They fuck in like seventy positions, each stupider than the last. Autumn finds it strangely hot because the guy is still sexy as hell and he’s putting his dick everywhere in her. She cums like five times by accident and the guy is like, “See? Ancient Hindu technique!” Then he blows a wad in her hair and tells her it’s an old-world conditioning secret and tries to sell her on a daily dose, which he could deliver at her leisure.
In the end she calls him on his bullshit, but he won’t own it and so she pretends to believe his protests. They work out a plan to make their own photo version because that Ron Jeremy and Super Bush shit is just sad.
+++
NOTE: I just realized that we never did make that photo book, which sucks because although the guy was talking out his ass, he was really hot and I think he lucked into some really super positions. That one where our legs made like a pretzel and he put a dildo in my ass while we balanced upside-down on our hands had me cumming like crazy until we both fell.
I want to remember to try it with Sam. Maybe he’d make the photo book with me.
MARCH 25
FINISHED WITH THE XXX FILES! Brooke came over today and I told her about it. She claimed, after reading it, to have been abducted by aliens and probed for hour and hours and hours. She said it was awesome and that I really should try it. I asked her how one went about being abducted by aliens. She told me about this lettuce-picking operation in New Mexico and told me that if I went down there during pretty much any shift and waited until the supervisor went on break, it’d happen.
MARCH 30
ABOUT TO RELEASE THE XXX Files. I feel like I’ve written about it a lot here so I won’t go on and on, but I do want to say that WOW, this shit is FUN. And fun DOES matter. I can force myself to write stuff, but it’s best when it’s fun. Or hot.
Oh, who am I kidding? None of this is forced. I’ve done most of this stuff myself, and the only really different thing with XXX Files is that I’m totally making 100% of it up. I don’t even have the normal limitations that come with writing about real people.
Also: Should it bother me that my real-life friends actually aren’t much more outrageous than this alien-fucking stuff?
I’ve been reading more and more about how to market myself and my books. Just a few sparks at this point, but the sparks are definitely exciting. I’ve found more good advice not just on writing, but on selling books, and specifically how to build a mailing list and GIVE to people in order to GET. This is a bit of an epiphany, but more and more it fits with that whole confusion I mentioned about how it could possibly be a good idea to give books away for free in order to sell them. It’s all about lead-generation. And attention begets attention, because as more and more people READ my stories (whether they paid for them or not), I guess the way it works is that my stuff starts showing up in those things on Amazon where “Customers who bought this also bought this.” So someone is an erotica reader and they like whatever and they ALSO like me, then people who read the whatever will start to see my stuff when they go looking for the whatever, and they maybe decide to pick up a Lexi story and try it.
I guess it sounds more confusing than it actually is, but regardless, I’m starting to feel like I might be living the dream here. Writing about sex and getting paid? Hell, that’s definitely the dream. And I’ve been fucking Sam’s brains out lately because of it.
APRIL 4
WOW. LOTS OF GREAT REVIEWS lately. I’m just some girl who’s writing about dicks and pussies, but people are loving it. Honestly, I thought there would be more negative reviews (you can’t really write about all of this stuff I write about, can you?), but that hasn’t happened. People are loving it. They’re reviewing more and more, coming back for new stuff, asking me by email about new projects, telling me how I’m setting parts of them free, and so on.
This is so incredibly amazing and cool. I feel happy.
THE ONE WITH THE GUY WHO WANTED TONS OF STUFF UP HIS ASS
NOTE: ADD THOSE X-RAYS to this one if I can find them.
Decided to stop making name substitutions when I do these initial drafts. It’s just easier to write them with me in the story like it was in real life, even though it’s still weird to write about myself in the third person.
+++
Vick was a pretty nice guy, pretty hot, and had a magnificent dick. It was the kind of dick Autumn thought should be commemorated with statues and paintings and sculptures. Vic’s cock should have had a postcard display rack outside so women could send cards to their friends — Vic’s proud, swollen, veiny length on the front above the caption, Wish you were here. He should sell knickknacks so girls could take home a souvenir of their stay on his pole. He should have hired a photographer and sold the prints. It could have been a tremendous business venture.
Autumn loved Vic’s dick. She loved to lick it, rub it, touch it, stroke it, fuck it, suck it, and run it between her modest tits. She loved to examine it, to trace its every curve with her finger, lingering on the other side, feeling its pulsing heat in her hands. She wanted to take it with her, carry it in her purse, and touch it like a token when she felt nervous or anxious, like a security blanket. She wanted it on her keychain, like a lucky rabbit’s foot.
In one way, Autumn felt very lucky to have access to Vic’s magnificent rod. In another, she felt cursed. There wasn’t much Autumn thought of as weird, but Vic’s obsession was a bit … odd. And slightly dangerous.
“Put a cucumber up my butt!” he said to her once after two weeks of dating. They hadn’t even fucked yet. In retrospect, Autumn figured this might have been calculated. Plenty of guys liked a little something in their ass, and Autumn was cool with that. She’d stick a finger up there; a rimjob if he was clean, no problem. She’d used dildos on a few guys. It was fine. It was the male equivalent of women Autumn had met who were once ashamed of who they were but had since broken free. Dudes who wanted assplay usually held back, so when one admitted to wanting it, Autumn couldn’t help but applaud them.
But Vick had started not with a finger or a tongue, but with a cucumber. Looking back, starting with the cucumber made sense, because it was far and away the most normal of Vick’s requests. He probably got a lot of refusals early-on, so making that “normal” request after the women were hooked by his wonderful cock but before they got to take a ride on it was probably one trick he’d learn to maybe double his number of yeses.
“You want a cucumber up your ass?” Autumn repeated, just to make sure. She had her tits out. Her nipples were hard, and Vick was rubbing and tweaking them. Her pants were still on, but the top snap was open and his hand kept going down below. All signs pointed to this being the night when Autumn would finally get to take a ride on Vick’s vein train, so she was horny enough to comply with just about anything. Autumn was usually the one in charge, but Vick had out-freaked her, and her pussy was willing to do whatever it took to earn its stuffing.
“There’s one in the nightstand,” he said.
“In the nightstand?”
He bit and kissed at her neck. “Yes.”
Also in retrospect, the fact that Vick had put a cucumber — or possibly even kept a cucumber — in his nightstand should have raised a flag in Autumn’s mind. But her pussy wasn’t willing to surrender.
So she shoved the cucumber up his ass. He kept telling her to push it in deeper and deeper, but Autumn thought that if she pushed any deeper, the thing was liable to squirt out of her hands and be devoured by his asshole. So while Vick was moaning with ecstasy, she pulled it out a little and discreetly impaled the end of the cucumber with a pen crosswise, which would act as a protective stopper.
Then, finally, he fucked her. With the cucumber mostly up his ass, but whatever. That was all it took; Autumn became a Vick’s cock addict. It was like the cock of a shapeshifter. She swore it was melding and changing inside her so it could hit all her best spots, filling her like a Plaster of Paris mold. Autumn passed out when she came.
The next night, Vick gestured to his
nightstand again, requesting the cucumber. Autumn had known it was coming and so had mentally prepared herself. She had prepared herself so well, her mind automatically substituted “cucumber” for “glasses case,” which was what he’d actually said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Vick’s legs were up and open, his beautiful cock and less attractive ass on display. She dug through the drawer and pulled out the glasses case.
“Do it! I want it in me!”
Autumn shrugged, attempted to sufficiently lubricate the hard plastic case, and did as Vick asked. Then, again, he made her pass out with his spectacular dong.
The next time she saw Vick, he had ping pong balls, which she feared losing but which, he later reported, did indeed come out. Then a large, old-model iPod. Then a cordless phone. The phone worked. He requested she call it while blowing him.
Three weeks into what passed for their relationship, Autumn found a can of baked beans in the nightstand.
“I don’t think this will fit,” she said.
“Shove that can of beans up my ass!” Vick yelled, holding his ankles.
Vick knew his ass better than Autumn. It went in fine, but she really feared losing the beans because the can was so wide and relatively short. How could you poop out a can of beans if it got stuck? So she went into the kitchen and pulled duct tape out of the junk drawer, then taped a large coaster to the end, fashioning the world’s worst butt plug. Then she climbed onto his amazing cock, felt it fill every crevice of her pussy, and rode it until Vick filled her with spunk and made her cum, maybe harder than she ever had before.
Looking at the beans butt plug gave Autumn an idea. She went to a sex shop and bought the most enormous dildos and butt plugs she could find. All, unlike cans of beans, were designed for going into bodily orifices, with safeguards and everything. She presented them to Vick stark naked, shaking her tits and stroking her pussy with her free hand, excited that their sex life could finally become kinky instead of flat-out fucked-up. Sex toys, after all, were just sex toys.
Vick looked at the bag of enormous anal instruments and shrugged.
“You don’t like them?”
He shrugged again, as if embarrassed. Autumn didn’t like sexual embarrassment. She always wanted to assuage it, to tell the pervert in question that all was okay.
“What? You can tell me.”
“I just… like stuff,” he said.
“It’s not just the size? The sensation of big stuff up there?”
“I like stuff,” he repeated, his head down.
Poor guy. Poor, poor guy, ashamed of his desires. Autumn told him it was okay. She could donate the sex toys to Goodwill, who loved her anyway. And she said she’d shove whatever he wanted up his ass.
Vick said he wanted the vacuum cleaner hose up his ass.
“With the vacuum on?” said Autumn. “Because I think that might be dangerous, like you could suck out your duodenum.” She’d once taken a physiology course and was proud to have recalled the word, even though she couldn’t remember where it was within the intestines’ topology.
“No, not on,” said Vick, indicating that that would be a bizarre request.
“Just the hose.”
“Just the hose,” said Vick, laying back on the bed.
The next time Autumn saw Vick, he said he wanted a book up his ass.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said.
“Not a big book,” he said, holding up a thick little book that was a slightly larger than a deck of cards. “Just this pocket Italian phrasebook.”
“Oh, sure,” said Autumn. And up it went.
The next time, it was the controller to a Sony PlayStation. Vick told Autumn to leave it plugged in, then used his ass to attempt to play video games. He wasn’t very good at playing with his ass. Autumn beat him soundly despite the hand that one of her hands was always being used to jerk him off. When Autumn scored her final goal in FIFA Soccer, Vick jizzed all over her hand while yelling, “Goooooooal!”
A few times after that, he wanted a remote control robot up his ass. He then got dressed and they went to a Wal Mart while Autumn followed behind him with a remote control. Vick blew a load in the home repair aisle when Autumn used the grasper arm. The load dribbled down his leg and splotched onto the tile floor in a pool. A little kid tugged on his mother’s arm just after Vick and Autumn were clear, pointed at it, and said, “Slug!”
Sometimes, Autumn just wanted to fuck. But Vick had been let out of the butthole closet, and he had so much that he wanted to try and explore. He’d always wanted things up his butt, he said, but there was only so much that a guy could do without help. When she suggested something normal (dressing up like Elmo and screwing in a giant pile of furries like a mass of discarded toys, for instance), Vick got mopey and said that yes, he was a freak, and he’d then thank her for hanging in with his weird fetish and say that of course they could role-play as Sonny and Cher, including the skiing accident.
But Autumn had a weak spot for fetishists who were ashamed. So whenever it looked like Vick was starting to feel bad about what he wanted, she backed off and told him that he should be whoever he wanted.
“Oh thank God,” he told her. “I love that I can be exactly who I really am around you.”
Autumn smiled.
Vick chucked her on the shoulder. “Now let’s go buy some gerbils,” he said. Then he said, “Haha, just kidding,” when she looked up with concern (for the gerbils’ welfare while inside of a colon). Then his eyes started to dart around self-consciously.
But whatever lines Vick may have been deciding not to cross in Autumn’s presence, he was certainly enjoying himself. And, Autumn had to admit, so was she. Vick’s magnificent dick was still working its wonders, and she got to ride it or bend over and have it special-delivered right up the pink highway as often as she wanted. Vick, his ass satisfied, became an expert cock-wielder (not “cock welder”; she’d dated one of those too and it was not comfortable) and made Autumn cum harder than she could usually find out in the general population of non-ass-fetishists. It was your classic win-win.
“Put a light bulb up there,” said Vick, presenting his anus like a panda in heat.
“I light bulb? But it’ll break!”
“No, no,” Vick assured her. “It’s loosened up from those tennis balls. Look. Don’t be a stupid fucking bitch. Just try.” Then he demonstrated, visually, that it wouldn’t pose a problem.
Vick could vacillate between perfectly nice and a total asshole, with the total asshole part of his personality blossoming bigger the longer they were “together.” But so long as she was getting hers, and Lord Almighty she was, Autumn was okay with Vick’s many layers of dickishness.
“You don’t want it on or anything, do you?”
“Haha, no, of course not. That would be crazy.”
So against her better judgment, Autumn stuck a light bulb up Vick’s ass. It made it out safely, though Autumn was sweating bullets the entire time. If not for the fact that they were in a sixty-nine, with Vick’s tongue buried in her pussy, she would have had a panic attack. As it was, she simply painted his face with slippery pussy juice and wondered, not for the first time, if she was getting off on the vicarious danger.
D-Day came when Vick said he wanted the bathtub faucet up his ass. Autumn was reluctant. But by then Vick understood how this worked, so he dropped his pants and started rubbing his fantastic veiny throbbing cock until it was at full mast, put his hand on Autumn’s shoulder, nudged her to the ground, and stuck it in her mouth. With Vick’s mammoth pole between her lips, Autumn immediately felt her resistance dissolving. It was like a pacifier, and Autumn had a moment of inspiration involving a stress-relieving toy for adult women.
“Ow, awwight,” said Autumn around a mouthful of Vick. Then she polished his knob until he dropped a thick load of splooge down her throat while shoving four fingers up her pussy and rubbing it like she had a grudge against it.
The operation was different from Vic
k’s normal requests, with many logistical difficulties. Vick didn’t want Autumn to remove the faucet. He wanted to use it in the way an adventurous girl might use a dildo with a suction cup on the back. So he got naked then onto all fours in the tub and backed up. Autumn watched, nudging things into place as needed. It was a lot like watching a driver trying to squeeze into a tiny on-street parallel parking spot.
“A little more to the left,” she said. “Okay, now straight back. Wait… hold up. You have a snag. Go forward a little.”
Autumn was also in charge of lubrication. She used half of a bottle of KY Jelly working the curved part inside and the second half working past the little release on the top that would turn on the shower overhead if you pulled it up. But finally, Vick was fully impaled on the faucet and sighing with an almost shocking (even for Autumn) contentment, his giant cock hard and quivering on its own, as if this faucet had been his great white whale.
Vick started writhing and Autumn reached down and began working his fuckstick, secretly afraid he would tell her to turn on the water. It would be the most extreme enema ever. How extreme of an enema could a person take before it killed them?
Autumn wiggled onto her back, totally naked, and slid down under Vick backward and upside down, until his dick was tapping her on the chin like it wanted to tell her something. She craned her neck up and started to work it. Vick was ready. Very ready. He came almost immediately, then implored her to keep going — he wanted to cum again. Autumn, aware of how deviant she herself felt after assisting in such sexual atrocities, continued to pump Vick’s dick, working it with both hands, her legs dangling over the sides of the tub with her pussy spread wide. Vick made her worries vanish by burying his face in her cunt and making her cum, then he came again and Autumn felt like she’d been waterboarded with his spoo. That thought made her cum again, and she swallowed his giant load. They sat for a while, thoroughly satisfied.
The Autumn Diaries Page 5
