Filthy Fucers Anonymous

(This story is based on my memory of actual events. I hope the long buildup isn't too much. I'm open to constructive criticism. // There are references to drug use and a lot of tawdry infidelity. If that's not to your liking consider yourself warned. Everyone described here is 18 or over).

In early 2001, in the wake of my divorce, I went wild in the streets of the SF Bay Area on a non-stop hunt for hard, raw sex with any woman who was game for the exchange.

I had no interest in attachments, I just needed their companionship for dinner and dance formalities, and access to their holes to for rough usage punctuated by a vigorous kick off and release.

I'd drifted pretty far away from my young Skinhead days but certain elements of my style sensibilities and the lessons I learned from Mrs. Harrington stayed with me. On the surface I was a smart, reasonably attractive, 34-year old dreadlocked Rasta but underneath I was a demented 5' 10" pussy hound who only cared about what was happening that particular night in whichever willing hole that might open itself to my thick 9" battering ram. I went through months of reckless, meaningless sex hoping to fill a void but ultimately spending most of my time alone. Fortunately there were no children as part of the collapsed marriage so I was free to run in whichever direction I was compelled.

From Wednesday to Sunday I'd be in the streets until the wee hours of the morning subsisting on sly naps in the meeting rooms of my Dotcom employer while cooking up the next cum dump escapade. None of my friends could keep up with me. They were in relationships or had families or pitied me and, to be honest, I kind of relished being a lone night crawler. I came from a background of skinhead street wars and city gangster I didn't wish to explain or justify my disgusting behavior. Like the Bushman song says, "I live amongst the creatures of the night, Vampires, hypocrites and parasites."

I was ruthless in my lack of caring about women's emotions and for some reason that yielded me a degree of success that I'd never encountered when I was genuinely interested in a woman. Maybe I lowered my standards. Maybe I simply took more risks without any concern for one outcome versus another. It's possible that I gave off an air of callous detachment and was exactly what the women were looking for. I don't know. All I wanted, as I said before, was a short-term residency in whichever combination of holes they were willing to share and if we never saw each other again that was quite fine. Of course I developed affection for some of my casual partners and there were a few that I'd see repeatedly but I was in no way fit for a meaningful relationship.

**NIGHT CRAWLING**

Wednesdays I'd be at the Make Out Room in the SF Mission, Thursdays was Sacrifice, also in the Mission or maybe Cafe DuNord for the weekly Ledisi performance. Fridays and Saturdays I'd play it by ear, then on Sundays I'd be at the Reggae spot in West Oakland. I'd augment my hunt with The "Woman Seeking Man" personal ads on Craigslist. They were a goldmine. Within the time it took to exchange a few emails and work out the timing, yours truly would be balls deep in some anonymous woman who, like me, was trying to scratch a meaning out of the meaningless. Weed, alcohol, ecstasy, rough sex. Whatever it took. If they needed me to bring some particular contraband to help them through the night I was happy to assist.

I also crept through the strip clubs and knew the words that would help me find the dancers who were down to fuck. I would happily pay for the service, no haggling. Name your price, turn around and don't rush this rutting. When women say "all men are dogs," I was a good candidate for the archetype.

In the bars and nightclubs, my pattern was always the same. Find an attractive woman to dance with, test her boundaries, and proceed from there. If she allowed me access to her body then I pushed further. If she put up barriers I pushed her away. I had zero patience and zero remorse. I know now that I was in a very bad place preying on self-destructive sluts. In my mind it was all fair exchange but I now wonder how many stories feature me as the villain.

**CHARLOTTE**

There were also some women in my circle who were as broken as I was and who found in me a useful stunt dick. Charlotte, my downstairs neighbor comes to mind. She was a transplant from Southern California, a rocker girl, dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes, pretty face. She was about 5'7" and had a lovely D cup rack counterbalanced by some tragically small hips. She was a few years older than me and I soon learned she was an irrepressible self-medicating weed head who'd been ostracized by her family for getting discovered fucking and sucking two of her male cousins.

When she moved in she and I recognized something in each other and after a few signal checks we fell into her bed and shared the dirtiest, rawest sex imaginable.

I remember clearly one morning I was on my way to work when I decided to knock on her door to see if she was available. She was. I gently pushed her back into her apartment and bent her face down over the rail of her bed. No words. No resistance. I just needed to get a quick nut off before I pretended to work for the next 8 hours. Nothing personal, baby. I just need to borrow your hole.

The morning sun fell across her gothic pale ass when I moved her thin robe out of the way. I pulled out my cock and pressed against her pussy. Her asshole, which I had yet to fuck, caught my attention so I playfully pushed my hardness against her anus and threatened "I'm going to fuck this asshole one of these days." She gave no response and just lay there submissively. Curious, I pushed a little and to my surprise her little star opened up to welcome the invasion.

Now, I'm not the Mandingo but I'm much bigger than average and it's a rare woman that will entertain taking me in her ass without a whole lot of negotiation, drugs, preparation or money, yet here was my neighborhood damaged dolly taking my dick up her smallest hole with no lube and no complaints. I didn't know such a thing was possible.

I pinned her to her bed and marveled at the spectacle of my thick black pipe sliding in an out of her compliant rectum. This woman had the skin of a vampire and the asshole of a porn princess. I caught my pace and fucked her ass like it was a pussy. Long, hard dick straight into her bottom. Hard and fast. My thighs beating out a cadence on hers. There was nothing sweet or gentle about this pipe laying. She was a strong girl and took that abuse with grace. No matter how hard I pressed her she didn't give up a peep. That actually angered me a bit, driving me to work harder. "Fucking bitch." Her stretched rosebud gripped my stick like it was the most natural thing in the world. She maintained her position and gave me uncomplicated access to her asshole for as long as I needed its service.

My dick was in heaven but time was short. I had to be at work so I focused on the friction and pounded my way towards busting a nut in this white bitch's ass. I was a machine and threw all my effort into a powerful finish with no concern about how Charlotte was doing. With the roar of a lion I flooded her battered asshole with my DNA. Head spinning, exhausted, I stepped back to survey the brown and pearl swirling mess that was dripping down her pussy and thighs. I have no idea what she was thinking or feeling. She lay there and let me get my eyeful.

I patted her on her ass. "You are a very useful woman."

She smiled her appreciation... weakly.

That was without a doubt one of the filthiest and most pleasant ass fucks I'd experienced up to that point. Extremely pleased with how my day had started I zipped up without another word and hustled out to catch my train while her mess and scent lingered on my dirty dick. This was delightfully filthy. Fortunately my employer had showers for my peers who cycled to work so while I was genuinely sad to wash her mess off my dick I knew it was the wise decision.

Later that day while lying on her bed with her, she was in fine spirits, by the way, I mentioned to her that I had no intention of actually fucking her ass that morning.

"I know you didn't," she said quietly.

"I was surprised when you took me so easily."

"I know you were," she replied. "I'm glad I could be there for you. You really seemed to need me," she said.

This slut was my mirror image and, like me, she had no interest in pretending to be anything more than a facilitator of filthy fucks.

I don't write all this to excuse my reckless, reprehensible behavior. I'm simply laying the foundation for how you should understand the balance of this memoir.

**SKIN**

Wednesday nights at The Make Out Room featured a weekly event called "Skin." It was an interesting mixture of a House music DJ and some live hand percussionists (hence, skin... drum skin and sweaty skin of dancers) from India or Senegal, Guatemala or wherever. This was a popular event with the early Burning Man crowd where it had debuted under the direction of DJ SoulSalaam.

I cared less about the music than I did the revolving door of female flesh to press. Which of these bitches is getting fucked tonight?

On one such night I went there with Phoebe, an acquaintance from Burning Man. We were not intimately linked (yet) but lived in the same neighborhood so going out together made good logical sense. I was very plain with her that I was looking solely for some flesh to press so she was not surprised when I'd pair off with a stranger. The unintended result of her witnessing my successful exploits was her burgeoning curiosity about me as a possible no-strings-attached sexual partner. She was trying to get over feeling pumped and dumped by a Senegalese student so she had her guard up (for now) and Phoebe isn't a main character in this story.

On this particular night I was at the bar of the Make Out Room trying to get the attention of the bartender (those damn SF bartenders act like they are doing you a favor). A few feet down from me was a plain-but-attractive white woman. I sized her up as close to my age, 30-something - maybe a little older, about 5'5". She had a simple, mid-length hairstyle, nothing edgy. She wore a modest but elegant pencil skirt, a presentable top and plain shoes. She was out with a group of misfit hens and how they picked this dive was anyone's guess. I rapidly sized her up as 'not from around here' and dismissed her as a poor target for my perversion. I was looking for an unstable slut not Carol Brady, no matter how pretty.

That said, we struck up a light conversation and agreed that if either of us succeeded in getting the attention of the bartender we'd order for the other.

She edged closer to me and tried to keep the conversation going which intrigued me. I took a pause and gave her a more thorough assessment and noted the nice 36c rack, the slim hips (I could get past that), very fit upper body, and the pleasant smile. I also spotted her turning the gem of her wedding ring in towards her palm to hide her marital status.

I recognized that I was dealing with a potential sport and gave her my full attention. Maybe cute ass Carol Brady wants to play.

The House music was thumping and we did our best to have a conversation. She couldn't possibly know this but the fact that she was a married white woman made her the most interesting woman in the room to me. During our conversation I asked her plainly, "where is your husband tonight?" She blushed and tried to explain but I hushed her and said 'let's just have a good time.' We eventually got our drinks and talked some more. She's a part time yoga instructor, mother of two, bored housewife, out with some ladies she barely knows, regretting getting caught by a pregnancy, has a husband who works all the time and treats her like an ungrateful employee and all that. She was surprisingly lucid and more than a little sympathetic. I led her to the dance floor. She signaled to her group of hens that she was going dancing and joined me in the sweaty throngs.

Under the cover of the crowd she and I were moving together, getting to know each other which is the perfect time to see how much she's ready for. Remember, I have zero patience. I'd known this woman for perhaps 30 minutes and I needed to know if it was worth investing any more time so as we danced I put my hands on her hips. She didn't react. I pulled her to me and put my hands on her ass. Still no objections. I kissed her on her lips. She beamed. I turned her back to me and ran my hands down her breasts. Instead of stopping me she seemed to love it. She was lost in a group of people who didn't know her and couldn't tell her husband what they'd seen. Her Hen group was far away at the front of the club and couldn't bear witness to their married friend getting mauled by a stranger. As much as I enjoyed the access to her curves she really should not have been allowing me such liberties. She was inviting a vampire into her home. I decided to test her further. I pulled her to the side, slid my hand past her flat belly into her skirt and found the very wet folds of her pussy. She let me have my way to her. She leaned back into me, submitting to my inspection.

I didn't want to complicate things for her with her friends who might discover her and disapprove so I pulled her by her hand and snuck out onto the street and around the corner into someone's moonlit front yard.

I closed the distance between us and pressed my tongue into her mouth. She moaned her acceptance.

She still had tests to complete. I guided her hand into my pants and gave her some dick to hold. She tugs on him, falling in love with the heavy, dark manhood while watching her pale hand glide along its length under the full moon. It was the start of something special.

We play with each other for a little while but the circumstances are less than optimal so we exchange information then I walk her back to her very worried hen party.

"Oh my god, where were you?" asked one hen.

"I ran into this old friend from college and we were catching up about his family! Isn't that exciting?" Fiona lied. Good girl.

Satisfied that their fellow hen hadn't been molested they spirited her away back to wherever they called home.

I watched her walk away with full knowledge that I'd see be reaching out to her to pick up where we left off. My friend Phoebe wanted to hear all the details as I drove us back to Oakland and congratulated me on my ribald success. I have a suspicion that hearing my exploits excited her and drove a curiosity about what magnetism I may possess that she was missing out on. Again, that's a different story.

**FIONA**

The next day I get a call from my married lady, Fiona.

She's going to drive from her home in Larkspur, CA to meet with a friend in Berkeley at the Jazz bar on Shattuck and it would be nice to see me since I live nearby.

Yes, I'd be glad to be there. Just say when.

I arrived just as her friend was departing. Her friend took a look at this tall black man with long dreadlocks - the exact opposite of Fiona's husband - and quietly told her friend "be careful... make sure you know what you're doing." She'd read the play and understood that her friend, Fiona, was dangerously close to violating her wedding vows. Fiona used the 'college friend' lie again dismissing all concerns.

Fiona sent her along, assuring her that this was completely innocent. It wasn't.

We hung out at the Jazz bar for a polite while to talk. Fiona complained that the place was a little too public, so I know a more private place to talk? We got into Fiona's minivan and I directed her to a nearby park but before the car even had a chance to stop moving she had my pipe out and in her eager mouth under the orange glow of the streetlights.

She'd passed yet another test.

She had so many questions. "How can it be so big?" "Why is it so heavy?" "Is it always this hard?" She also had a few confessions. "I always wanted a black one" before she went back to work.

Good girl. A little mutual objectification ain't never hurt nobody.

I invited her to my home, laid her down on my bed, put on a lambskin condom and proceeded to blow this bitch's back out.

She came on my dick multiple times and thanked me for knocking the dust off her neglected pussy. This married broad had received some of my best work. I expertly threw her through a laundry list of positions, working her cheat hole from multiple angles and abusing her ears with the kind of fuck talk that would make a seasoned hooker pause.

"I'm going to wreck your pussy with this angry black dick." "You won't walk the same when I'm done." "You better take out some slut insurance." "Promise me you'll kiss your husband with my dick on your breath." "Hot little white bitch with a tight pussy. I think I'll keep you."

I've no doubt that Charlotte could hear this tawdry romp in her apartment downstairs.

We kissed and fucked for a couple of hours until her clock started to run out. While on her back she showed me how flexible yoga had made her by grabbing her ankles and spreading herself wide providing me uncomplicated access to her very friendly pussy. I appreciated the show. "I can't believe your husband is letting this meat spoil." That made her giggle.

She's a married mother of two and can't stay out all night like I can so she hops up, checks herself in the mirror, takes a whore's bath then hits the road. As luck would have it there was construction happening on the Richmond/San Rafael bridge which slowed her down considerably and lent her very solid cover. It also gave her some quiet time to think about how nice it was to be stuffed full of black dick. The bitch had a secret and was on cloud nine.

Fiona called me the next weekend to say that she'd be in the East Bay again and that she'd love to see me. Would I meet her at the Rose Garden in Cordonices Park in Berkeley, that day at 3pm.

Why yes. I can do that. This bitch was already hooked on the dick.

She made it clear that she wouldn't be able to stay long but that she wanted to talk.

**GUILTY PLEASURE**

It was a lovely, bright day and the perfect time to be at the rose garden. There were very few people there so we easily found a secluded bench to sit and talk and fool around. She told me about her loveless marriage and hoped that I didn't judge her harshly due to her infidelity. She explained that she spends all her days living for other people but now she wanted something that was just for her. A proper guilty pleasure. I assured her that I was quite happy with the arrangements and that any limits she needed to establish would be heard and respected which put her at ease. I asked her whether anything I'd said or done up to that point had struck her as objectionable. 'No. She was quite fine with everything but she'd prefer if we could use downtown hotels from here forward so she could have easy on ramps to the road back home.'

Quite fine. Say no more.

While we were talking an impish look took over and she confessed that so far in our encounters she hadn't gotten a good look at my manhood. She asked if I'd be bold enough to take it out right there in the daylight so she could see her new best friend.

Now, one thing about me... I'm very proud of my dick and I've always been happy to show it to anyone who wanted to see it so this was an easy request to fulfill. I looked around to ensure the coast was clear then relaxed my pants and commanded her to pull him into the daylight. This time, unlike her hasty work in the minivan, she struggled clumsily with the length and apologized for scraping me with her nails. I told her sternly that if she wanted to see him she'd have to be a big girl and get him out. I would be providing no help. She became more determined and when she got him out she whispered "This big black cock is my new best friend." She admired him in the daylight, looking all around then took a quick mouthful, bringing him to full size and leaving her with the bigger problem of getting him back into my pants before a wandering elderly couple could see.