Set sucks and fucks.

Hello. It’s been awhile since we fucked. Everything has changed and somehow nothing has.

Production is boring. I hate television. It’s nothing like the casting couch porno videos. I stand around. Leaning against walls. Propping myself up on anything I can sit on that’s not a grip’s face. Eye-fucking anything within a 25 foot vicinity of my throbbing lady parts. No one has time to fuck around. Maybe on your production they do. But not here. And I have to keep it professional.

So you want to write for television? No you don’t. Do anything else. Beat your head against a wall or a girl’s stomach until you feel some sense of relief. Whatever you originally put on the page has disappeared into the gullet of the network.

Attached to that great character name? Too bad, it didn’t clear legal.

Need a yes or no about something? Take a long string and some empty cans and play a game of telephone from set — to the production office — to the network — to the moon — through someone’s ass — and of course, back again. What was the question again? Could you clarify? Ask someone else. Repeat.

I slink around the blocks we’ve blocked off. We’ve taken over your corner of the greater Los Angeles area for 30 seconds of screen time and I feel bad. You can’t get to work*. I can’t get more than 5 hours of sleep or any of this actor dick. Like my personal fluffers, the casting people taunt me with hot guy and girl headshots all day long. The ones I like don’t get the job. Maybe that’s for the best. Email addresses saved, just in case.

*Kind sir(s), I’m glad we met on that Tinder date while I was working so you could share your grief about the impact of our production. I’m also sorry we cut down your favorite rose bush. I think your dogs have behavioral problems and skin allergies. Thank you for the weed and the hint of a finger pushing into my pussy through my tights.

As production ramped up I googled every single dude on the distro list. Married, married with kids, might be gay, might be gender fluid and in a polyamorous thing, might be my boss, might live in Bakersfield but drives a stupid amount of miles to stand around as a Set PA for 12-18 hours a day until his toes bleed. I can’t keep up with the names and faces as they reach 80, 90, 100+.

On the fifth day, after complaining there was no one to fuck, he appeared: “Mike” or thats what was taped on his walkie.  A vision straight from my teen skater boy dreams realized as a full grown hunky man strapped with a camera bag.

Five more days passed and nothing happened. Eye contact was impossible. He began picking off the hot blonde PAs one by one. My confidant believed I had missed my window. She didn’t know that when I miss a window I punch a hole through the fucking wall.

It was a particularly miserable day with that wet stuff falling from the sky. Rain in Los Angeles. OMFG I needed a raincoat but I only had condoms. We filmed in a bar that day. Do you know the pain of sitting in a bar for 15 hours without drinking? I was determined to make something out of this day. I wouldn’t let a perfectly good bar day go to waste.

It’s a wrap! Or 14 or 15 hours if you’re counting every last minute of your day and life you’ve lost to the art of television.

The crew hustled out of there and disappeared to their respective trucks. Expecting it to be just another day on set, I wore a boxy denim shirt from Target, and let a colleague drive me; thus giving up 100% of my sexuality and control. But something about that Thursday wasn’t letting the rain, the shirt, or the polite offer for a ride home end my day.

I told the ride I’d venture off on my own. We were filming around the corner from a bar I liked on Palms so it made sense to linger a bit and find my AC dude. I got stuck in a work conversation and thought I missed my window when I saw the transpo van pull out. My bottom lip did a tiny pout and I started to sad-Charlie-Brown-walk over to the bar when I saw a PA friend on the camera truck… with Mike.

When I’m professional, I’m really professional. I say that’s why I stutter-stepped my way to the truck but honestly I was worried about rejection. I didn’t think I’d be able to pull his focus.

And then I remembered who the fuck I am. With one hand I shoved PA friend to the side and offered myself some of their whiskey. Mike smiled and handed me the bottle. He was more attractive up close. We did the basic introductions and he hadn’t seen me on set before. I guess giving someone the fuck-stare for 10 hours a day doesn’t do anything. The PA wouldn’t stop yapping at me about getting dinner, when someone pulled him off the truck to do some paperwork.

Thanks to Instagram, I knew where Mike lived and it was on my way home. The whiskey and small talk encouraged me to invite him to the bar… wow that was easy!

We ended up at the Palms bar. Before he sat down to drink he did something remarkable; he walked over to the water cooler and filled a glass of water for me. Swoon. We drank and he complained of his day, the director, and the lack of sex in his relationship that (conveniently for me) ended a week ago. I complained that it took me 5 days to ask him out. He was flattered and turned on. He paid the tab and we walked out to the Uber I summoned before he had a chance to order a 4th round of drinks.

We passed Olympic and Bundy – his attention shifted from my thighs to the strip club he went to a few nights before – The Silver Reign. I knew it, since it was a lunch haunt of mine when I had the desk job. We made it to the stoplight in front of the Bed Bath & Beyond when I instructed the driver to turn around. Mike protested a bit — I grabbed his cock and he gave in. The driver dropped off us in the Good Stuff Burger strip mall and we walked around the corner to La Grange and the club’s entrance.

I learned more about Mike and myself at the club. Mike liked spending money on strippers. Mike liked buying me lap dances. Mike liked it more when the strippers were grinding me. Mike liked it when the strippers pulled my tits out and sucked on them. I wasn’t sure I liked it, because I was wearing the weird boxy denim shirt and a sports bra. The best looking gal encouraged me to kiss Mike. So I did, next to the stripper stage, while a petite Miley Cyrus look-alike dressed as a nurse hung upside down on the pole.

Apparently for $500 the Cyrus stripper would eat my pussy in a private room. The manager and Mike negotiated for a bit when I said we could hire a hooker for the same price. Ugh. What a tangent the night had taken and I needed to get him home. I took him to the guest house I’ve been squatting at for a few months. Squats are good for squirting, right? We showered, he fucked me, and appreciated it. Enthusiastic appreciation is a big part of good sex. A killer body from hauling camera equipment doesn’t hurt either – on his part – not my doughiness from sitting around set for weeks.

After we collapsed from the physical exhaustion of the day and the act he cuddled me. He cuddled me hard. Normally these days I would be repulsed, but he felt good wrapped around me. I noticed his cock getting hard again so I tried to slip it in my ass. He suggested a condom — good man! — so I wrapped myself an anal present and backed up on his perfect dick.

In the morning he took an early work call. Pacing around the room with a full boner. I sat in a puddle of drool or something and waited for him to come back to bed. Before he ended the call he started getting dressed. I didn’t feel that much heartbreak during my divorce. It was for the best since call time was 3 hours away.

He gave me a pretty sweet kiss as he left through the side gate. I wished him luck in avoiding the boss on his way out.

16 hours later I passed him on set, us both in the depths of hangover hell, and said “long day?” I didn’t speak to him again the rest of the production.

 

Dads are boring.

I’m home before midnight so I had time to crank out this followup to my early post.

[Redacted] is a nice hotel but I prefer it during the day when you can see the filthy [redacted body of water]. At night it just feels like old people. Walking in several staff and customers eyed me- they had to think I was a hooker the way I was dressed: super short tight skirt and my usual cleavage-y top. In the Forever 21 dressing room last week I overheard a customer telling her friend tight clothing is out. That might be true, but sluts are always in fashion.

After a hug enhanced with a slight pelvic thrust I cozied up to Ace at the bar. I tried to order water and ended up with a copper mug of Moscow Mule. Drinking was an excellent choice since it finished off the lingering hang/bangover from Friday night.

Ace and I go way back. To Friendster* and weird days in Ohio. He’s a married dad now, but we still have a DTF energy. We always have, even before the history of perverted shit between us ever went down.

I can’t believe he’s monogamous now. He’s the guy who would jerk off with his girlfriend’s roommate’s panties and put hidden cameras around his house. A real creep. Exactly my type.

Ace tried to pawn me off on his newly single friend but I wasn’t interested. Though talking to his friend gave me the chance to check out the hot German guy at the bar, 1/2 of a gay or father-son duo. I couldn’t get a sync on the younger’s eyes or I would probably be on some scheizer cam site right now instead of writing.

Ace was done drinking and ready for bed. I made him to walk me to my car (we ditched his friend) and once we got to my car I said I wanted to check out his hotel bar down the street before I took off. I thought the bartender I wanted to fuck would be working and I’d have a drink solo but he wasn’t there.

I followed Ace to his hotel’s elevator; to the 4th floor, to the 8th floor and back down to his room on the 4th. I told him I wanted to watch him cum. He was resistant. I didn’t push him and kept asking him if I should leave but he wouldn’t reply. It was strange to see him shy. The same guy who used to grope me hard, tie me up and choke the fuck out of me was conflicted and intimidated.

I forgot how pretty those hotel rooms are. They totally designed them for slutty gingers. He paced a lot in his room. I laughed a lot. A few minutes of anxious indecision led to him jerking off for me. I showed him my tits. Didn’t touch him until he grabbed my hand and put it on his cock. I asked if I could spit on it and he said no but I did it anyways. He came less than a minute later all over his stomach.

He asked me why I made him do this. I asked why he called me. All in all I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. No different than him paying a cam girl to watch him jerk off; which I’m sure he does when he’s home alone. In general it’s not my style to pursue unavailable men. But sometimes history takes precedent over soft rules.

*He is not the guy I fucked last night from Friendster.

Bloody Drunk Sundays

You give me two types of feedback. You tell me to write more or to suck your dick. It’s confusing to know which one to listen to so I usually choose the blowie.

If you haven’t noticed from my tweets I’ve been on a tiny bit of a bender the last several weeks. As a newly single gal I have some lost time to make up. The past 3 weeks feel like 3 months and I had enough sex yesterday to last a week… or a few more hours until I find some other stiffy to stuff in me.

I’m getting divorced but still living with my ex for another month or two. It’s not bad but not easy either so it makes me go out way more than if I had my own place free of animosity and sad/mad glares. When I am home I’m recovering and trying to save up enough energy to make it to work less than an hour late and pretend my life is normal.

I feel out of control but don’t give a shit.

Tonight is much like a Sunday about six weeks ago: winding down from a hard weekend of drinking and sex, mentally preparing for work, laundry, cuddling the dog, writing. And then a quiet night at home is sabotaged by a hard-to-turn-down offer. Not even tangible sex but the memories of fun times and the promise of something interesting. That night it was D and tonight it’s the weirdo ace bandage/mummification fetish guy. Good old favorites.

I wanted to catch up with D earlier that day. Coffee, something in the daylight before I switch into feeding frenzy mode. He couldn’t do coffee but waited until almost 9 to invite me over to his friend’s place to watch the Newsroom. I drove like a maniac to Hollywood. I called my friend on the way who confirmed the next day I sounded like I was in the middle of a manic episode. I’m undiagnosed so “Fuck you, friend. I’m having a good time!”

I was a block away when I realized I had forgot about plans with a new fuck buddy. Thought about turning around heading his direction but LA graced me with a parking spot in front of the building. A resident let me in under the assumption I wouldn’t murder anyone. Then I kissed the stranger in the elevator on the way to the 5th floor and told him to have a good night and we went our separate ways.

D‘s friend E opened the door and greeted me with a hug and an offer of wine, beer or whiskey. I wasn’t planning on drinking, but I was wearing a short dress and heels because why the fuck would I want to watch TV at someone’s house in sweats?

An hour/a bottle of wine later D went home to his GF and E and I went trolling for pussy on Hollywood Blvd. One loop around the block we decided to go back to his place and drink more.

I didn’t realize at the time that I had finished the bottle of wine on my own and moved on to vodka on the rocks.

Then E and I moved onto the bed for some near-blackout drunk period sex. I’d share the details but I don’t remember. I remember not wanting him to stop and taking a shower after so I guess it was good?

4 hours later my alarm was going off – he had to wake me up because I didn’t even hear it. Teetering on heels down to my car I almost vomited. I still had to drive west of the 405 and get ready for work. I drove each mile thinking it would be my last. My head was killing me and I could barely keep my eyes open. By the time I got home my ex was up and getting ready for work and I was in tears. I was in no shape to work and it was a day I really couldn’t miss.

I called in and went back to sleep. Every time I woke up it felt worse than the time before. I swore off drinking. I needed this pseudo rock bottom to get back on the healthy living, yoga path- a concept that lasted a whole two days.

This Sunday is like that Sunday and the other days I can’t settle. I could make myself content but contentment is boring. I could stay home but why would I… free drinks and the promise of unwillingly being choked out is almost as good or better than what’s on TV tonight.

Even though I didn’t learn to stop drinking all together, I did kind of learn I shouldn’t drink on Sundays. I now drink on Tuesdays and go to work on an hour of sleep without the assistance of drugs or caffeine.

The Greatest Fuck That Almost Never Happened, Pt 1

In 2009 I had an uneventful hotel bar date with a nice “comedy writer type” guy. I was preoccupied with other cock and didn’t really give him a fair shot. I didn’t let him kiss me goodnight and I blew someone else 20 minutes later. I forgot all about him until he was on my TV two years ago. I didn’t think much of it other than “oh, that guy”.

A year ago we reconnected on Twitter and that lead to a bar down the hill from his place. I like to relive mediocre dates because it’s usually awkward and/or interesting. Immediately there was more attraction than I remember, but I still wasn’t dripping. As we talked more I started to feel differently. He was more direct and dirty than I remembered.

He invited me to his place and despite not yet being in an open relationship I got in his car. 10 minutes later we were watching gay porn and he was unzipping his pants and putting his cock in my mouth.

I was reluctant to take my pants off because I was trying to be a good wife; which I am not in any sense of the word. Somehow I kept him away from my pussy and took his load to my tits.

Fast forward a month and I make him take me to dinner because apparently I don’t do that enough with my husband. He plays along and a few weak drinks later we went back to his empty office. He started rubbing my pussy through my panties and slipped his fingers in. Fuck. This was going to be problematic for my marriage and his work couch.

After a sloppy, spitty blow job and 69ing we caught our breath. The regret started immediately, nothing to do with my marriage of course, but the fact I wrote him off after the first date.

My pussy throbbed for two days straight but when he offered to see me again, I kept flaking out. He makes me nervous. Fuck. I could get addicted to his hands and he kind of makes me never want to fuck my husband again. I masturbate thinking of him and send him photos of my pussy with my fingers slipping in.

But I let the flirting continue and since there was always talk of how he wanted to make me squirt I decided to let him try again.

I went out for drinks with some other guy to warm myself up and made my way to house. One minute we were talking and the next he was splashing my face and I was sitting in a puddle on his couch. He made me squirt in less than a minute. I sat in disbelief and he grabbed my hand and took me into his bedroom where he made me squirt again all over his floor. Amazon.com had kindly delivered a tarp to his house but I would only give it a 1 or 2 star rating since his bed was still soaked after several squirting orgasms: #3 (fingers/mouth), #4 (vibrator/fingers), #5 (wtf is happening down there), #6 (cock), #7 (please, I’m going to die) and #8 (heaven is a wonderful place).

I’ve learned an important lesson. I should fuck everyone on the first date.

Open Relationship Rebound #1

About 2 minutes after my husband agreed to the open relationship I was back on the online hookup sites looking for action; which really was a mistake and a waste of time because everyone knows Twitter is where the fucks are. And once I looked at the list of my followers it didn’t take me long to rekindle a previous flirtation.

I had met him a few years before I was in a relationship. He had a girlfriend and at the time and I still had morals about not fucking unavailable/involved people. I DM’d him a pretty straight forward invite to drinks and he replied instantly.

Later that night we met at a dive near his house. In person he was better looking than I remembered and instantly I was down for a makeout or whatever. Sometimes I’m so fucking dumb. We lasted at the bar for two drinks before I suggested we transition to his place. I made the mistake of leaving my car behind at the bar. He didn’t live far away and up until getting in the car everything seemed normal.

I assumed I was going back for some living room entertainment and more drinks but he skipped that and took me straight to his bedroom. I don’t know why but the room smelled like kitty litter; there wasn’t a cat or a litter box. At this point I really wanted to bail but figured I’d ride it out a bit longer…

He never kissed me. He just started acting weird and having slight ticks (not in a Tourettes kind of way, more in a psycho kind of way). I figured the easiest way to escape was to get him to cum so I said I’d watch him jerk off. For at least an hour there was no kissing and barely any communication. Just repetitive grunting, aggressive cock stroking, repeating my name and disgusting groping. I tried to play along but it was SO fucking hard. I’m surprised he didn’t rip his dick off and try to stab me with it. He had to see that I wasn’t interested or into it but kept pushing me. I was scared to piss him off. At some point he was spitting on my tits while he fucked them. Finally he came, drove me to my car and I went home. My husband woke up and asked me how my night out went but I didn’t tell him what happened because he would have been mad/sad for me.

AND the next day my cleavage was broken out! Even my skin thought the whole thing was fucking disgusting.

Bodily Fluids You Should Probably Keep To Yourself

First dates are easy to come by for me. Unfortunately this means sometimes I double book myself and I cancel on you at the last minute or you get sloppy seconds. You might act like you care if you get the latter, but I don’t think you actually do.

On Tuesday I had two guys lined up. I cut the web geek from Twitter loose by 3pm for a blond actor from OKCupid. My former teenage self needs to realize no matter how many blond dudes I fuck, Jonathan Brandis is never coming back from the dead. 

You would think canceling with someone before you even meet them IRL would mean they wouldn’t ask you out again, but by Thursday I had date with the web geek lined up and somehow he convinced me to drive all the way downtown. Downtown feels like such a hike from the Westside, but I do like the 10 at night when you can see the LA lights sparkling like low-slung stars.

Being unsure of where to park my car, I pulled into the red zone of an ornate 1920’s building. I looked in my mirror and saw a hot guy. This can’t be my date. As he came closer I rolled down my window- he said “hello” with the slightest southern accent. Like me, he was probably trying to cover up his childhood in the South. I liked his grey linen pants and I wondered what they would look like off.

I parked my car and we headed to the curb to catch a cab. His blue-grey eyes lingered on mine and I asked if we should just skip the drinks at a bar and go up to his apartment… but for some reason he insisted we go to Seven Grand. 

It was revealed after a shot that he chose Seven Grand not for the whiskey but for a show for the waitress he recently fucked. She had been getting a little too clingy and he wanted to send a message. I helped send that message by basically shoving his face in my cleavage and grabbing his cock through is pants.

Not completely lost in pretend, I was totally digging this guy. We had some genuine chemistry and I was ready to fuck. I’m not much for making out in cabs but I couldn’t keep my tongue out of his mouth on the way back to his apartment.

Of course we got trapped in 10 minutes of awkward conversation with his older borderline gay roommate. It wasn’t a total loss because I did get a super expensive glass of wine out of it.

Finally behind closed doors our clothes came off. Stuff happened. Oral, fucking, etc. I now liked him less. After my tits were covered in cum we passed out.

I woke up to the sound of what I thought was dry heaving. When I felt another round of warm moisture on my chest I realized I was wrong. He ran to the bathroom and I wiped off my chest. Thankfully I didn’t receive a direct hit of vomit, just the splattering of what hit every other corner of his room. I heard the shower turn on. Now was my chance to escape and forget about this but the parking garage was pretty sketchy so I decided to stay. I fell back asleep before he cleaned up.

Sometimes I’m hard to wake up. Not so much when there is a tongue in my ass. It was hard to concentrate on the pleasure when the room still smelled like vom. After this strange post-coitus-post-vomit pleasure I fell asleep again. 

Finally waking up to daylight was a gift. Driving home in Friday morning rush hour traffic was not; especially when I smelled like vomit and could feel the whiskey not wanting to let me go.

riding in cars with (creepy) boys.

It was the first Sunday in April. I needed to be in North Hollywood by 6pm. My afternoon nap ran late and I was rushing to get over the hill in time. Around Sunset & Fairfax I noticed a classic car next to me. The guy behind the wheel appeared to be in his late 20s or early 30s and from what I could tell he looked pretty hot. It was hard to see his face clearly as it was shrouded in Wayfarers and a black fedora.

I’m not shy in traffic so I made eye contact and smiled. The car passed me and I took that opportunity to roll down my window- I have to do this manually- my car doesn’t have power windows because I was dumb and desperate enough to buy the cheapest model. Timing was on my side as I pulled up to the red light next to him. I leaned his direction and said, “that’s a hot car… and you’re a hot guy.” We exchanged names, he asked where I was going and I told him. Then he said “do you want to pullover and give me a hug?” I said yes and he said to follow him.

Two blocks down the street he pulled into a bank parking lot. I parked next to him and got out of my car and into his. The car was beautiful inside; I commented on the grey leather seats. They were my favorite shade of grey and worn and cracked with age. We made brief small talk about where we lived and our occupations, he only had one word answers. I had left my sunglasses in my car, and he didn’t even take his off, so I couldn’t tell if he was fixated on my low cut sweater or not. My cleavage was on full display, but I was dressed rather conservatively; I wasn’t trying, it was still daylight after all. To avoid his dark polarized stare I kept glancing at his untied high top Chucks and I tried my best to peak around my own reflection and see behind his Ray Bans.

When he leaned in to kiss me I was surprised and flattered; I kissed back. His lips were nice. The kisses were sweet and gentle with minimal tongue. He touched my breasts and my hair and kissed me a few more times before we mutually pulled away. Then he started taking his pants off: the belt, his slacks and finally his tighty-whities. He pulled his pants completely down, like to his ankles. It was broad daylight. His windows were down and untinted. There were other people in the parking lot. WTF? In doing so he revealed his flaccid penis. It was shriveled, veiny, and nestled in a nest of brown, untrimmed pubic hair. He touched my hair again, grabbing the back of my  neck and gave me a “suck my dick” kind of nudge. I told him no and he grabbed my hand and guided it to his cock. After a minute of forced massaging, his dick was still completely soft. I slowly retracted my hand and said I needed to go, I couldn’t be late. He said, “you’re so hot, you can’t just leave me like this.” I wasn’t sure what he meant since he wasn’t even erect.

All of a sudden my brain kicked in and I realized that this probably wasn’t the best situation to be in. What if the door was locked or stuck? I hoped it wasn’t and I reached for it; I pulled the silver handle down and thankfully it opened. Once outside the car I stood there for a moment. He pulled his pants up. Leaving was an abrupt transition back into the reality I left on Sunset Blvd. a few blocks away. I don’t remember our final exchange of words but I got in my car and drove off after what was probably something like an awkward “um… goodbye… and… um… uh… nice to meet you”.

My passenger window was still down. The red light at Gardner gave me time to roll it up and thoroughly apply some antibacterial gel. I soaked my hands and gasped “WHAT THE FUCK” and “OH MY GOD.”

Later that night and into the week I couldn’t seem to wash off the filthy feeling. I still can’t believe my recklessness. From what you’ve read here, my stories may seem to be a string of carefree, stupid decisions but they’re not. I’m the street smart girl. The paranoid girl. The one always concerned about the horrible things that could happen and how to handle myself. I am the girl who watches out for her friends. I’m the babysitter. This was a rare instance of letting myself live truly in the moment, unchecked. Did I do it for the fun of it… or was I doing it for the story?

The whole experience has left me full of anxiety and questions. Boundaries have been crossed that I’m not comfortable with. Not just the guy in the car but the ongoing exposure I feel with the blog and Twitter. The continually thinning line between my personal life and the BlazingShark is quite uncomfortable.