This is a blog that, in part, documents specific spots around Portland OR that are either conducive to, or antethical to, getting laid. Be you man or woman, be you looking for cock or cunt. Doesn't matter. I've been all of the above (sort of), and I'm looking for all of the above. I'm all about equal opportunity.

The other part of the website is just an excuse for me to talk in graphic detail about my sex life and the sex lives of those around me. Portland is a hedonistic motherfucking town, and it likes it's booze and booty. I'll be creating search terms and tags as I go, but for now I'm just going to blog spot by spot, as I go there. You can run a search for a place you're headed to, or run a search for what you're looking for (like, you know, anal sex). Some of these posts are going to be ridiculously explicit. Not all of them, but some of them. Just as a heads up...



Wednesday, August 7, 2013

The Eastside Lodge; 9th and E Burnside

I'm having a hard time titling this one. I actually met these guys at Baileys. And then again at Silver Dollar Pizza 2. But we didn't do anything fun until we got back to their hotel (motel, really). And that was where the magic happened, so I guess that's what I'll call it.

Besides, most of my experiences lately have been starting at Baileys Taproom, and ending elsewhere. Can't give Baileys all the credit. Though you will start to notice a trend here. All of my stories involving hot, hot nerdy lovin? Involve Baileys in one form or another. It's just such a perfect spot for nerds.

In this case, there was a science convention in town. Not just any science convention. A theoretical math convention. mmmm. There is something about the brain that loves math which is so incredibly hot. Male or female, it does not matter. If you can grasp the pure beauty of the abstract concepts involved in higher math and physics, you can grasp anything about me. Or on me.
Now, any time there is an even remotely geeky convention in town, many of the folks attending end up at Baileys at one point or another. Unless they hate beer. Then they end up in a hotel bar, alone and sad. But the beer lovers all congregate together at Baileys, packing the place full of sweaty erudite conversation.

This particular evening, I was out with friends, a couple of guys. They were up to no good. Started makin' trouble in my neighborhood...
Sorry. Anyways. I was out with a couple of guy friends. We stopped at Baileys after an afternoon of debauchery and rabblerousing (see?? THEY WERE MAKING TROUBLE IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD). We sat outside, since it was a warm summer evening, shared a lovely cigar, and settled in to do some serious people watching. When a big group of guys walked past us, heading into the bar, wearing cargo shorts, short sleeve button up plaid shirts tucked in, and a laptop or messenger bag slung over every shoulder, we looked at each other and giggled. A gaggle of them came back outside and sat down next to us. We listened in to their conversation shamelessly, and eventually joined in. It was a group of 5, but two of them had caught my eye immediately. One of them was tall and slender, blonde hair perfectly styled, clothes pressed and neat, tanned skin... he looked like a nerdy escapee from prep land. In his early 30s, and very confident. He took a shine to me right off the bat, and tried his damndest to flirt.
The other one was quiet, shorter and stocky. His was the only untucked shirt in the crew, and wrinkled. He had a gorgeous, trimmed beard, and thick, unruly brown hair that kept falling in his eyes. He was wearing hiking sandals with his cargo shorts, and his calves had perfectly defined muscle. He was a big, outdoorsy looking nerd, and he made me wet. He also mostly ignored me, and my friends, in favor of an intense conversation with another guy in his group. An AWESOME conversation that I so wanted to be a part of . But, his blonde friend dominated the conversation at our end of the table, and he kept it light.

My partners in crime and I had other plans that night, and we all got up to leave. But as we were saying our goodbyes, nerdy Grizzly Adams looked up at me, caught my eye, and gave me an up and down perusal that sizzled. Then he winked. That wink was like a gunshot to my kneecaps, because I swear to god they almost gave out on me. And then Prep School reject was grabbing my hand, asking me to stay. I laughed, said no, and walked away between two pretty men, a swing in my hips (but only because my legs were still wobbly from that wink).
But I couldn't stop thinking about them, and after we'd gotten to where we were going, I bid adieu to my buddies, turned right back around, and walked back to Baileys alone. Only to find they'd moved on by then. Sad, and not feeling like going back to my friends, or being around a big group of nerds, I went to the bar down the street for a shot of scotch before going home. And who should I see upon walking in the door but the group I'd been looking for, sitting up at the bar and being rowdy. They saw me and cheered. They cleared a space in the middle, (right between Preppy and Grizzly) and I sat and drank good scotch with them for another hour. An hour that was spent becoming more and more attracted to Grizzly while Preppy tried his best to seduce me. I was wearing my knee high Doc Martens, and he kept remarking on them, talking about how sexy tall boots are (hello, fetishist, I see you), and stroking the skin right above where they ended. And I let him. But in the mean time, I was talking theoretical physics with Grizzly, and OH GOD, was I having fun. Turns out he was the keynote speaker at the convention, and he was an amazing teacher. Not remotely condescending, incredibly enthusiastic, and an excellent listener. That's a wonderful combination in any human being, right? But in a guy who I couldn't stop thinking about fucking, while talking about his life passion, it was lethal. Just lethal.

Eventually, all the other guys left, except Preppy and Grizzly. It was well after midnight at this point, but we were all still wired. Grizzly asked me if I wanted to come back to their hotel room and continue the conversation, I said fuck yeah, we hailed a cab outside, and headed off to the Eastside Lodge.
It's a hotel/motel right across the river from Downtown, in the club district of Burnside. It kind of looks like a trashy place, a squat little grey building in the midst of a bunch of swanky bars and restaurants. It's been there forever, and it's MUCH cheaper than any other options in the area, including the much vaunted Jupiter Hotel. And it's actually remarkably clean and nice in the rooms, which fact I commented on when we walked into what I assumed was Grizzlys room. Said assumption was incorrect. Turns out they were sharing a room. Amongst other things, apparently.

Anyways, they got themselves a couple shots of vodka, me some water, and we all sat on the bed and talked for another hour or so. Now, before I go on, I'm going to say something about going to a hotel with 2 strange men. It's not actually something I normally do. I KNOW it sounds like I do pretty much anything from these stories. But there is a big difference between going home with one guy and going home with two. There really is. One guy feels manageable. You've met him, you've devoted quite a bit of time and attention to figuring him out, you've gotten a safe vibe from him, and you make the decision together. Personally, I don't go home with someone when I'm drunk. Just don't. Even that night, I'd only had 1 beer and 2 scotches, not nearly enough to be anything other than pleasantly buzzed.

With two guys, the variables are exponentially expanded. You CAN'T know two of them as well as you know one. You're going to be more attracted to one of them, you're going to pay more attention to one of them, and the other one is going to be more of an unknown variable. Unknown variables are dangerous when you're putting your life on the line by getting vulnerable with strangers. Guys, if you ever feel like a woman is being paranoid about the guys she meets at a bar, including you? Just remember that this is what it feels like. EVERY SINGLE TIME. Even to me, somebody who is deliberately experienced, every single time I go home with someone it feels like I am taking my life in my hands. I AM taking my life in my hands. No matter how prepared I am, no matter how confident I am in my ability to handle any situation. The chances of me being hurt are MUCH higher than anything you will ever experience. So show some fucking patience for those paranoid ladies, and do your fucking best to reassure them that you are not the statistically likely creepy asshole that she worries you could be.

All right. So, I'm in a hotel room with two strange men. And we are discussing theoretical physics (still. Testament to how entertaining this guy was.). I'm lying on my belly at the end of the bed, Grizzly is sitting at the head of the bed in front of me, and Preppy is sitting at the end of the bed, next to me. While Grizzly and I are talking, Preppy leans forward and puts his hands on my legs. He starts rubbing my thighs lightly, and I stay passive, almost ignoring him. He's inching my skirt up, going higher, and it's starting to feel really good. So I roll over onto my back, and he continues massaging my legs. I put my arms over my head, touching Grizzlys legs. And he leans down and kisses me. And just like that, we are in the midst of a threesome. Grizzly is kissing me and rubbing my breasts, and Preppy is rubbing my legs and belly, kissing the skin above my boots and biting gently at my knees. This. Is awesome.

I'm feeling a little bad, because all of the attention is one me, and stays on me. My body is their playground, and my hands aren't doing much more than rubbing at whatever skin I can reach. They stay clothed, for the most part, but are taking my clothes off as they can. Preppy leaves my boots on, not surprisingly. When I'm naked except for my boots, Grizzly starts to take his clothes off. He gets as far as unzipping his shorts before I'm up on my knees, pulling his cock out of his boxers, leaning down, and licking the tip. The second I lean down, Preppy is behind me, fingering my cunt. I spread my legs, get down on my forearms, and give Grizzly the blowjob of his life. There is something INCREDIBLY HOT about a woman sucking your dick while she's moaning in pleasure from somebody fingering her cunt and rubbing her clit. Maybe it's just the vibrations from the moaning. Whatever it was, he went a little crazy. He's sitting back on his calves, with both hands in my hair, and he's thrusting up into my mouth. And then Preppys fingers are gone, I hear a condom wrapping being ripped, and then he's behind me with his hands on my hips and his dick inside me. And you know what? That catechism, that tall skinny nerds have giant dicks (wait, you DON'T know that one??)? It's true. That man split me in two. He pounded me hard, Grizzly held my head while I leaned on my forearms, and a life long dream was fulfilled. I came hard, screaming around his dick. Neither of them had come yet, though. Grizzly pulled out of my mouth, they flipped me over, and switched. Preppy got up on his knees over me while Grizzly put a condom on, pulled my legs up around his waist, sat up on his knees, and slipped inside me. Preppy, in the meantime, swung his leg over my chest so that his dick was perfectly positioned between my breasts, squeezed them up and tight, and proceeded to fuck my tits as hard as he'd fucked my pussy. They got a rhythm going eventually, though at first it felt like they were trying to split me in two. And again. IT WAS AWESOME. Who'd have fucking thunk it with these two?? They came right around the same time, Preppys cum shooting up into my chin and all over my chest, Grizzly grabbing my hips and holding them down as pounded hard, twice, and came with a yell.
I came again at that, my body convulsing so hard that I lifted both of them half off me.

They both slipped off, Grizzly went and grabbed a couple of towels, and we all cleaned up. Then lay on the bed for a bit, not really talking, just kind of sighing every now and then. Grizzly had to leave at 5:30am to catch a flight, and since it was already 4:30am by the time we were done, he eventually jumped into the shower, got dressed and packed in a remarkably short time, and ran out the door to his cab. But not before kissing me and exchanging numbers. I had called a cab too, but Preppy ended up distracting me as I got up to get dressed, and I didn't leave that room till well after dawn.

The cab ride home was hilarious. I got into the car with my hair a mess, my clothes from last night all kinds of wrinkled, and obviously having no sleep. My cab driver didn't speak much English, just enough to make a suggestive joke right off the bat. I said "hey now, none of that", he grinned sheepishly and apologized, and we talked about goat herding the whole ride home. Srsly. Goat herding. I remember more of that conversation than I do of any of the theoretical math I'd talked about for hours.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Rough sex

Rough sex. What does that even mean? For women who've read a lot of romance novels, it generally means a man who grabs them by the back of the neck, kisses them senseless, rips their clothes off in a fit of passion, throws them on the ground, and proceeds to fuck them senseless for an hour.
In reality, that's just passionate sex. No bruises, it's not rough.

For men, it tends to mean getting to do whatever the fuck they want, whatever their "animal nature" tells them to do. It means grabbing a girls head and pushing her mouth down onto your cock. Grabbing her hair while she sucks and directing her mouth. Getting to not worry about her pleasure, just your own. Holding her down and fucking her till you come.

Kinda rough, but more just selfish. Fun, but selfish.

For me, rough sex means rough. Wrestling like you mean it, and doing your best to win. Laughing breathlessly, but growling in sheer rage. Feral panting as you claw your way across the bed, kicking your way free of strong arms. Biting just this side of pain, and then over the edge, till your partner yells and cuffs at your head. Fingers gripping thighs so hard that fingerprints could be taken from the bruises left behind. Breasts with circular, mouth shaped bruises along the sides and bottoms, and hand prints that don't fade for days.
Wrestling your way out of a particularly clever hold, only to have your ankles grabbed, you get dragged back, and 4 fingers shoved inside you with no warning. 4 fingers attached to an arm that jackhammers your pussy, a thumb that smashes your clit, thanking god that you're already soaking wet. God, that jackhammer. Long fingers that curl up inside you, searching for that pebbled spot. And when they find it, relentlessly rubbing it, pushing up so hard it feels like they want inside you. Every thrust drawing a scream from your throat, and your cunt clamps down, not wanting to let go.
And when you come, from that relentless pressure, from that perfect, heavy rhythm, it pushes out of you in a gush of silky liquid that you can't control. You're clawing at the wall and the mattress, screaming and writhing, trying to get away because it's too goddamn much. And you can't get away. Those fingers are still inside you, covered in your cum, still slamming at your entrance. And it just keeps going. Because you've let go of any control of your body. It's just the pleasure now, just the release just this side of pain. Till you're sobbing and twitching, gasping for air because you forgot to breath in between the screams.

And then you're rolled over, your wet thighs roughly parted dragged up and over shoulders, your partner inside you before you draw enough breath for the scream of joy you give. Being held down by your wrists, with your thighs slapping your face as your partner squats over you with your ankles hooked over his neck and pounds into your cunt. He lets go of your wrists, letting you grab his thighs as he grabs your tits, using them as leverage to pound harder, sink deeper. And when he comes, his fingers sinking into your flesh, his mouth a snarl, you can feel every fucking pulse of his dick as it shoots its load inside you. You can feel it, and your cunt milks every last drop, pulsing in time as you come again, because this is what you wanted. It's not just his cum you're soaking in, it's his loss, his pain, his control.

It's violent. It's not pretty. It's not even animalistic. Animals don't hurt each other to bring each other pleasure. Animals don't watch as their partner loses everything that makes them who they are except their pleasure. Only humans revel in that conflagration created by the confluence of pain and joy.
Animals don't stroke each other when the fires have burnt out, reconnecting with the gentle joy of flesh, re-learning how to breath. Because without that gentle comedown, rough sex is nothing. Without the contrast of peace and soft sensuality, rough sex is just violence. With that contrast, it's sublime.