TMI Thursday - There's a time and a place

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!




About a month and a half ago, I did an amazing pub crawl in Dallas with a bunch of great friends.

Later I calculated and I drank 11 beers (not light ones, mind you...), three dirty martinis, and at least two shots of something. And that's just what I recall drinking.

As you can imagine, I was a little bit schmammered. (Read: A LOT.)

My brilliant plan was to take the train to the event and then not have to drive home. So I proceeded to drink with little caution. What I hadn't really considered is that the train is about 1.5 miles from my house. And it's through a really unfortunate part of town. A part of town that little white girls should probably not be wandering around in alone and drunk at 2am.

I also hadn't considered that I might miss the last train.

As it turned out, our numbers had dwindled by the last (of 6) bars, and by that time it was just me, two other people who had been there at the beginning, and some guy that someone knew.

Some guy someone knew had been pretty much hitting on every woman at the pub crawl for the majority of the night. And I had been laughing at his ass the whole time.

I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, some guy someone knew was standing right there. He leaned in and kissed me. Hard.

Um...what the fuck, dude?

Boy was I drunk, though, so all the "what the fuck?" pretty much happened in my head. I must have looked at him like, "Please take me home," because he grabbed my hand and said, "Let's get out of here."

With the compliance of a true drunk-ass, I allowed myself to be led out the door, where I promptly said (without really meaning to say), "I don't have my car. I took the train. I need to take the train back home, but it's dangerous. I'm not having sex with you."

He just looked at me and rolled his eyes. STILL holding my hand, though I had been squirming to have it released.

(I seriously hate holding hands. Even more so with strangers. Somehow, and I realize this is completely bizarre, holding hands is far more intimate to me than sex.)

He called us a cab and we managed to come up with enough cash to make it to his place. I don't like people in my space and we didn't have enough cash to stop at both places. His car was at a different train station, so this didn't really solve the problem anyway.

We walked in the door and he sort of...I don't know what the word is. Attacked is wrong, but he kissed me again. And then we were both on the couch and he was on top of me. He wasn't a big guy, so I could easily have pushed him off, but at this point, being underneath someone felt kind of okay, so I just went with it. Meanwhile saying again, "Seriously, I'm not having sex with you."

Five minutes later, we were making the sex. I'm not sure how it happened.

Well, we were making what he would call "sex" and what I would call "nap-time."

There was absolutely no consistent rhythm. None. And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's getting myself off. But. I. Just. Couldn't. It was like he was trying to stop me.

But the best part?

About five minutes in, and believe me, I've been putting on a show for all I was worth for the last five minutes to get this shit over with, he stopped. He pulled back and said, "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

I said, "Uh...yeah."

He started again. Then five minutes later, same thing. This time I said, "I'm fine. I'll let you know if I'm not okay."

Again. AGAIN.

So finally I said, "This will go a lot better if you will just SHUT THE FUCK UP."

He looked at me, startled. "What?"

"I think you heard me. You don't need to ask me about my feelings. We're doing this, let's just do it."

By this time, I'd made my grocery list, rearranged all my shoes, redecorated my apartment, and written angry letters to everyone who had ever pissed me off (I'm looking at you, poorly edited books) and I. Was. BORED.

I'd stopped even trying to pretend like I was having any fun, as there seemed to be no point.

An hour later, I looked at him and said, "Any chance you're going to wrap this up?"

It was like someone had told him that marathon sex was necessary. And, you know, it's okay, I guess, but not when one member is bored to tears.

He just looked at me, sort of in shock, I guess. And I said, "Let me put it this way. I'm done. If you'd like to be done, too, that would be great. But I? Am done."

He said, "Oh! You finished?"

And I said, "I hate to tell you this, but I couldn't 'finish' if you paid my vagina up front in cash. I am, however, done. Please do your job."

A few minutes later, he finished up. I'm not sure if he actually finished, or if he was just so scared of me that he stopped.

The next morning I got up early and he called me a cab. I managed to find enough money in my purse to cover the ride home (in last night's pub crawl T-shirt, it was quite the walk of shame), and as he leaned over to kiss me and possibly ask me for my phone number, I jumped away and said, "Oh look! Cab! Gotta go!"

A note to men everywhere: Do NOT ask women about their feelings mid awkward sex. It's just wrong. There's a time and a place to talk about feelings and in bed with a stranger is not it. If she's there doing it, take it for what it's worth. At least try to blow her mind. And sometimes a sprint can be just as satisfying as a marathon. Particularly when everyone is drunk and possibly no one is sure what the other person's name is. Sprint, baby, sprint.

TMI Thursday - In which I accidentally walked in on a donkey show.

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!



Strangely, I've had more questions about how this could happen accidentally than questions about the actual donkey show. I guess once you've seen one donkey show, you've seen 'em all.



By the way? It was nothing like that. Also, sorry for the poor quality, but it was the only video I could find without ads in it.

My family moved to El Paso, Texas the year that I started high school. We lived there for about five years. The best thing about El Paso, Texas? Nothing. Okay, maybe its proximity to Juarez, Mexico. Where we could go, as underage kids, and pay eight dollars to get into a club for what they call "drink and drown." Basically, you pay the money, you drink for free for the rest of the night.

I never drank, but I went with my friends because it was the thing to do. We would go to the clubs, they would get hammered, we would all dance ourselves silly, then I would drive them home. Note: I didn't get my driver's license until about a week before graduation, so this was pretty illegal. Then again, so is drunk driving. And it's particularly frowned upon when you're 16-years-old.

The only other thing to do was drive out into the desert and drink and/or make out.

So most weekends, we all piled into a car, drove to the border, parked the car, told the lady who guarded the parking lot that we would indeed "have fun and be careful" (she said this to everyone every time), paid our quarter, and walked over the bridge to good ol' Mexico.

On my first or second trip, I was, of course, scared to death. I mean, we're a bunch of high school white kids crossing into border town Mexico to party. It was a horrible idea and I'm surprised more of us didn't die. Or get raped. Or get sold into slavery. But somehow, for the most part, there were no tragedies.

My friends and I had gone to a place called "Tequila Derby" first. But it was dead, so they said we should move on to a different place, called "Fred's." Fred's was more of a bar and less of a club and you had to be 18 to get in. Of course, I wasn't anywhere near 18, but my twin friends were, so I had one of their old IDs and no one even pretended to notice that two of us had the same name. And walked in back to back. With another girl with almost the same name. But I was blonde and they were brunette. Just sayin'.

Anyway, I had never been to Fred's, so I had no idea where to go. I was following them, when my shoe came untied. I bent over to fix the problem and when I looked up, my friends were gone.

I assumed that they must have just gone in the next door, if they disappeared that quickly, so I calmly and happily yanked the door open.

And stopped.

In front of me, there was a stage. On the stage there was a rather skinny, large-breasted, brunette woman. Also on the stage, a donkey. The woman was...servicing the donkey. In ways my little innocent 16-year-old eyes had never seen. She was on all fours (as was the donkey, I suppose), underneath the donkey, with his dick in her mouth, sucking for all she was worth.

I couldn't do anything but stare.

Until I realized that upon the entrance of a teenage blonde girl, all eyes had turned toward the door. And now were staring at me. With sort of a hungry, maybe-I'd-like-some-of-that-for-dessert look on their collective faces.

My eyes probably widened to near-saucer proportions. I started backing toward the door, still almost unable to avert my eyes from the woman on stage, who had now turned herself around so that she could...take it in the ass for the donkey. There was no lube break. Vomit started rising up in my throat. I spun around, slammed the door open and ran at full-speed out onto the street.

Where I stopped. Because I still had no idea where my friends were.

I opened the next door more cautiously and was rewarded with the sight of hundreds of high school kids with Zimas (Yes, Zima. I didn't drink it, but it was quite popular at the time.) laughing and talking, my friends among them.

One of my friends looked at me and said, "Where did you go?"

I just looked at her, I'm sure the fear was still in my eyes, and said, "I'll tell you later. Just took a wrong turn."

TMI Thursday - Look Ma! I'm a natural!

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!



Even I can't believe I just titled a post about my first blowjob that way.

As you may or may not have read in the past, I led kind of a sheltered childhood. I didn't even really know about sex until I was...maybe 15? And I remember the first time someone said something about giving a blowjob, I thought it was something you do to your tires or something.

This is what happens when you're raised Southern Baptist.

Now I'm a whore who has threesomes and sex with strangers (okay, I don't really have sex with strangers).

(Except that one time.)

(I'm kidding.)

(Maybe.)

I think I'll actually tell you the blowjob story now. If you're ready.

At the end of high school, I dated this guy my mom hated (Oh how that rhymes!). A lot. Mostly I dated him because my mom hated him. Oh, right, he was the one with the nudist parents. And the belly button piercing. He looked like this:



By the time we started dating, I had already at least messed around with other boys. My most-of-high-school boyfriend No Rhythm (seriously, I wish I had video of him dancing. HILARIOUS.) and I had done some stuff. Mostly above the waist business. Although this one time I sat in his lap moved around a little and...well, let's just say we made a wet spot. I was confused.

Soccer Player and I had um...done some below the waist stuff, but mostly to me. That sounds weird. But I was kind of scared of the penis. It looks weird and it smells funny (Kidding!) and I had no idea what to do with it. He convinced me that it would feel good if he put his tongue on my girly bits. He was kinda wrong. What? HE HAD BRACES. Ouch.

When Nudist Parents came around, I was still pretty green. He was patient because I was cute and young and willing to learn. So we made out and did other stuff, and one afternoon he said, "So um have you ever um given anyone a blowjob?"

A WHAT?

I'm so not working on your tires, buddy.

Kidding, I totally knew what it was by then.

(Sort of.)

I said no and that I didn't really want to because I wouldn't be good at it and I didn't really know how and did he want me to because okay. Basically.

He said, and this is really charming (write this one down, dudes), "It's not like you're going to be good at it. You probably won't even make me cum."

I WAS YOUNG, okay? I sort of put my head down and said, "But I don't wanna be bad at it. I wanna make you come!"

(Come where, I didn't know. Note the change of spelling. I HAD NO IDEA WHAT THIS REALLY MEANT.)

Yeah, he really set me up for that one. Also, I think he was probably under the impression that I wouldn't be good at it and I might not make him cum, but so what? It would be good either way. Especially since it had been like two months and he had yet to stick his dick anywhere.

So I agreed to try it. First let me explain something. Nudist Parents? Had a REALLY BIG PENIS. Having never really seen one before, I didn't have anything to compare it to. I know what you're thinking, but I'm serious. I measured. TEN INCHES.

Which I was supposed to get in my mouth. Sigh.

I got into position and sort of tentatively licked it. In my head, I was thinking, "Oh my god oh my god, I can't even swallow Tylenol, how am I supposed to get this in my mouth? What do I do? HELP!"

But I sort of got into the idea and...found my groove.

About five minutes later, he made this sort of groaning sound. And this warm gooey stuff was in my mouth and I WAS FREAKING OUT. I jumped back, causing the um...jizz to spurt all over my face, up my nose, in my eye, and in my hair. (I'm pretty sure he couldn't have planned that better. Now that I've seen porn, I understand that men really like this sort of thing.)

I looked up at him, goo dripping from my eyelashes, and said, "WHAT HAPPENED?"

He said, "Huh. Turns out, you're a natural."

I said, "You so have to buy me a coke if you want me to do that again." (You know, so I could drink the coke to get rid of the...taste.)

And so, pretty much everywhere we went, he would buy me a coke, I would give him a blowjob (Yes, I do mean everywhere). Seems like a fair deal, right?

TMI Thursday - Now I can cross threesome off my list

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!



I just spent a week in Seattle and I can tell you this: Seattle rocked my world. Plus, I got to visit with a friend I hadn't seen in about five years.

B and I went to high school together. We "went out" briefly when I was about 15 and he was 16. He used to drive me out to the desert and take advantage of me. I was very innocent and naive back then. This is so not sarcasm. I had never even seen a penis.

Dating, or whatever you call that thing we did for two weeks in high school, didn't really work out so well, but we were friends from about the age of 13 on into adulthood. B was the friend I would make out with when my boyfriend and I split up. Or when we were both single. Always a good time.

We've always loved each other. We even made one of those stupid pacts to get married when we were thirty if neither of us were married. B reminded me of it. I said, "Clearly we were stupid back then." I'm so sweet, right?

Then he moved away and I moved away and we lost touch. I found him years later via some manner or method of social networking. We started talking again and realized how much we missed each other. I went to visit him in New Mexico where we finally managed to have sex. After all those years of making out in the desert on top of his car.

He came to visit me in Dallas a year or so later. And we kept in touch for years after that. The guy I was dating, however, was really really not fond of our relationship and somehow we managed to lose touch again.

Then a couple of months ago, I got an email from Facebook: "B has sent you a message on Facebook!" Could it be? I was so excited, I emailed him right back. Then I called him. Because apparently I'm psychotic when I haven't talked to someone in five years.

We talked for about an hour and all was right with the world. He was still in Seattle. But the weird part was...he had a girlfriend. Like the kind he lived with and had been dating for two years. And B is not the commitment type. I've never even bothered to remember his chicks' names, he goes through them so fast. He's definitely a grass is greener kind of guy. And my grass was always the greenest (most likely because I never fell for any of his shit. Even when I was 14).

And my trip to Seattle was born.

One of my other friends was just about to move, so I would get to hang out with her, too. And the whole thing would rock. I could even meet the girlfriend, she's also B. And they both have long, blonde hair.

B picked me up from the airport and we hung out by ourselves the first night (Monday). We had a great time (for the sake of sounding less like a whore, I won't tell you that he totally kissed me that night). It was almost like we'd never lost touch. I spent the next night with my other friends, and then I got to meet B's B on Wednesday (you know, knowing that I had made out with her boyfriend and stuff. Please don't think less of me. I didn't make the move and I did make it stop). This is confusing, so try to stay with me.

Thursday I hung with B most of the day and then we met his B for happy hour. We were out drinking and having a right good time (what am I, 80?). We stopped at this awesome place with a winged skeletal undead thing for 40s of PBR (for $5!) and shots of tequila. Somewhere in the middle, B's B says something like, "Yeah, if B and I were to have a threesome with another chick, there would have to be rules. I get jealous." Then she walked off to go to the bathroom.

I just looked at B and said, "Um, your girlfriend just informed me that there would be rules if you guys have a threesome with another girl...while she was staring at my boobs."

He said she was all talk and we let the whole thing go.

Friday night, I met B's B for happy hour with her coworkers. I did have to field several things like, "I was really worried about your visit. B made it sound like you were the love of his life and I wasn't sure if I would be okay with you being here and stuff."

In my drunken state I managed to say, "I think that's kind of an exaggeration. We sort of dated briefly in high school, but that's it." Go me. Bonus points for saying the right thing while drunk!

She also mentioned how HOT! I was several times (her emphasis, not mine). Which is fine. I can take a compliment. And I did look really good in that particular dress. In addition to all of this, one of her friends (let's call him J) was busy falling in love with me. He proposed marriage at the next bar. My response? "Dude. I live in Texas. And you play World of Warcraft. I've already paid my dues in that department."

We drank a lot. I did the math later. I had over a gallon of beer.

Then they talked me into smoking for the first time (I'm not talking about cigarettes here. Gross). It wasn't pretty. But then I watched Dr. Horrible and was apparently adorable (B's B's words. See? Confusing!). I stayed at their place and Sunday we were going to hang out in the pool and have a barbecue.

I promise that I'm getting to the good stuff and you will be happy with me if you stick around.

J was supposed to join us sometime in the afternoon, but we got in our bikinis early (except B, he did the man trunks thing), and hopped in the pool. After several attempts at bikini wrestling and one margarita shot that involved licking salt off my cleavage, I had the sneaking suspicion that B's B was interested in acting out her threesome fantasies.

Which is just awkward, okay. I'm sorry, but having sex with your friend (whom you've been messing around with since puberty) and his girlfriend (particularly when you suspect he might be more attracted to you in the sexy time way) is just awkward.

I get it that we're all trying to be cool here. I get wanting to prove to your boyfriend that you're awesome and will totally let him look at another chick naked while you have sex. I get that I was only in town for a few more hours and I seemed like the perfect option. But c'mon. What do I get out of this?

Anyway, sometime in the middle of the afternoon, I realize that B's B has gone MIA. Be comes over to me and says, "Um, hey, (B's) B wants to talk to you about something."

Uh, okay. So I asked where she was.

"In the bedroom."

Oh dear.

I walked back to the bedroom and opened the door and B's B is lying on the bed. She ditched her swimsuit in favor of this...see-through white mesh number with straps all down the sides. Which I have to admit was pretty hot. She held up a short, black, lacy nightie (which was definitely made for her boobs. My boobs laughed at it...) and said, "I was thinking you'd be really beautiful in this. Why don't you put it on?"

At this point, my brain is saying, "This can't really end well. This is such a bad idea. Oh, I've had a lot of beer, just put the damn thing on."

B comes in the room and B's B said, "B, don't you think Shine would be totally hot in this?"

Really, people, what's he supposed to say?

I said, "Don't answer that. For all our sakes."

I was sitting on the bed with B's B and she went ahead and untied my bikini bottoms. I should add here that the two of them had been doing this all day. I'd flashed more boob than I care to consider.

Really it would have been more awkward to get out of this than to just participate. So I said, "All right. I'll put it on. But I don't like to get sticky."

B's B said, "Me either. We can just enjoy each other from the waist up. B can enjoy the lower parts."

Yeah, right. Except mine, of course. Let's not forget the rules.

So we kissed and there was touching and it was a giant pile of sex. It was basically porn. But hotter because we're real people and stuff. At least that's my opinion. Plus, I was there.

Obviously, my lady parts got very little action, but B's B seemed pretty...happy about the whole thing. She was quite...vocal. I was a tad bored with the proceedings though, as once you've had one nipple in your mouth, well, you kind of consider just sucking on your own. But I can do that any time. So I looked up at B and mouthed, "You can really go ahead and finish now..."

And then there was a knock on the door. The front door.

You know. Mid threesome.

B quickly finished and I ran off to the bathroom to put on something a little more decent (read: my bikini). As J was at the door and I suspected that if he saw my boobs he'd probably follow me back to Texas. (They're nice. Trust me.)

We hung out for a few more hours like nothing had happened. J asked me what we were doing when he got there, since it took B so long to get to the door. I said, "I was in the bathroom. I don't know what they were doing." And I rolled my eyes to imply they were probably making the sex. He just nodded. Totally accepting the answer, mind you.

Anyway, a couple of hours later, we were swing dancing in the living room (a couple of hours and many beers), and J kissed me. Seriously? I've just had a threesome, am I not done for the day. I pulled back and said, "J? I live in Texas."

And then B walks over to me and says, "(B's) B needs to see you in the bedroom."

You have GOT to be kidding me.

So we had a repeat of the earlier performance, minus the dress-up clothes, with people SITTING IN THE LIVING ROOM.

My work here is done.

Welcome to my cleavage!

I decided to get a new URL for those stories I need to tell which might be a little risque for my regular blog.

It still has all my info, so it's not exactly anonymous, but I'm hoping that those people in my life who I'd rather not share these things with won't be clever enough to find it any time in the near future.

Like when I drink too much and do things like this:




Or the night I got drunk and took pictures of everyone's cleavage:



Or the other night I got drunk and took pictures of everyone's cleavage (seriously, I'm really good at this...):



Sometimes people take pictures of my cleavage. Sometimes that someone isn't even me:



Occasionally, I hang out with lesbians and have people sign my boobs and play with a dick in a box. I'm just that cool:






(Look closely. She spelled "sexy" incorrectly.)


(Greatest Halloween Costume Ever. Even if he is an enormous DOUCHE.)

Tune in for TMI Thursdays and stories of debauchery.