. Here I thought I had missed something, but I hadn’t. That was his joke and he was serious as birth control.
I flashed him by famous “are you fucking kidding me” look. I didn’t laugh or smile. I just turned the poor hostess and said, “Didn’t there use to be a nightclub next door? What happened to it?”
I changed the subject as quickly as I could, but I couldn’t avoid the damage his lame-ass personality had already caused. How embarrassing! For the rest of the night he tried to entertain me with his wise cracks, but I wasn’t amused. I wanted to skip to the part of the night that was actually pleasurable, getting fucked by his huge cock.
After that date, I only invited him over to my house to bang. Cut the small talk. I had to get him to close one hole, so he could open another.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
While I appreciate the effort, if a man has the personality of a brick wall… I’d rather you just shut up and nut up. Otherwise, I’ve got a dildo back home that can get the job done. Unfortunately, those with the worst qualities almost always think they’re God’s gift to vaginas.
I met this guy out at a bar one night. He seemed harmless on the outside, definitely fuckable but nothing my lady parts and I couldn’t resist. But the second I discovered my date was on a first name basis with our bartender and everyone else at the bar that immediately threw up a red flag for me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I hate friendly people I just don’t like overly friendly ones. I could barely remember his first name and I didn’t care about learning his last name. The more he talked, however, the more I realized I needed an alcohol-IV pumping in my arm, before I could handle this guy and all his charisma.
It’s a mistake to think that charmers can easily sway my vagina and me. Sure, I may laugh at your retarded jokes. I’ll smile and nod when you pretend like you’re the greatest thing since a six-inch vibrator. That’s only because I want to fuck you. You’re not actually funny. I just want to get in your pants and introduce you to my meat cleaver. One-eyed willies have a much better shot to impress me than the giant hole in a guy’s face that he can’t ever seem to fuckin’ close.
The date proceeded to get more annoying with Mr. Personality when he started using my name in almost every sentence.
“Sienna, what do you do today?”
“How’s your drink, Sienna?”
“Don’t you love this bar, Sienna?”
Listen, I’m not about to blow you because you remembered my name. I can barely remember yours, Einstein. My hair may be blonde, but I know my own goddamn name. You’re not earning yourself any points by reminding me that you know who I am. The only time I want to hear you say my name is in the bedroom. (Cause let’s face it, you totally will.)
For some reason (I blame my vagina) because I let him take me out to West Hollywood a few days later. Every pore on this guy’s body was dripping with charm. He seriously needed to put a cork in it.
When we got to the restaurant, the hostess greeted us. My date smiled and told her the name of our reservation. By this point, I wasn’t really paying attention to their conversation. I knew I was going to have to listen to him for the rest of the night, might as well enjoy the few seconds of reprieve.
All of a sudden, I heard something that didn’t sound quite right. My date and the hostess laughed. She looked super uncomfortable. I thought maybe I had heard wrong. After all, I wasn’t really paying attention maybe I had missed something. Good lord, I hope I missed something. Surely he can’t be that lame…
“What did you just say?” I asked.
“I told her my name for the reservation, but then I said how funny would that be if I said we were here for a spa appointment?” he said, cackling like he had just come up with the best joke ever.
What the fuck? I thought. Here I thought I had missed something, but I hadn’t. That was his joke and he was serious as birth control.
I flashed him by famous “are you fucking kidding me” look. I didn’t laugh or smile. I just turned the poor hostess and said, “Didn’t there use to be a nightclub next door? What happened to it?”
I changed the subject as quickly as I could, but I couldn’t avoid the damage his lame-ass personality had already caused. How embarrassing! For the rest of the night he tried to entertain me with his wise cracks, but I wasn’t amused. I wanted to skip to the part of the night that was actually pleasurable, getting fucked by his huge cock.
After that date, I only invited him over to my house to bang. Cut the small talk. I had to get him to close one hole, so he could open another.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Sunday, February 26, 2012
The Singer
One night my girlfriend and I decided to treat ourselves to a night out on the town. We hired a personal chauffeur and booked dinner at the Chateau Marmont with bottle service at Voyeur. We were all set to pick up my latest condom flavor of the month, Matt, who dressed and sang just like Frank Sinatra but looked much hotter. Before we picked him up, I felt a strong obligation to forewarn my driver and my friend about him. His vocal chords (like his dick) had a mind of their own, and I needed to tell them that my date would more than likely be bursting into song at some point in the night. He’s an amazing singer, don’t get me wrong, but there’s a time and a place for singing and that’s the stage. I don’t care if you’re a professional singer. I’m a “professional” too but you don’t see me taking my clothes off whenever I go out (that part doesn’t come till later).
We picked the guys up and headed to dinner. Two milliseconds later, Matt broke into song. Singing is one of the most annoying things you can possibly do (when not on stage) – especially when you’re in a car with little space because your voice projects louder. My ears were literally bleeding.
My friend nudged me, as soon as he started singing, trying not to burst out laughing. My driver kept staring at me in the rear-view mirror and I know he was dying to make a smart-ass comment. I did everything I could to keep it together so as not to start laughing. You could cut the awkwardness with a tampon. I mean, who the hell did this guy think he was? It was almost as if Matt expected my vagina to instantly go weak in the clitoris by his voice. Up to that point, I had definitely been turned on by him singing on stage but not in the car.
Finally, his ballad ended and we made it to the restaurant. I silently prayed that he wouldn’t break out into song again while at the Chateau Marmont. After an uncomfortable dinner of trying to keep him talking instead of singing we got back in the car and head to the nightclub. The club didn’t open until eleven, which meant we were gonna have to do some serious drinking in order to get buzzed before last call at two.
We got to the club a little bit before eleven, so my driver suggested driving around the block to kill a few minutes. Matt, of course, had other ideas.
“Why don’t I sing a song?” he offered, as though we were all dying to hear him sing for the millionth time. Before I could intervene he broke out into another song, and we all sat there awkwardly. I stared at the floor, cursing my vadge for being so attracted to this douche bag. I wanted to chop his balls off and stuff them in his mouth. How could he not see that we were obviously NOT interested in listening to him? I thought.
“Encore!” my driver said in his British accent after Matt finished. (There’s a gay joke in that last sentence somewhere.) His voice was obviously dripping with sarcasm.
Before Matt could open his mouth and blurt out another song, I immediately leapt over the armrest. “Let’s turn on the radio!” I yelled, reaching for the dial. The only thing I wanted Matt to open up was my vagina, and I wasn’t even sure about that anymore.
Pretty soon, we got into the club. I half expected Matt to harmonize with the DJ’s music. Last call couldn’t come soon enough.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
We picked the guys up and headed to dinner. Two milliseconds later, Matt broke into song. Singing is one of the most annoying things you can possibly do (when not on stage) – especially when you’re in a car with little space because your voice projects louder. My ears were literally bleeding.
My friend nudged me, as soon as he started singing, trying not to burst out laughing. My driver kept staring at me in the rear-view mirror and I know he was dying to make a smart-ass comment. I did everything I could to keep it together so as not to start laughing. You could cut the awkwardness with a tampon. I mean, who the hell did this guy think he was? It was almost as if Matt expected my vagina to instantly go weak in the clitoris by his voice. Up to that point, I had definitely been turned on by him singing on stage but not in the car.
Finally, his ballad ended and we made it to the restaurant. I silently prayed that he wouldn’t break out into song again while at the Chateau Marmont. After an uncomfortable dinner of trying to keep him talking instead of singing we got back in the car and head to the nightclub. The club didn’t open until eleven, which meant we were gonna have to do some serious drinking in order to get buzzed before last call at two.
We got to the club a little bit before eleven, so my driver suggested driving around the block to kill a few minutes. Matt, of course, had other ideas.
“Why don’t I sing a song?” he offered, as though we were all dying to hear him sing for the millionth time. Before I could intervene he broke out into another song, and we all sat there awkwardly. I stared at the floor, cursing my vadge for being so attracted to this douche bag. I wanted to chop his balls off and stuff them in his mouth. How could he not see that we were obviously NOT interested in listening to him? I thought.
“Encore!” my driver said in his British accent after Matt finished. (There’s a gay joke in that last sentence somewhere.) His voice was obviously dripping with sarcasm.
Before Matt could open his mouth and blurt out another song, I immediately leapt over the armrest. “Let’s turn on the radio!” I yelled, reaching for the dial. The only thing I wanted Matt to open up was my vagina, and I wasn’t even sure about that anymore.
Pretty soon, we got into the club. I half expected Matt to harmonize with the DJ’s music. Last call couldn’t come soon enough.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Thursday, February 23, 2012
What Could Go Wrong?
If you don’t already know by now, I’m a wanted lady. My vagina keeps the men coming (in more ways than one). So I shouldn’t have been surprised when two men wanted to take me out…on the same night.
Ty and I had already scheduled our first date around 8:30 pm, which I was excited for. Not long after that Brian asked if I could meet him at 7 pm for drinks for about an hour. He said he had a bowling game later that night. (God, do I love a man who can handle balls.)
Why not knock out two cocks in one night? I thought. My schedule is always insane, and I was already going to be looking hot. One drink with Brian, leave by eight, and no one would ever know. Easy enough! What could possibly go wrong?
I met Brian for our first date at the bar of one of my favorite restaurants in Santa Monica. I was all dressed up, and he was definitely looking like he’s about to go knock down some wood at the bowling alley. He must’ve thought he was hot shit, since I got all dolled up for him. Little did he know, I had big plans hidden up my short skirt that night.
The date was going really well. Brian was full of charm and entertainment that night. (I would learn later that apparently he only puts out his personality for the first dates. Then he leaves it up to his dates to do the rest of the entertaining after that. I didn’t really care, just as long as his dick always brought its A game. This was, after all, coming from a guy whose online profile said, “If I’m not laughing, it’s your fault.”)
Eight o’clock rolled around, and I knew I needed to start wrapping this up so I could get to Ty.
“Don’t you have a bowling game to get to?” I asked.
Brian looked at his watch. “But we’re having such a good time. How do you feel about grabbing some dinner with me?”
“You’re not gonna go to your game?”
He winked. “I canceled it. I want to spend more time with you.”
Fuck! I thought. Normally, my lady parts and I would’ve been flattered. But Brian was ruining my fantasy of double dating. His giant penis was actually (in a way) cock-blocking me.
I decided to stay with Brian that night. I liked this guy, and we were having a really good time. What if Ty had a tiny weiner and was terrible at conversation? Not a risk I was willing to make.
I excused myself to the girls’ room; I had to tell Ty that I wasn’t going to make our date. Goddamn the one moral bone in my body: I’m a terrible liar. I texted him that a last minute photo shoot had come up for tomorrow, and I needed to prepare for it. Ty totally bought it and agreed to meet another night. God I’m good!
When I sat back down with Brian, he confessed that his bowling game was just a story he always had ready… an exit strategy just incase the date went sour. It was easier than having to make up some excuse as to why he needed to suddenly leave, he said.
That’s pure genius, I thought. I sure as hell needed to get me one of those exit plans but then again if I don’t like someone I just leave. Seems to work every time.
In the spirit of confessing, I told him about my other date with Ty. He laughed. “Next time, I want to be date number two,” he said. For once he made a funny, but that was the only time.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Ty and I had already scheduled our first date around 8:30 pm, which I was excited for. Not long after that Brian asked if I could meet him at 7 pm for drinks for about an hour. He said he had a bowling game later that night. (God, do I love a man who can handle balls.)
Why not knock out two cocks in one night? I thought. My schedule is always insane, and I was already going to be looking hot. One drink with Brian, leave by eight, and no one would ever know. Easy enough! What could possibly go wrong?
I met Brian for our first date at the bar of one of my favorite restaurants in Santa Monica. I was all dressed up, and he was definitely looking like he’s about to go knock down some wood at the bowling alley. He must’ve thought he was hot shit, since I got all dolled up for him. Little did he know, I had big plans hidden up my short skirt that night.
The date was going really well. Brian was full of charm and entertainment that night. (I would learn later that apparently he only puts out his personality for the first dates. Then he leaves it up to his dates to do the rest of the entertaining after that. I didn’t really care, just as long as his dick always brought its A game. This was, after all, coming from a guy whose online profile said, “If I’m not laughing, it’s your fault.”)
Eight o’clock rolled around, and I knew I needed to start wrapping this up so I could get to Ty.
“Don’t you have a bowling game to get to?” I asked.
Brian looked at his watch. “But we’re having such a good time. How do you feel about grabbing some dinner with me?”
“You’re not gonna go to your game?”
He winked. “I canceled it. I want to spend more time with you.”
Fuck! I thought. Normally, my lady parts and I would’ve been flattered. But Brian was ruining my fantasy of double dating. His giant penis was actually (in a way) cock-blocking me.
I decided to stay with Brian that night. I liked this guy, and we were having a really good time. What if Ty had a tiny weiner and was terrible at conversation? Not a risk I was willing to make.
I excused myself to the girls’ room; I had to tell Ty that I wasn’t going to make our date. Goddamn the one moral bone in my body: I’m a terrible liar. I texted him that a last minute photo shoot had come up for tomorrow, and I needed to prepare for it. Ty totally bought it and agreed to meet another night. God I’m good!
When I sat back down with Brian, he confessed that his bowling game was just a story he always had ready… an exit strategy just incase the date went sour. It was easier than having to make up some excuse as to why he needed to suddenly leave, he said.
That’s pure genius, I thought. I sure as hell needed to get me one of those exit plans but then again if I don’t like someone I just leave. Seems to work every time.
In the spirit of confessing, I told him about my other date with Ty. He laughed. “Next time, I want to be date number two,” he said. For once he made a funny, but that was the only time.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Is There a Condom Shortage?
February is National Condom Month. You know what that means. If you’re single then safety should be your first priority, followed closely by getting off.
I’m not an idiot. I know men are thinking about my pussy more often than they’re paying attention to what I’m actually saying on a date. That’s fine. I want to get off just as much as they do. But even with all those thoughts about sex, most men still never manage to bring a rubber to a potential fuck session. Which makes me wonder if there’s a condom shortage?
Men can be cheap asses but come on condoms don’t cost that much and they even sell them individually. But a lot of men would rather not splurge on a piece of latex in the high (but stupid) hope that a woman won’t mind that his cock is foot loose and fancy free. Luckily, I always have my own personal stash of condoms in all sizes. So if a guy doesn't bring one, then I’ll donate one. But my bedroom is not a Planned Parenthood even though I’m sure I have more condoms on hand than they do. Men need to strap on a pair of balls and start carrying around some trusty Trojans.
One of my bedroom pet peeves is when a guy asks me if he can just stick the tip of his cock inside of me without a condom on. Get some sex education, for Christ’s sake. STD’s don’t care if your penis goes in all the way or not. When I tell them no and to put on a condom my favorite line that I hear a lot from men is, “But you look clean.” I usually laugh at them then jokingly list about five STD’s I have while keeping a straight face. Just because fun zones aren’t covered in blisters, doesn’t mean protection should become optional.
I know men complain a lot about not liking how condoms feel. But cry me a fuckin’ river and go jump in it. I don’t exactly like a dry trash bag rubbing up inside me either. But who wants eighteen years of hell or a short life with AIDS. So think with the right head for once. Don’t be the idiot who chooses to not use protection. Condoms are the least you can do. So do me (and yourself) a favor and go stock up on them because I'm about to run out.
www.SiennaSinclaireSexShop.com
- Flavored condoms for blow jobs
- Thin condoms for more sensation
- Mint condoms for a tingly feeling
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
I’m not an idiot. I know men are thinking about my pussy more often than they’re paying attention to what I’m actually saying on a date. That’s fine. I want to get off just as much as they do. But even with all those thoughts about sex, most men still never manage to bring a rubber to a potential fuck session. Which makes me wonder if there’s a condom shortage?
Men can be cheap asses but come on condoms don’t cost that much and they even sell them individually. But a lot of men would rather not splurge on a piece of latex in the high (but stupid) hope that a woman won’t mind that his cock is foot loose and fancy free. Luckily, I always have my own personal stash of condoms in all sizes. So if a guy doesn't bring one, then I’ll donate one. But my bedroom is not a Planned Parenthood even though I’m sure I have more condoms on hand than they do. Men need to strap on a pair of balls and start carrying around some trusty Trojans.
One of my bedroom pet peeves is when a guy asks me if he can just stick the tip of his cock inside of me without a condom on. Get some sex education, for Christ’s sake. STD’s don’t care if your penis goes in all the way or not. When I tell them no and to put on a condom my favorite line that I hear a lot from men is, “But you look clean.” I usually laugh at them then jokingly list about five STD’s I have while keeping a straight face. Just because fun zones aren’t covered in blisters, doesn’t mean protection should become optional.
I know men complain a lot about not liking how condoms feel. But cry me a fuckin’ river and go jump in it. I don’t exactly like a dry trash bag rubbing up inside me either. But who wants eighteen years of hell or a short life with AIDS. So think with the right head for once. Don’t be the idiot who chooses to not use protection. Condoms are the least you can do. So do me (and yourself) a favor and go stock up on them because I'm about to run out.
www.SiennaSinclaireSexShop.com
- Flavored condoms for blow jobs
- Thin condoms for more sensation
- Mint condoms for a tingly feeling
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Sunday, February 19, 2012
The Back Door
Brian and I have been in an open relationship for about a month. We have great chemistry, and we don’t have to mess with the whole commitment thing. He’s a charmer on the streets, but a freak in the sheets. The ideal man for me, well almost.
One night, his giant cock started knocking on my back door. I’m no stranger to a good butt fuck, but I was a little nervous since Brian’s dick was so monstrous. I literally couldn’t fit the tip of his penis in my mouth, so how in the world was anal sex going to feel? I was afraid the girth of his dick would stretch me out. I wasn’t sure yet if I was ready to wear Depends the rest of my life.
Always up for a challenge, I decided to open the back door. Slowly, I started working my ass up and down on his giant cock. I let him in a little at a time, until I finally decided to let him in all the way. It was (surprisingly) the best and easiest anal sex I’ve ever had. His cock and my ass fit together like a weiner in a corndog.
So the next night I went out with a different guy to a popular bar in Santa Monica. We sat down and ordered drinks. All of a sudden, I see Brian waving at me like a giant idiot across the bar. Can’t he see I’m with someone? I thought. It must’ve been embarrassing for him, since his friends were with him and they all know who I was. Apparently, he was like a dog taking a piss on a tree... he wanted to mark his territory. Well, I’ll be damned to let that happen. My vagina (and my ass) only have loyalties to me.
I tried to ignore him, but it was a little hard with Brian staring at me from across the room (not that I could blame him, my tits looked amazing in my tight, black dress).
My date definitely noticed Brian, but we didn’t talk about it. I didn’t exactly tell him that the goober waving at me across the bar gave me the best anal of my life last night and that’s the reason why I’ve been walking funny all night.
When Brian finally left, he texted me and said, “You looked beautiful tonight.” A good sign, I thought. He apparently wasn’t too bothered that he’d seen me out with another guy. Normally the man is the one in the open-relationship to take advantage of the “open” end of the deal, but not me. I was always going out, fishing for other cocks in the sea.
I decided not to take my date home that night. Not that I didn’t want to, I just needed to fully recover from the damage Brian’s meat popsicle had done to me.
The next morning, I woke to a text from Brian. “So did you tell your date about me?”
Shit, I thought. So much for dodging the jealousy bullet. “No, Brian. I didn’t,” I responded.
Brian: “He kept looking at me.”
Me: “That’s probably because you were staring at us the whole night and waving like a moron.”
Brian: “Not really.”
Me: “Besides my date had better things to look at.”
Brian: “Did you tell him that I was in your ass last night? Did you let him butt fuck you?”
Since when does Brian get a say in what I do with my ass? I had a feeling that if I told him that we’d had a normal fucking session he wouldn’t have cared, but he didn’t want anyone else slipping through my back door. Brian needed to learn that my asshole wasn’t his and who was in control here.
“What I do with my asshole is really none of your business.” I responded back. My butt hole doesn’t fuck and tell to my lovers, only to my blog readers.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
One night, his giant cock started knocking on my back door. I’m no stranger to a good butt fuck, but I was a little nervous since Brian’s dick was so monstrous. I literally couldn’t fit the tip of his penis in my mouth, so how in the world was anal sex going to feel? I was afraid the girth of his dick would stretch me out. I wasn’t sure yet if I was ready to wear Depends the rest of my life.
Always up for a challenge, I decided to open the back door. Slowly, I started working my ass up and down on his giant cock. I let him in a little at a time, until I finally decided to let him in all the way. It was (surprisingly) the best and easiest anal sex I’ve ever had. His cock and my ass fit together like a weiner in a corndog.
So the next night I went out with a different guy to a popular bar in Santa Monica. We sat down and ordered drinks. All of a sudden, I see Brian waving at me like a giant idiot across the bar. Can’t he see I’m with someone? I thought. It must’ve been embarrassing for him, since his friends were with him and they all know who I was. Apparently, he was like a dog taking a piss on a tree... he wanted to mark his territory. Well, I’ll be damned to let that happen. My vagina (and my ass) only have loyalties to me.
I tried to ignore him, but it was a little hard with Brian staring at me from across the room (not that I could blame him, my tits looked amazing in my tight, black dress).
My date definitely noticed Brian, but we didn’t talk about it. I didn’t exactly tell him that the goober waving at me across the bar gave me the best anal of my life last night and that’s the reason why I’ve been walking funny all night.
When Brian finally left, he texted me and said, “You looked beautiful tonight.” A good sign, I thought. He apparently wasn’t too bothered that he’d seen me out with another guy. Normally the man is the one in the open-relationship to take advantage of the “open” end of the deal, but not me. I was always going out, fishing for other cocks in the sea.
I decided not to take my date home that night. Not that I didn’t want to, I just needed to fully recover from the damage Brian’s meat popsicle had done to me.
The next morning, I woke to a text from Brian. “So did you tell your date about me?”
Shit, I thought. So much for dodging the jealousy bullet. “No, Brian. I didn’t,” I responded.
Brian: “He kept looking at me.”
Me: “That’s probably because you were staring at us the whole night and waving like a moron.”
Brian: “Not really.”
Me: “Besides my date had better things to look at.”
Brian: “Did you tell him that I was in your ass last night? Did you let him butt fuck you?”
Since when does Brian get a say in what I do with my ass? I had a feeling that if I told him that we’d had a normal fucking session he wouldn’t have cared, but he didn’t want anyone else slipping through my back door. Brian needed to learn that my asshole wasn’t his and who was in control here.
“What I do with my asshole is really none of your business.” I responded back. My butt hole doesn’t fuck and tell to my lovers, only to my blog readers.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Saturday, February 18, 2012
The Kill Shirt
My first date with Patrick started off frustrating. We were meeting at a trendy bar in Santa Monica that I’ve never heard of before. It was small and hard to find (kinda like the dick of the first guy I ever fucked). I ended up circling the block about four times: trying to find the damn place, discovering the parking lot was closed for renovations, and looking for the valet. Apparently this was the only place in all of L.A. without a valet.
Eventually I parked in a garage two blocks away, which meant I had to walk. I was in heels, and looking hot (as always) and wasn’t in the mood to make such a long trek…I didn’t want to break a sweat for my date (though I would later) before he even had a chance to see my hair looking good. I made a promise to my aching feet and to my gorgeous new Jimmy Choo shoes to always make sure the place has valet.
On the walk over, my phone buzzed. Patrick asked if he could order me a drink. What a nice guy, I thought. I finished reading the text, however, and realized there was only five minutes left for happy hour. What a cheap ass. Guess it makes sense now why Patrick changed our meeting from 8 pm to 7:30 pm. I’m definitely not a happy hour kind of girl, unless you’re talking about exciting my beaver for an hour… then I’m on board. I like knowing my date spent some money on me, makes me feel better about giving it up so easily.
I finally get to my date forty minutes later, surprised he was even still there. But was glad he decided to wait it out because not only was he very good looking but a great conversationalist which has been hard to find with some of the dates I’ve been on lately. The more I looked at him the more I realized he looked exactly like Dexter from the TV show, except hotter.
He was even wearing Dexter’s Kill Shirt but in grey. The color complemented his BEAUTIFUL dark hair. I began to fanaticize about Patrick whipping his knife out to kill me. The thought of fucking the look alike of a serial killer gave me serious lady wood. I was ready to take this killer back to my place so he could slay me with his penis.
Once I had made the decision that I was going to fuck my Dexter, I asked him back to my place for “drinks.” We soon got down to business. I ripped his kill shirt off, and waited for him to stick me good.
I was having a great time fucking this guy until his sweat glands suddenly kicked it into overdrive. Nothing is worse than a guy who drips buckets all over you. I had to move my face to avoid being dripped on. “God, my hair is gonna look like shit tomorrow,” I thought. “He might as well jizz in my hair. It’d basically have the same effect.”
Thinking fast, I put a pillow in between us to act as the sweat catcher. Drowning by sweat wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I fanaticized about getting killed by the gorgeous Dexter look alike.
I quickly decided to doggie style it up. It was the perfect position, the only thing that he needed to touch were the body parts that counted. My solution worked great, until he wanted to get back on top of me. I don’t really blame him for wanting a better view of my boobs, but Christ was he sweaty! I began to pray to the vagina gods in the sky that they would end this wet (and not in a good way) business, and let him come.
Poor kid, he tried to experiment. He tried using his arms to lift off of me, but that just made his sweat drip even more. Then he tried lying on top of my body. I was pressed up against his moist body, slipping and sliding against him.
I definitely took one for the team that night. I’ve never been so happy to have someone come. Cuddling was out of the question and so was morning sex unless it was in the shower.
That night I made a major mental note. Next time, I need to gauge my date’s liquids so his glands won’t have as much ammo to attack me with. And I obviously need to make my room freezing cold to prevent this guy from getting as sweaty as Tim Gunn watching Brokeback Mountain.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Eventually I parked in a garage two blocks away, which meant I had to walk. I was in heels, and looking hot (as always) and wasn’t in the mood to make such a long trek…I didn’t want to break a sweat for my date (though I would later) before he even had a chance to see my hair looking good. I made a promise to my aching feet and to my gorgeous new Jimmy Choo shoes to always make sure the place has valet.
On the walk over, my phone buzzed. Patrick asked if he could order me a drink. What a nice guy, I thought. I finished reading the text, however, and realized there was only five minutes left for happy hour. What a cheap ass. Guess it makes sense now why Patrick changed our meeting from 8 pm to 7:30 pm. I’m definitely not a happy hour kind of girl, unless you’re talking about exciting my beaver for an hour… then I’m on board. I like knowing my date spent some money on me, makes me feel better about giving it up so easily.
I finally get to my date forty minutes later, surprised he was even still there. But was glad he decided to wait it out because not only was he very good looking but a great conversationalist which has been hard to find with some of the dates I’ve been on lately. The more I looked at him the more I realized he looked exactly like Dexter from the TV show, except hotter.
He was even wearing Dexter’s Kill Shirt but in grey. The color complemented his BEAUTIFUL dark hair. I began to fanaticize about Patrick whipping his knife out to kill me. The thought of fucking the look alike of a serial killer gave me serious lady wood. I was ready to take this killer back to my place so he could slay me with his penis.
Once I had made the decision that I was going to fuck my Dexter, I asked him back to my place for “drinks.” We soon got down to business. I ripped his kill shirt off, and waited for him to stick me good.
I was having a great time fucking this guy until his sweat glands suddenly kicked it into overdrive. Nothing is worse than a guy who drips buckets all over you. I had to move my face to avoid being dripped on. “God, my hair is gonna look like shit tomorrow,” I thought. “He might as well jizz in my hair. It’d basically have the same effect.”
Thinking fast, I put a pillow in between us to act as the sweat catcher. Drowning by sweat wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I fanaticized about getting killed by the gorgeous Dexter look alike.
I quickly decided to doggie style it up. It was the perfect position, the only thing that he needed to touch were the body parts that counted. My solution worked great, until he wanted to get back on top of me. I don’t really blame him for wanting a better view of my boobs, but Christ was he sweaty! I began to pray to the vagina gods in the sky that they would end this wet (and not in a good way) business, and let him come.
Poor kid, he tried to experiment. He tried using his arms to lift off of me, but that just made his sweat drip even more. Then he tried lying on top of my body. I was pressed up against his moist body, slipping and sliding against him.
I definitely took one for the team that night. I’ve never been so happy to have someone come. Cuddling was out of the question and so was morning sex unless it was in the shower.
That night I made a major mental note. Next time, I need to gauge my date’s liquids so his glands won’t have as much ammo to attack me with. And I obviously need to make my room freezing cold to prevent this guy from getting as sweaty as Tim Gunn watching Brokeback Mountain.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
The Noogie
My first date with Chad was a memorable one.
When we had agreed to go on a date the week before, I got daily text messages from him; sexual updates, pleas for naked pictures and much more. This guy wasn’t shy about his libido or letting me know exactly what he wanted to do with me.
Normally, my lady parts and I are flattered. We like a man who has a healthy sexual appetite but prefer to actually go out before the guy starts begging me for nudies.
Most people would take this as a sign to cancel, but not me. I looked at this as an opportunity for a great (awful), but freaky dating story. I’m always up to see what a penis will do to get some quality fucking time in, so I didn’t call the date off.
During the week, a radio show asked if I could come in to do a show. They said I had my pick of days but my schedule was already booked with different dates each night. Someone was going to have to get pushed back but who? Just then I thought about Chad and our date for Friday night. Bingo! Since this guy was so desperate to see me, my natural reaction was to make him wait. I had to keep this overzealous horndog on a tight leash. He had to know who wore the pants.
We were supposed to meet at nine, but I showed up a quarter to ten. Chad had texted me during his wait, saying he looked like a loser waiting for an online date. I laughed thinking that even eHarmony had standards that this certifiable sex-addict probably wouldn’t meet. I responded and told him he just looked like who’d been stood up for a date.
He waited forty-five minutes for me. I had a feeling he was doing some heavy penis thinking. He would’ve waited four hours if it meant he was going to get the chance to bump nasties with me.
When I got there, I knew I looked good. I was wearing a super sexy red number. It was tight and short, perfectly accentuating my lovely lady lumps. I could practically see the boner in his pants leap out to greet me.
We started talking, and it was clear this guy thought he was God’s gift. He laughed at his own pathetic jokes (of which there were plenty). He snorted through the gap in his front teeth. And he stared at my breasts like a deer caught in the headlights. God, he was annoying.
I started talking just to get him to shut up. I said something joking about Santa Monica, which was apparently the wrong thing to do. Chad was born and raised in the town (which explained a lot). He was visibly agitated by my comments, and his reaction only made me want to egg him on. (When I first meet people, I like to test the waters out. Especially if the date isn’t going well, I spice things up by lashing out with my smart-ass personality. I enjoy making jerks squirm in their discomfort.)
After a few more Santa Monica–related quips, I finally stopped talking. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. I stared him down like Larry David just to add to the awkwardness.
I decided it was time to leave. I reached for my purse and pulled out my credit card to pay for my drinks. The next thing I know, he gets up and sits beside me. His penis must’ve been talking to him, “Chad, she’s getting away! Don’t let her leave!”
He tried flirting with me. He pulled me close then grabbed the hair on my head and gave me a noogie. Was this guy in fourth grade? I wondered.
“What the hell!?” I said, pulling myself away from him. “You don’t do that to a girl unless she’s your fuckin’ sister!”
I straightened my hair out and got out of my seat.
“So we going to your place or mine?” he asked.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “But… I thought…”
“I seriously felt like I was just molested by an eight-year-old with that noogie you gave me.”
“Well, it won’t feel that way in the bedroom if you know what I mean.” He slowly licked his lips as though he was demonstrating his talents to me.
I stormed out of the bar leaving him with the bill. This guy just gave me a noogie for Christ’s sake. I sure as hell didn’t want to discover his idea of foreplay.
When I got home he left me a message, apologizing. He said he wanted to see me again. Needless to say, I did my vadge a favor by dodging that bullet.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
When we had agreed to go on a date the week before, I got daily text messages from him; sexual updates, pleas for naked pictures and much more. This guy wasn’t shy about his libido or letting me know exactly what he wanted to do with me.
Normally, my lady parts and I are flattered. We like a man who has a healthy sexual appetite but prefer to actually go out before the guy starts begging me for nudies.
Most people would take this as a sign to cancel, but not me. I looked at this as an opportunity for a great (awful), but freaky dating story. I’m always up to see what a penis will do to get some quality fucking time in, so I didn’t call the date off.
During the week, a radio show asked if I could come in to do a show. They said I had my pick of days but my schedule was already booked with different dates each night. Someone was going to have to get pushed back but who? Just then I thought about Chad and our date for Friday night. Bingo! Since this guy was so desperate to see me, my natural reaction was to make him wait. I had to keep this overzealous horndog on a tight leash. He had to know who wore the pants.
We were supposed to meet at nine, but I showed up a quarter to ten. Chad had texted me during his wait, saying he looked like a loser waiting for an online date. I laughed thinking that even eHarmony had standards that this certifiable sex-addict probably wouldn’t meet. I responded and told him he just looked like who’d been stood up for a date.
He waited forty-five minutes for me. I had a feeling he was doing some heavy penis thinking. He would’ve waited four hours if it meant he was going to get the chance to bump nasties with me.
When I got there, I knew I looked good. I was wearing a super sexy red number. It was tight and short, perfectly accentuating my lovely lady lumps. I could practically see the boner in his pants leap out to greet me.
We started talking, and it was clear this guy thought he was God’s gift. He laughed at his own pathetic jokes (of which there were plenty). He snorted through the gap in his front teeth. And he stared at my breasts like a deer caught in the headlights. God, he was annoying.
I started talking just to get him to shut up. I said something joking about Santa Monica, which was apparently the wrong thing to do. Chad was born and raised in the town (which explained a lot). He was visibly agitated by my comments, and his reaction only made me want to egg him on. (When I first meet people, I like to test the waters out. Especially if the date isn’t going well, I spice things up by lashing out with my smart-ass personality. I enjoy making jerks squirm in their discomfort.)
After a few more Santa Monica–related quips, I finally stopped talking. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. I stared him down like Larry David just to add to the awkwardness.
I decided it was time to leave. I reached for my purse and pulled out my credit card to pay for my drinks. The next thing I know, he gets up and sits beside me. His penis must’ve been talking to him, “Chad, she’s getting away! Don’t let her leave!”
He tried flirting with me. He pulled me close then grabbed the hair on my head and gave me a noogie. Was this guy in fourth grade? I wondered.
“What the hell!?” I said, pulling myself away from him. “You don’t do that to a girl unless she’s your fuckin’ sister!”
I straightened my hair out and got out of my seat.
“So we going to your place or mine?” he asked.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “But… I thought…”
“I seriously felt like I was just molested by an eight-year-old with that noogie you gave me.”
“Well, it won’t feel that way in the bedroom if you know what I mean.” He slowly licked his lips as though he was demonstrating his talents to me.
I stormed out of the bar leaving him with the bill. This guy just gave me a noogie for Christ’s sake. I sure as hell didn’t want to discover his idea of foreplay.
When I got home he left me a message, apologizing. He said he wanted to see me again. Needless to say, I did my vadge a favor by dodging that bullet.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
The Big Cock
My second date with Brian I decided to go all the way. He was sexy as hell, and hands down one of the hottest guys I’ve ever dated. I melted every time he smiled at me and my pussy tingled just staring at his tall 6’3" build. I had to fuck him!
I invited him back to my place for “drinks," the universal code word for “I want your beef in my taco.” It didn’t take long before we were all over each other. He was on my bed, and I was about to take off his pants. I noticed then just how big his cock looked through his pants. Dear Lord!
My mind started reeling. There’s no fucking way it’s that huge. So I whipped his dick out and…it was even bigger out of his pants. This had to be the biggest dick I've seen in my life and this coming from someone who's in porn. It was not only long but wide as hell, and it looked like it was only going to grow more as he got more excited.
I’ve seen quite a few beautiful, big cocks in my life. But this thing looked like a monster. It was almost frightening. He looked like he had swallowed six other dicks for lunch. So I put my hand around it to test out the width and to see exactly what I was working with here but as I figured my hand wouldn’t even fit around it.
I’m always up for a challenge, so I decided to go ahead with giving him head. I opened my mouth as big as it would stretch and it barely covered the tip of his head. I tried to go further but couldn't as it was way too wide – talk about a mouthful. I would’ve had to unhinge my jaw to go all the way down on him but that challenge I wasn't up for.
I resorted to using my hand job techniques, the ones I save for when my mouth gets sore, when I’m not in a blowjob mood or in this case when it's just too damn big. They never teach you in books how to handle a massive cock when giving a hand job. It’s always one hand on the balls while you slowly move the other down on the shaft in a twisting movement while working your mouth down the penis. But when you're working with a massive cock you need your hands and mouth for balance not for trying out new techniques. Maybe that should be my next book!
While working hard and determined to give Brian an amazimg blow job he mentioned how he wanted me to play with his balls. But Brian’s bad mammajamma needed two hands to work the shaft and to hold it up including myself. His balls were being vastly neglected but I only have two hands and one mouth which were already focused on his head and shaft. If I even tried to move I was gonna lose my balance so I stayed focus on the job at hand.
For that go-round, I wasn’t prepared for the big challenge Brian’s huge penis gave me. But I was better prepared the next time I went down on him. As the load he shot in my mouth was a clear indicator that he loved my half-blow, half-hand job. But lord, if that wasn’t work!
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
I invited him back to my place for “drinks," the universal code word for “I want your beef in my taco.” It didn’t take long before we were all over each other. He was on my bed, and I was about to take off his pants. I noticed then just how big his cock looked through his pants. Dear Lord!
My mind started reeling. There’s no fucking way it’s that huge. So I whipped his dick out and…it was even bigger out of his pants. This had to be the biggest dick I've seen in my life and this coming from someone who's in porn. It was not only long but wide as hell, and it looked like it was only going to grow more as he got more excited.
I’ve seen quite a few beautiful, big cocks in my life. But this thing looked like a monster. It was almost frightening. He looked like he had swallowed six other dicks for lunch. So I put my hand around it to test out the width and to see exactly what I was working with here but as I figured my hand wouldn’t even fit around it.
I’m always up for a challenge, so I decided to go ahead with giving him head. I opened my mouth as big as it would stretch and it barely covered the tip of his head. I tried to go further but couldn't as it was way too wide – talk about a mouthful. I would’ve had to unhinge my jaw to go all the way down on him but that challenge I wasn't up for.
I resorted to using my hand job techniques, the ones I save for when my mouth gets sore, when I’m not in a blowjob mood or in this case when it's just too damn big. They never teach you in books how to handle a massive cock when giving a hand job. It’s always one hand on the balls while you slowly move the other down on the shaft in a twisting movement while working your mouth down the penis. But when you're working with a massive cock you need your hands and mouth for balance not for trying out new techniques. Maybe that should be my next book!
While working hard and determined to give Brian an amazimg blow job he mentioned how he wanted me to play with his balls. But Brian’s bad mammajamma needed two hands to work the shaft and to hold it up including myself. His balls were being vastly neglected but I only have two hands and one mouth which were already focused on his head and shaft. If I even tried to move I was gonna lose my balance so I stayed focus on the job at hand.
For that go-round, I wasn’t prepared for the big challenge Brian’s huge penis gave me. But I was better prepared the next time I went down on him. As the load he shot in my mouth was a clear indicator that he loved my half-blow, half-hand job. But lord, if that wasn’t work!
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Dating Tip: Cleaning up for your next lover
If you're one of the lucky few to have two lovers in one day and need to clean up quickly without leaving any evidence of your other lover then here are a few quick tips:
Lint Brush - Perfect for picking up any hairs your lover left behind on your bed sheets and pillow cases.
Tide Stick - Works perfect for small stains on your clothes but comes in handy for quick clean up jobs to remove any evidence left behind from your lover.
Febreze - Spray this to get rid of that "just had sex with someone else before you came over" smell.
And don't forget to air out your place but simply opening the windows and you're all set for your next sex romp!!! Have fun and be courteous to your next lover.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Lint Brush - Perfect for picking up any hairs your lover left behind on your bed sheets and pillow cases.
Tide Stick - Works perfect for small stains on your clothes but comes in handy for quick clean up jobs to remove any evidence left behind from your lover.
Febreze - Spray this to get rid of that "just had sex with someone else before you came over" smell.
And don't forget to air out your place but simply opening the windows and you're all set for your next sex romp!!! Have fun and be courteous to your next lover.
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
The Deal
It’s been another day in La La Land (aka Los Angeles), which means I have another story about a penis to share.
I’ve been out with a guy named Brian about three times. He’s the cliché handsome as hell, smooth talking stud who any girl (especially me) willing rips her panties off for.
Thursday night we were together and he asked me (keywords here) if I wanted to spend SuperBowl Sunday with him. Sports and me are like Vodka and whiskey, we don’t exactly go together. But if he was up for a whole day of fucking, then you bet you’re left butt cheek that I could instantly morph into the biggest Giants fan ever.
We even made up a football fucking game. Every fourth down, he would get a blowjob. Every field goal, we would sixty-nine. And every touchdown meant we would scored too, an orgasm for both teams!
I texted him Friday afternoon to check on our plans. Here's how it went:
Me: If you’re still planning on coming over Sunday it would be great if you could give me a time because going to lunch with a friend that day and need to plan accordingly. :) Thanks!
Brian: Okay, I'll tell you tomorrow. I might go watch the game.
(My thoughts: WTF! I thought we were going to watch the game together? I have a life, man. I can’t sit around waiting for you to make up your mind. My pussy isn’t at your beck and call. She’s not gonna sit up and roll over for you.)
Instead I played it cool.
Me: No worries. I'll just plan with my girlfriend that day. Have fun.
Brian: Okay babe, I'll come over after. K?
(My thoughts: He has lost his fucking mind. There is no way in hell that I will tolerate your wishy-washy shit. Making me wait? Cancelling on me? Yet he still expects me to fulfill his fucking football fantasies? Hell no.)
Me: Don't worry about it. I'm not someone you can make plans with, cancel, then change your mind and say you'll come over after.
Brian: Got it. Sorry. Didn't mean to disrespect you. Won't happen again. Or am I cut off already?
Me: Never said I didn't want to see you again, just wanted to let you know it's not very polite to say you'll get back with me tomorrow (when I need to plan with my girlfriend for lunch), and you might just go watch the game when we already made plans. Then say you will just come over afterwards. Seriously? Think how that would sound if someone said that to you.
Brian: Yep, got it. Sorry very sloppy, and I don't have plans yet. I just don't want to spend too much time with you. Have to watch my feelings around you. You're very powerful.
(My thoughts: What the hell? He’s the one who made the goddamn plans. Now he doesn’t want to spend too much time together because he’s afraid of getting hurt? When did guys become such pussies? Grow some balls.)
Me: That's your call.
Brian: The real good things in life should be enjoyed a little at a time. I won't disrespect you again. Sorry.
Me: I'm not here to play games...if you like someone then you just hang out with them. I don't want to feel like you’re spacing your time out.
Me: I like you Brian, and I would like to get to know you more. But I don't think you’re going to allow me to. I think it's best if we don't waste our time with each other. But I did enjoy our time together :)
Brian: That's ironic.
Me: I know, isn't it? :) But I seriously don't want to play games with someone. If I like someone, I like them and want to hang out with them.
Brian: When did I say anything different than that? I felt safe with someone who says she's never been in love. Wants an open relationship! No strings right?
(My thoughts: Obviously he doesn’t feel safe if he has to watch his feelings around me.)
Me: Well, let's see. You canceled on me then you tell me you don't want to see me too much. How would you feel if the tables were turned? Just because I want an open relationship doesn't mean I can't have feelings for someone.
Brian: Sienna, I'm sorry I changed plans babe. It won't happen again. I do like you and want to see you again.
Me: I'm all for that! But don't put a time limit on how much we hang out. If I want to see you, I want to see you. And vice versa.
Brian: Deal! I still want to see you on Sunday. Hope that’s okay?
Me: I’ll think about it…
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
I’ve been out with a guy named Brian about three times. He’s the cliché handsome as hell, smooth talking stud who any girl (especially me) willing rips her panties off for.
Thursday night we were together and he asked me (keywords here) if I wanted to spend SuperBowl Sunday with him. Sports and me are like Vodka and whiskey, we don’t exactly go together. But if he was up for a whole day of fucking, then you bet you’re left butt cheek that I could instantly morph into the biggest Giants fan ever.
We even made up a football fucking game. Every fourth down, he would get a blowjob. Every field goal, we would sixty-nine. And every touchdown meant we would scored too, an orgasm for both teams!
I texted him Friday afternoon to check on our plans. Here's how it went:
Me: If you’re still planning on coming over Sunday it would be great if you could give me a time because going to lunch with a friend that day and need to plan accordingly. :) Thanks!
Brian: Okay, I'll tell you tomorrow. I might go watch the game.
(My thoughts: WTF! I thought we were going to watch the game together? I have a life, man. I can’t sit around waiting for you to make up your mind. My pussy isn’t at your beck and call. She’s not gonna sit up and roll over for you.)
Instead I played it cool.
Me: No worries. I'll just plan with my girlfriend that day. Have fun.
Brian: Okay babe, I'll come over after. K?
(My thoughts: He has lost his fucking mind. There is no way in hell that I will tolerate your wishy-washy shit. Making me wait? Cancelling on me? Yet he still expects me to fulfill his fucking football fantasies? Hell no.)
Me: Don't worry about it. I'm not someone you can make plans with, cancel, then change your mind and say you'll come over after.
Brian: Got it. Sorry. Didn't mean to disrespect you. Won't happen again. Or am I cut off already?
Me: Never said I didn't want to see you again, just wanted to let you know it's not very polite to say you'll get back with me tomorrow (when I need to plan with my girlfriend for lunch), and you might just go watch the game when we already made plans. Then say you will just come over afterwards. Seriously? Think how that would sound if someone said that to you.
Brian: Yep, got it. Sorry very sloppy, and I don't have plans yet. I just don't want to spend too much time with you. Have to watch my feelings around you. You're very powerful.
(My thoughts: What the hell? He’s the one who made the goddamn plans. Now he doesn’t want to spend too much time together because he’s afraid of getting hurt? When did guys become such pussies? Grow some balls.)
Me: That's your call.
Brian: The real good things in life should be enjoyed a little at a time. I won't disrespect you again. Sorry.
Me: I'm not here to play games...if you like someone then you just hang out with them. I don't want to feel like you’re spacing your time out.
Me: I like you Brian, and I would like to get to know you more. But I don't think you’re going to allow me to. I think it's best if we don't waste our time with each other. But I did enjoy our time together :)
Brian: That's ironic.
Me: I know, isn't it? :) But I seriously don't want to play games with someone. If I like someone, I like them and want to hang out with them.
Brian: When did I say anything different than that? I felt safe with someone who says she's never been in love. Wants an open relationship! No strings right?
(My thoughts: Obviously he doesn’t feel safe if he has to watch his feelings around me.)
Me: Well, let's see. You canceled on me then you tell me you don't want to see me too much. How would you feel if the tables were turned? Just because I want an open relationship doesn't mean I can't have feelings for someone.
Brian: Sienna, I'm sorry I changed plans babe. It won't happen again. I do like you and want to see you again.
Me: I'm all for that! But don't put a time limit on how much we hang out. If I want to see you, I want to see you. And vice versa.
Brian: Deal! I still want to see you on Sunday. Hope that’s okay?
Me: I’ll think about it…
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
The Beginning...
Lust and love are everywhere in Los Angeles, especially under my panties. On this blog, I’ve made it my sole mission to tell you all about my electrifying sexual experiences: the ones that rocked my pussy’s world and the absurd ones that didn’t exactly give me lady wood.
Before we delve into the nitty-gritties of my sexcapades, there are a few things you should know about me:
I'm a Single Girl by choice (I mean have you seen this ass?). I'm absolutely not looking for a monogamous relationship or marriage. Walk me down the aisle? Gag me. Life’s too short for one penis! My pussy has an insatiable appetite, and I need more than one cock in my life. My motto is the lyrics to Cyndi Lauper’s lyrics “Girls, Just Want To Have Fun.”
I’m not looking for a husband, but I am looking for the perfect partner in crime. My idea of a perfect relationship is similar to Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre’s (explained in the book Tête-à-Tête). They had an open relationship that lasted over fifty years. They never exchanged vows, had kids, or lived together. But they shared theirs lives together in a different sort of way. The only commitment they made was a commitment to happiness, and however many fucks they could get in.
Is there someone out there who will be my Tête-à-Tête lover? We’re gonna have fun finding out!
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
Before we delve into the nitty-gritties of my sexcapades, there are a few things you should know about me:
I'm a Single Girl by choice (I mean have you seen this ass?). I'm absolutely not looking for a monogamous relationship or marriage. Walk me down the aisle? Gag me. Life’s too short for one penis! My pussy has an insatiable appetite, and I need more than one cock in my life. My motto is the lyrics to Cyndi Lauper’s lyrics “Girls, Just Want To Have Fun.”
I’m not looking for a husband, but I am looking for the perfect partner in crime. My idea of a perfect relationship is similar to Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre’s (explained in the book Tête-à-Tête). They had an open relationship that lasted over fifty years. They never exchanged vows, had kids, or lived together. But they shared theirs lives together in a different sort of way. The only commitment they made was a commitment to happiness, and however many fucks they could get in.
Is there someone out there who will be my Tête-à-Tête lover? We’re gonna have fun finding out!
- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide
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