I confess I got some kind of infection from a blow Job I got of a hooker. Not a street junky kind but from a massage palour kind.

Nothing serious I've been put on a course antibiotics and it seem to be clearing up.

But the problem is my new girl friend has tried to give me a blow job and I have to stop her on a few occasions , she's going to think there's something up soon

Im looking for a video that I havent seen in a while. It had a white ghetto trash girl (probably a junkie) sucking off a black guy in the woods. They get interrupted when some ppl smash the guys car windows. Anyone know it or where I can find it?

If you happen to see a man knocking a woman out, do you think it is fair or correct to give him (or man, at least try) a lesson ?.

Given that you just see it and dont know the reasons whatsoever, and also , not talking from a legal point of view. But seriously, would you do it? is it correct?

I personally dont like bullies , but then I am amused with junkie fights, and also, there have been some bitches I have known that kinda deserved some special attention for being, not women, but miserable persons. I also have fought with girls with gloves and protections because I am skinny and weight more or less what an average girl weights, but these fights have always been supervised and the girls are friends.

Does sex matter in fights? Should I smack a guy if I see him punching a girl?

I never met my mother. I was raised by my aunt ( dad's older sister ) since I was a baby. My aunt was a kind and matronly Mexican woman. Her daughters plump and swd a connecteet like their mother. I guess that's why I've always loved the bbw voluptuous form. To me id at inspires the most animalistic lust every time I watch a a woman with a wide ass and full heavy tits walk by.
My aunt only met my mother once and she told me I was half white... Though you could never tell since I'm dark complected. I've always fantasized that my mom was a cute curvy blonde with a fat ass and ample bosom. I guess my ideal woman was a bbw like my aunt and cousins but fair haired with light eyes...it's definitely my type.
Fast forward to my life now , I live in an RV at a campsite for retirees and vacationing Midwesterners. After my time fighting in Afghanistan I developed quite the money on my back, and found myself unable to put down roots anywhere very long.
I met a fellow dragon chaser at the communal showers and agreed to help sort us out ...
Stacy is 15 years my senior and everything I find sexy. We fixed up in my RV and she had me inject her shot leaning forward oblivious to her nipple partially peeking out of her top. Once the door was in her an she opened her dreamy blue eyes to see my erection tenting my slacks. Before I could even be embarrassed she took hold of it through my pants and fell to her knees. She pulled the rest of her heavy tits out and proceeded to blow me better than any woman before. Like we were made of the same desires...we be came junkie lovers...not knowing that we have been more connected than either of us ever knew.
I had sensed a familiarity with her since the moment we first spoke.. After learning each other's pasts come to find out... she's the white girl my dad knocked up in high school..my long lost mom!
Having already been lovers, we had a very short moment of remorse, but already in love , the gravity of our taboo relationship became an intense turn on and we can't get enough of one another.. would u?

I’ve got a hot cousin and I didn’t know it till our grandma died.

My family wasn't close with the other relatives. They lived 12 hours away, across a lot of states. Snow dumped on us every year, much like how my mom’s siblings used to dump on her as kids, and they were basking in the sun complaining of freezing fingers when it’s sweatshirt weather, you know? We visited my grandparents' at Christmas every year and if the schedules coincided, I’d see a few relatives. I don’t know most of their names. I’ve got 30 cousins including wives and second cousins (that’s the kid of a cousin, right?).

So after my grandma was done fighting cancer, we had a funeral. It was really sad and I don’t mean to cheapen the sentiment with literotica, but this was the first time I saw many of my cousins and learned a lot of names that I’ve forgotten since. But not Arya’s.

Arya is not her real name. I’m a Game of Thrones fan and GoT has a bit of incest and Arya’s my favorite character and so why not call my hot cousin Arya? It’s kind of close to her actual name. I’ll be changing everyone’s names to whatever, but Arya gets a special explanation for hers. She deserves it.

I drove the 3 hours from college to my parent’s then another 5 to my grandparents’ town. I was a mess. It hadn’t hit emotionally, but I was low energy in the midst of studying for finals next week and this was the first funeral I’d been to since I was 8 and went in my spiderman pajamas. Basically I didn’t have funeral clothes.

When we showed up, I was in a dark shirt and jeans, looking somber, till a relative I didn’t know, this fat bustling aunt in a floral print shirt, came up to hug my mom then my dad then me. She knew me! “Oh, James,” she said as she smothered me. “You’re so big now.” She was warm and friendly so I put on a big smile as I said, “Hi…”

Luckily my mom saved me and said, “I’m going to talk to your Aunt Sarah. Will you go put our coats down?”

My relatives are country folk living in the South. They’ve all got that accent. I’m more of a city guy. And I felt a little uncomfortable, maybe superior in my arrogance, around these bumpkins. And I’m generally shy.

So I sat in the fold out metal chairs with my parents’ coats and just kind of looked around, uncomfortable, and checked my phone. My college girlfriend had recently decided we were better friends than anything else. Which was fine and all, but well, I didn’t want to text her about this. It’d probably guilt her into some comfort sexting, but I wasn’t feeling so bold at the time. Now years later, well, different story. I think I just opened Angry Birds and played a few games while sitting in front of the closed casket. It was adorned with a wreath and there was a corkboard of photos of her at all ages, though most were her as Grandma. And a group of people I didn’t recognize examined the photos, blocking my view. They were dressed appropriately in dark suits or dresses.

The group came over and asked who I was and asked if I was so-and-so’s kid and I was and I asked who they were and who their parents were and all that. It was three girls and two guys. One of the girls and both guys were my cousins, and you could see the family resemblance, round-face, curly hair, pudgy, and the other girls were their dates. I didn’t know anyone brought dates to a wake. But I felt okay again having checked out the ladies’ asses, though one had been my cousin’s.

We talked for a little bit about the last time I saw them. A Christmas when we were kids, though one swore it was Thanksgiving but I told him, “No, no, we always have Thanksgiving at home.”

That kind of turned them off.

We were the family that never visited. All of them lived near my grandparents, and when my grandma got sick, all pitched in. All my family did was offer to pay bills till it got to the end then Mom came for a visit.

Anyway, they walked away to talk to other cousins.

I was in my early 20s and so were those cousins, but we had older ones. And this man in his 30s with curly hair and a little extra fat especially on his cheeks entered with this stunning blonde, I assumed he was my cousin.

Oh no.

They came up the corkboard, attached one of their photos, and I introduced myself and asked him who he was related to.

He was this bumbling guy. “Well, her. Ha, ha. I mean, we’re in a relationship—married, so I guess her.”

The stunning woman in this tight black dress that was strapless and squeezed her breasts so the pendant of her silver necklace rested in her sun-kissed cleavage complete with tanlines from a bikini laughed and said, “I’m Dana’s daughter. Arya.”

Dana was the oldest of my mom’s siblings and had gotten pregnant in high school, or maybe right after.

“Who are you?” she asked.

I told her and she said, “Oh! Remember when I was testing my make-up on you? Why is that so fun to do to little boys tied up? God, I must’ve been in high school then and you were maybe in Kindergarten?”

“I think I’m repressing that memory,” I told her.

“Aw, was it that traumatizing? You were crying…”

“You know kids. Always crying till someone kisses it better.”

“I tried that!” She didn’t have an accent. That awful Southern rural accent. Sorry, but you’re talking like Huck Finn, it’s hard to sound educated. It drives me nuts. But she had shed hers.

“You’d think I’d remember that.” I was smiling a lot. You know when you meet someone and it just clicks and you want it to click because hey, they’re hot? That’s how it was and because I had no relationship with her prior, ogling her, flirting a little, smiling like an idiot didn’t feel wrong. But doing all of that at a wake for our grandma did. “It’s too bad about Grandma,” I said.

She hugged me. I hugged back. Then her husband joined in and it got uncomfortable.

My parents came round and said, “Sorry about his clothes. He’s fresh from college—second year half way done! And he grew out of all his dress clothes.”

Arya volunteered to take me. “I don’t know where I’m going or anything, but I’ll get him looking spiffy. We can catch up.”

When we got in her car, a used Lincoln, probably fancy a decade ago but now all it boasted was a large backseat and seat warmers, she let her hair down from its tie. “Oh god thank you for coming under dressed. We’re just going to cruise for a bit because I can’t be in there mingling with Tom, Dick, Harry, whatever their names are. Right after high school, I got a scholarship to Florida and never wanted to go back. All those hick accents!”

“Yeah!” I said. “Like Huckleberry Finn!”

“Sure…”

“You know, Tom Sawyer. Deep Missouri Valley country hick accent. Sorry, I’m an English major.”

“And you’re smart! You are the blessing of this trip. I don’t really read so no clue what you’re talking about but keep talking. It’s helping me unclench for the first time since hearing I’d have to come.”

So we talked in the car about how awful the family was, the cousins, aunts, uncles, their divorces. She knew a lot of scandals I hadn’t heard like one of our uncles was in prison for a sexual offense, but even she didn’t know what. He wasn’t here today. Another was a junkie, in and out of rehab. Then we got to grandma and grandpa and both agreed they were the only good parts of the family.

“Other than us, of course,” I said.

“You’re definitely a blessing.”

“And blessed to be in this car.” I meant to imply with her more strongly, but something snapped me out of the flirty attitude, and I added, “Away from them.”

She smiled at me and we got quiet for a bit and she turned on the radio as we drove through the small town. It was near Christmas. Decorations were up. There wasn’t any snow. I told her we got like two feet last week and still had classes. She asked where I went to college. I told her to visit any time she wanted. I found out she was a helicopter medical evac personnel. She didn’t fly the helicopter, but she was the nurse or paramedic in back treating whomever.

Finally we got to a shop that sold suits and dresses. One stop fancy shopping. I had my mom’s credit card, but I didn’t think she intended to get me a full-on suit. It’d be my first. But Arya told me we were just getting the off-the-rack stuff. It wouldn’t be too much.

So I tried on some things she picked out and I came out of the dressing room still doing up my belt because the pants were too wide at the waist and were just sliding down off and dragging on under the heels of the dress shoes. We looked at how deflated I looked in the mirror.

“Get those off and we’ll get you the next size down.” She rolled down the waist to see the tag and what size they were. “I’ll bring you the next ones.”

I went back in the dressing room and took them off. I was just in my boxers and undershirt when she came in. Just barged on in through the swinging doors. I tried being natural about it, like I wasn’t uncomfortable or having dirty thoughts, but then she whipped out the measuring tape. “Put these on.” I did and she started measuring my seams. The outer one first. She told me to stop fidgeting as she was on her knees touching my thigh. Then the inner seem. “I used to work in one of these suit shops during college. The way we measured our special customers was to do the right in-seam, then cup *it* and move it over and measure the other side.” She laughed at the joke (I think she was kidding) and I thought about our dead grandmother so I wouldn’t twitch beneath the pants.

Then she helped me on the shirt and I buttoned all but the top two. She looked at it and buttoned them both, then unbuttoned the top. It was a little too big so she told me to get it off and before it was off, she starts pressing up against me trying to get at the tag in the collar to see the neck size. I think it was like 17 ¾.

She came back with a smaller shirt for me and a few dresses for her. They were a little more modest than the little black dress she had squeezed into. “I’m almost as unprepared for funerals as you. I bought this for a dinner party and a self-esteem boost. Sometimes you pay extra for that.”

I was shirtless and she was looking at herself in the mirror, checking herself out, and I was thinking she shouldn’t need to pay for it looking like she does.

Curvy and sun-kissed and blonde and tall and just perfect. The kind of girl you get a crush on even if you’ve just met her and found out she’s your cousin.

And I felt her back against me. “Oh sorry,” she said. Right against my crotch. With that perfect ass.

I couldn’t help it! I might have rubbed up against her a little with my erection.

“Is that what I think it is?” she said, laughing nervously but not moving away.

“Sorry.” I also stayed there.

“No, thank you for the compliment. Okay, I’m going to try these on now.”

I stayed, confused, horny, hopeful.

“Wait out there? I’ll be real quick.”

Damn. So I sat in the chair outside, hoping it’d subside, when she came out and we paid for everything and got in her car and left.

I was feeling pretty embarrassed that I’d “made a move.” Yeah that was the best move I had. Pressing against her like it was an accident, but both of us probably knowing it wasn’t. She knew. She kicked me out as she changed. She didn’t even try them on for me or any other little hints. The drive back was quiet. Awkward.

And when the funeral home was in sight, we pulled off onto a dirt road. This was a farming town with a lot of forests and field entrances and just places that a high schooler might go with his girl to makeout. She pulled into the dead end where we were covered in shade, just past a bend so we could hear trucks drive past on the main road, but not see them.

“Okay, we better do this before getting there,” she said.

My hope was restored.

Then she added, “Get changed.”

Hope tarnished.

“50 people talking about the dead, suddenly sad, rushing to the bathrooms. There’s no way we could change there. And wouldn’t want to do it in the parking lot where someone would see.”

“Sure, a relative seeing would be awkward,” I said.

“Yeah?” she said laughing.

“Yeah…”

“Then let’s make it awkward.”

I don’t know what she was thinking or what she imagined would come of it or what I should’ve done, but she stripped off that top awful fast. Let those breasts loose. No bra. A black thong. And I stared and she stared back and I started getting my shirt off and pants and I reached for my new clothes but she pulled something from her bag. New boxer-briefs. Real tight ones. She just threw them at me. Once I was naked she looked at me, erect, then stared me in the eyes. She was still naked except for that thong. I don’t want to forget the shape of her breasts, the size, how the tan-lines colored them, how they jiggled, her ass, the birthmark or any of that, but that was years ago. Details fade, get edited. I think her tits are bigger in my head now.

But her devilish smile. I can’t forget that.

Finally, she said, “Let’s get those clothes on. They’ll be calling soon, wondering if we ditched.”

And it was over. She dressed. I got a little peek at that booty, but not much, and when we went in for the wake, her dressed more modestly, my erection hidden till we got to the service and it died down. My mom and her siblings and my grandfather gave their eulogies and I cried and we buried grandma. Then we all went to lunch at some diner where even the table was greasy.

I wanted to sit by my cousin, but I had to sit by my parents and they wanted to sit by some fat aunt that kept asking about my future and so on.

I didn’t get to talk to my cousin till it was time to leave. “I’m serious about coming to visit. Any time you want. It’s beautiful in the fall. All the leaves changing.”

“Sure, sure,” she said.

“Or the spring is good. Tons of flowers. Ever heard of Dutch pantaloons? It might be a local name, but they make the campus smell so much better. Hides the BO and stale weed stench.”

“I’ll think about it.” God, she had to have smelled my desperation for more, but she wasn’t obliging. Fine, I can take a hint. A woman says no, you just have to let go, right?

“Have a safe trip,” I said and waved like I was leaving.

But she pulled me in for a hug, saying “You too,” then when I was pressed up against that perfect tanned body, she heaved her hot breath into my ear and said, “Think about me some time…”

Oh I have… a lot.

I can not find the video but fuck it is funny, some bullshit psa about teens doing meth. It is so funny, this guy is putting on his pants while this junkie teenager girl is slumped on the bed. And the voice over is great, "my boyfriend loves me" it should have followed, "and he makes me fuck strangers so we can get high"

With a flash, that's how it happened. One minute, a sober, law abiding citizen of these United States, the next, a nearly artistic expression of the concept of excess. Sitting here watching a girl in an online video sucking off a guy who's so hung it looks like his cock carries the last, best hope of an entire civilization. The Centaurs, perhaps. This gentleman could very well be the last surviving member of some physically superior, but somehow mentally deficient race. Amply endowed for physical procreation, they lost out to the Sapiens Sapiens only because they couldn't keep a coherent thought in their head.

Like me, now. Abused, like this poor girl's vagina. Taken apart and ravaged by a merciless, self-inflicted, night-long procession of weed, cocaine, beer, and some combination of alkyl nitrites. Time has dilated. This young lady on my screen has clearly been getting systematically destroyed by this man's member for at least a fortnight, yet the little time scroll only indicates an elapsed time of 11 minutes and 42 seconds. Hardly enough time for this much damage to have been done. And worse, oh god worse, is the fact that there appear to be 43 minutes and change left of this horror. I can only assume one thing: anal.

Back to the drugs. They were legion and I took them all on. Impossible to win this particular battle, but I felt it might be... informative. And oh, it was. Lessons have been learned. Where to start? At the beginning, then...

Cocaine is a boring drug when you are alone. There are brief moments (anal achieved, by the way) of bio mechanical thrill, but they are fleeting and increasingly difficult to recreate. More time, by far, is spent in often futile masturbation, consumption of free internet porn, internal debate about whether or not further cocaine consumption would help the situation or just send the whole thing right over the edge into sweating, ceiling-staring regret, wishing to blazes that alcohol actually did anything close to "taking the edge off", and constantly checking your texts, your messages, your email, just to see if anyone has reached out to you.

Much better, to be sure, to engage in social activities with like minds whilst enjoying your cocaine. Said cocaine to be doled out in small, reasonable installments. Surely, company would force some sort of order onto your consumption. A better plan was never hatched. But where to find these people? At this hour? With yourself in this condition? Certainly there are bars open at this hour, but frankly you're not certain you could maintain any sort of composure were you to be exposed to more than two human beings in a go.

The Internet! The Internet, of course, can solve this conundrum. All that needs be done is reach out through the wires to others, fresh others, capable of sympathizing. Capable of engaging - in the proper way. Capable of recognizing in you some humanity, and of not seeing the jabbering junkie you imagine yourself to have become. Surely, someone out there can help you. You can connect on some level with another person.

Just an update, they're venturing into toy/cock double penetrations now. And with still just a little less than half an hour left to go in the clip. I can no longer anticipate what their next coital move will be. No matter. I must get on with writing this screed. I will choose to hope for leather. Or perhaps for a cheerleading squad to burst down the door and engage in a Sapphic pillow fight / tickle fest the likes of which might bring mighty Mount Olympus crumbling down.

Right. The drugs. And... the Internet. Ah yes, I recall my drift now. The search for contact. So into the depths of Craigslist I dove. Only thing for it. The Personals. But to whom to reach out? In which section? To Strictly Platonic, perhaps. But surely those people who are only looking for platonic friendship aren't awake at this hour. It would be like shouting into an empty ballroom. Rants & Raves? Go fuck yourself. I've been in there. It's no place for the drug-addled. You could find yourself swimming around in some neo-fascist's self-confirming, but ultimately faulty, whirlpool of logic. No. Better to stay closer to shore. Casual Encounters it must be.

And Casual Encounters it was. Hours of waiting for an interesting post from someone who was reasonably close and who was looking for something I might have to offer. I offered drugs. And music. And a relaxing environment. But mainly the drugs. Surprisingly few nibbles. Perhaps I came on too strong. I don't recall the exact text now, but my own ad must have been something wonderfully subtle like, "Ski for Blow". It seemed better to wait for someone else to post an ad I felt I could respond to.

More waiting. More drugs. More re-reading and refreshing, hoping something had changed, that something new had come up so that you could skim through it and dismiss it for nearly any reason...

I confess... I fucked a mother and a daughter. Not at the same time, of course, and I don't know if mom ever found out about baby girl wetting my dick, Mom was a junkie,,, didn't know it when we got together as she was pretty straight at that point, but she just kept getting further and further into it until she was off the deep end. This led to her being arrested and spending some quality time in a cell. One night daughter was out with her brother (so mom's son) and he needed to go somewhere and asked if he could leave baby girl with me (I know I refer to her as "baby girl" but she was of age) and I said yeah. Later he calls and says he is gonna be late, can his sister spend the night... again, yeah, no problem. So the tv was in the bedroom and we wind up on the bed watching some stupid movie, and it was on. There wasn't even much discussion. A little casual touching led to cuddling led to a kiss and then right on off the deep end. Mom is out now, and I think she is back to her old ways.. wonder if I can fund a bender and get them both...

I have a fantasy that I can't get out of my head. I see what I think is a cute junkie native girl by a train station. I want try to fuck or for some drugs or something and absolutely use her for myself. To take advantage of her desperation. It's not like I think she deserves it, it's the opposite. I understand the horrible cycles of trauma that create these situations and how evil it is to take advantage of it. All that only makes me get harder.

I don't like what porn movies have become. I am not talking about all the little clips and vids all over the net but the actual movies where they try to have a plot. I think porn from the mid to late 60's through early 80's are the best. The only thing new porn has going for it is bald pussies. I'll take bald over bush any day and old porn doesn't have many bald slits,unless you count the kind that will get you put in a little room with a big black man for a few years.

Old porn had better stories the acting was just as bad in most cases but the plots were better. And old porn has real people. Girls with natural bodies not these liposuctioned,saline implanted,plastic surgery addicted bimbos. And the men were real also not gym junkies with a horse cock in their pants although some were most of them just had average sized dicks and were in ok shape but not like Adonis.

Does anyone know of anything more by this puffy nipple girl? Or maybe have the full length vids of her at the gloryhole, or on the sybian, or Dirty D's gangbang? I know, she's a junkie skank, but she reminds me of a junkie skank that I fucked once, and she was awesome. Thanks.

http://extremetube.com/video/young-cutie-angie-sucks-and-fucks-at-the-gloryhole-33357