Sandwich Guy came back yesterday to buy some more weed and some more Cassandra.

He’s a really cool guy but he says the same corny line every time I fuck him. 

Cassandra, you massage that prostate so good I never have to worry about passing my prostate exam!

He says the same line.  Every time.

Usually when straight guys come to get fucked their fantasies run along the same vein.  They moan about how they love being my sex toy.  They beg me to use them.  Their dirty talk in the throes of ecstasy revolve around them being a slut, a whore, a bitch — the more sexually degrading and politically incorrect my comment, the higher the sexual intensity.  

And if I call them a fucking, filthy little whore through clenched teeth and really, really mean it?   OMG you should the loads some of these guys blow.  Enough protein to feed a small African village. 

How am I ever going to experience tender, sweet lovemaking after Cassandra. 

I think I’ve developed a Sex Tourette’s Syndrome. 

But Sandwich guy doesn’t talk dirty.  He doesn’t have fantasies of being a whore.  When I fuck him doggy style and I slap his ass hard and drag his head up to force him to look at us fucking in the mirror he says  

You know it’s good for your health to have the prostate massaged, right?

Sandwich Guy loves to talk.  Oh My God can this man talk.  I used to think there couldn’t be anyone more chatty than me on coke but that was before I met Sandwich Guy on coke.  We talked about Obama’s health care plan, the TV show Mad Men, him seeing his wife give birth, the pot brownie I gave him that worked wonders on his jet lag when he went to Asia for business, the merits of Sonoma County weed versus Santa Cruz weed. 

I asked him if he thought he could ever smoke out with his wife.  He said she would first have to know that he even smoked weed. 

And all of a sudden he says, very solemnly:

If anyone ever finds out that I’ve been here — I came here just to buy pot, ok?

It weirded me out a little bit, this burst of paranoia.  But then again, it’s very much Sandwich Guy.  He’s an extremely cautious person.  The last time he bought the extremely stinky Santa Cruz weed from me he rolled it up in TWO separate ziploc bags (one inside the other) before sealing it in his lunch tupperware.  He didn’t want to risk his wife being able to smell it before he got the chance to hide it.  He got me so worried I got a lemon from the kitchen to put in his briefcase to divert the scent.  [BTw, Does this sound like normal cautionary measures or does it sound like we were super stoned paranoid?]

He says, I’m not supposed to be here.  I’m not supposed to be in this neighborhood.  It’s not on my way home.  If I ever get a parking ticket here, or I get into an accident, I’d need to be able to explain it.

Wow, I told him, Do you always think in such worst-case scenarios?

He says, I have to.  If I got caught buying weed, it’s not the end of the world. 

But if she found out I was with a T-girl…

That’s the end of my marriage.

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Tags: Blowjob, doggy style, followup, gladiator ass, Pot Fantasies, smoking weed, Tgirls and straight marriages, things white people do