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The Air Canada Pilot

St. Patrick’s Day, 2014. I was at one of the local pubs enjoying myself, forgetting about the funeral I went to earlier that day. I was on fire that evening. My milkshake was bringing ALL the boys to the yard! One of these boys (I guess I should call him a man. He’s in his early 40s) was a pilot for Air Canada, just in town for the night. Shorter than I, but very handsome. He struck up a conversation with me and I gave him my number. The friend I was with pulled me away to meet some other men, but the pilot had texted me almost immediately after. He also found me before he left to say goodbye. I was tempted to leave with him, but there were just too many other men left to flirt with. We spent the next week or so texting and I learned a lot about him. My conclusion has moved from my previous assessment of all pilots loving having their balls licked to all pilots are a little kinky. I shall explain.

This pilot enjoys lots of anal play, male and female. A previous girlfriend of his enjoyed fucking him with a strap-on. He also enjoys women’s underwear, specifically big, white granny panties. And while he likes seeing them on women, he really would like to wear a pair himself. He’s been too afraid to go and buy some of his own. I don’t really understand that. I mean, he lives in Toronto, he could go anywhere for them, no one would know him, and even if someone asked, he could say he was buying them for his girlfriend. He asked me a few times if i would go shopping for him. I refused. Not because it turned me off (I don’t particularly care either way about this fetish), but because I was not willing to go out and spend money on underwear for someone I hadn’t even slept with yet! And at one point during our texting, I had to tell him to stop talking about underwear, and if he expected to get anywhere with me, he’d better start making the conversation and sexy talk more about me, and less about what his fetishes are. Men these days!

When he flew back into town, we made plans to get together. His flight got in late so I invited him over for a drink at my house. I should also mention that before he got in, I made it clear to him that I would not be promising him anything and he had better not have any expectations of how our time would be spent. And if we did have sex, it would be very vanilla to start. In other words, although I do sell strap-ons, I would still not be able to review one after he left. He was ok with that. Unfortunately, I didn’t really get to take him for a spin. I had some yeast infection symptoms and started treatments that afternoon. TMI? Whatever, you knew what this was when you started reading me! We had a drink and he made his move. Because of our height difference, it felt like I was a mountain he had to climb. A mountain he was quite eager to reach the summit of. He kissed me, long and deep, and he smelled soo good! It was getting hot, and then, suddenly, what’s that? Is that…3 tongues in my mouth?!? Fuck, Walter, get out of here! Me, the kinky pilot, and my dog is not my ideal threesome. I bribed him with a treat to go away and we got back to business. The dog, I mean. I bribed the dog. I asked the pilot if he wanted a pair of my satin panties to play with. Obviously he said yes. So for awhile I watched him stroke himself with my pink satin and lace panties, fascinated. I’m pretty open-minded about whatever turns other people on. I blew him while he fingered my panties. But he wouldn’t cum in my mouth. He said it wasn’t fair because he couldn’t make me cum. Apparently he’s a kinky gentleman. Not enough of a gentleman to turn down the blow job in the first place, but hey, you can’t fault a dog for being a dog.

He hasn’t been back in town since, but his schedule does have him back through in May, so maybe I’ll take him for a full spin at that time. If it ever gets to a strap-on point, I’ll be sure to let you know ;)

PS. I’m currently talking to a pilot for Sky West. Purely for research purposes into what else pilots are into.

The Kid

A couple of months or so ago, I started chatting with this 24year old on PoF. I was a little leery of starting anything with someone so young, but he seemed to have his shit together, plus he’s totally cute lol The problem is that he lives and works an hour outside of the city and works 6 days a week. So meeting was going to be a challenge. While we tried to figure out a Sunday where both our schedules would be free, we had lots of fun flirting and sexting ;) I love stuff like that. But texting gets old fast. In the beginning, we had actual conversations, but those fell away as it became more and more about exchanging pictures and superficial conversation. I have an ample amount of patience, but when I’m the only one trying to make an effort to figure out a meeting, it starts feeling like work. I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to force him into meeting me if he doesn’t want to meet me.

There were a number of things he has said to me that had me thinking he really wanted to meet me and start something. He was the one who pursued me. I’m losing faith in what I thought were his intentions pretty fast. And maybe it’s being young and not knowing what to say, or maybe it’s because he just doesn’t care and is only looking for a way to kill some time, but anytime I do try to have a serious conversation or tell him what’s going on in my life, he abruptly ducks out. Case in point, he texts me at midnight after not texting me for over a week and wants me to send him some sexy pictures. I told him I was working and wasn’t really in a picture kind of mood. He suggested I probably have some saved on my phone. I then told him I was in the midst of writing a blog post about the recent death of a friend. Instead of showing any concern about how I might be feeling, he said now he looks like an asshole and he “doesn’t want to be a buzz kill. ttyl.” I would have had a casual sexual relationship with this kid. That would have been fine. And then I wouldn’t care whether or not he cares about my life. But he just won’t make the time. And I’m tired of waiting for something that isn’t going to happen. Life is too short.

The Time I Locked Myself In The House

So, there I am, on my way to supper with some friends after work, and I decide I need to stop at home first to freshen up. It’s cold out. Like, really fucking cold out. The house has shifted so the outside doors are difficult to close properly, and you have to make sure the latch catches. If it doesn’t, it very easily gets caught in any wind and bangs on the railing. Remember when I said it was really fucking cold out? Well, it was so cold that when I pulled, the handle for the door snapped right off! But not until the door had actually latched! Perfect. I stared at it for a few seconds and then went in to change and get ready. I go to leave and realize, I can’t open this goddamn door! I try to jimmy it open for several minutes. I open the window over the screen to see if maybe there’s a hole I could put my arm through and open it from the outside. Nope. But hey, I have two doors. So I decide to try the back door. The problem is, I was in Jamaica for a week in January and the snow really piled up. I managed to squeeze through the door and lock it behind me. Then I go to the gate. It won’t swing open so I start clearing the snow away with my feet. I was not wearing proper snow clearing attire and my feet got cold very quickly. Did I mention it was really fucking cold?! I get all the snow cleared only to find a chunk of ice preventing the gate from opening! Shit! Now what?

I bet you’re thinking to yourself, “If that was me, I’d just climb over the gate.” Great minds think alike! And fools’ seldom differ. The front gate is relatively low, and I’m tall. Shouldn’t be much of a problem. Or so I thought. It’s a tapering gate, low on one side, and gradually gets higher. I manage to get one leg swung over the lowest part of the gate, after “carefully” measuring it’s height against my legs. Turns out, the gate is a few inches too high once I get my leg over. So now I’m stuck! I have one leg over, dangling a few inches above the ground, the other leg planted firmly on the ground, and my crotch wondering if it’s going to survive this delicate balance. It’s around this time that the neighbour’s back door motion light turns on. I freeze. I mean, I’m already fucking freezing, but now I still my movements. I’m torn between hoping they come out and can help me by opening the front door or pulling me over the gate, and more desperately hoping they stay the fuck inside. They don’t come out. I make the decision to pull my leg back over the gate. Except it’s much harder to get my leg back than it was to put it over. My boot is caught and my foot starts to cramp. WTF?!? I finally manage to get my leg back and trudge back through the snow to the back door, squeeze through the opening, and go back inside.

I grab a knife and head for the front door. I struggle for a minute or two before realizing the very simple solution is just to wedge the knife in between the door and the latch and boom! Open door. I couldn’t have figured this out a half hour before?!

Since I’m already writing about my own brilliance, I’ll tell you that I have been paying the wrong accounts for two of my utility bills for the past 8 months, ever since I moved in. Only after receiving disconnection notices from energy and power did I figure this out. Smrt.

Chelsey

My friend Chelsey died a week ago on Sunday. I don’t know what to say about it yet. I’ve never had to deal with losing a friend before. She was only 30. I’ve lost a great number of family members in my time, at least one a year for a lot of years, but it’s different when most of them are in their 80s or 90s, and it’s somewhat expected.

I found out while I was at work on Monday morning, and I spent most of the day in shock. I didn’t go home. I thought if I could keep focused, I would be fine. I wasn’t. Later in the afternoon, I called her mom, and I could barely stand it. Her voice was naked, full of heartbreak and grief. Her baby is gone. I hope you go your entire life without hearing so much pain come out of another person’s heart that you just know, in that moment, they want to die too.

The Pilot

Ah, Jamaica. What a wonderful place you are! Full of sunshine, beaches, and rum. And dick. Big, black dick. I had a lot of fun this trip. I could not have turned off my sexual magnetism if I had wanted to. (By the way who would want to?!)

Fast forward to the last night at our resort. We are in the disco and there is a man. The details are foggy about meeting him, but I do remember finding out he was a pilot. Our pilot. As in, the pilot who would be flying us home to Regina the next day. That was all it took, I was in! I suggested to him that we leave and go to his room. That was all the convincing he needed. It turned out to be quite a hike to get back to his room. We stopped several times along the way to make-out, and I kept unzipping his pants. My mouth had a mind of it’s own ;) He was a little more on the shy side and got nervous when he could hear footsteps, so we would stop and continue on our little moonlit stroll.

When we got to his room, well, I’ll spare you all the details. Except for one. The pilot really, really, really, really liked having his balls licked. I don’t know for sure that this is true for all pilots, but I’m going to go ahead and generalize and say that they all like a lot of ball play. So now if you ever meet a pilot, or perhaps already know one, you can have yourself a private little chuckle.

Cancer Update

I meant to write this earlier, but my Dad went for his checkup last month to see if his treatment is working. It is! The doctor was very happy with it :) The downside is the medication he has to be on makes him feel like ass and unable to breathe and sleep. But I suppose it’s a small price to pay for killing off the cancer.

I Am Not A Fetish

I meant to write about this earlier, but never got around to it. I was only able to get a few screenshots because the fucker blocked me before I could hit “send” on my epic response! You can see the end of it in the last screenshot, so I’ll just let you imagine how wide his asshole would be had I been able to actually rip into him. The basics are that he asked me if I would want to spend the weekend having sex with him. And that he wouldn’t just hit it and quit it, he would actually spend time with me. Aww shiiit, real time and everything? My desperation must have been showing again. I need some Static Guard to hide that away! He told me he likes girls who look like me and I’m super hot and blah blah blah. You all know by now that I like to play with these guys though, and so this conversation happened and he got mad when I rejected him. I quite literally laughed out loud at his response.

pof2<a
pof3
pof1

And then there was this:

douche1
douche2
douche3
douche4
douche5douche6

Seriously men, if you find a woman attractive, tell her. But don’t make her a fetish, no matter what her size. That will not make her feel complimented. The thing that bothers me about the first “man” is that someday he will most likely be able to woo himself a woman. He will find a woman with precarious self-esteem and he will be nice to her and tell her how attractive he finds her and she will feel special. Then she will do something to make his insecurities come forward and he will be cruel. He will tell her she’s fat and ugly and that no one could possibly want her and she’s lucky he even puts up with her. And that woman will believe everything he says.

The second guy was just a plain old dumbass, and has deleted his pof profile. The very next day I went shopping, and wouldn’t you know it, I bought myself a leather skirt!

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