Confessions of a Craigslist ****.

DerekSmith07
10+ year member

Senior VIP Member
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/bos/1316839187.html

To the average observer I am an optimistic 32 year old woman who was raised by two wonderful parents, who holds a job, enjoys a drink from time to time, laughs out loud, is independent, has a strong desire to achieve in her life, works hard, appreciates her friends and family, has strong convictions, is compassionate, and honestly is a great person. People enjoy my optimistic, happy go lucky attitude. My sense of humor, all be it unique, has offered many laughs, sore bellies, and tired cheeks; life tends to be a perpetual comedy show from my perspective. In my career I have grown quickly within organizations, my natural leadership qualities pulling me to the top as if floatation devices in the sea of corporate bliss are attached to my work product. I live a healthy lifestyle � I eat right, skip the desserts most of the time, indulge on occasion, run approximately 25 miles a week, kayak, love to camp, love to cook, and I�m not afraid of a little dirt under my nails. Throughout my years I have changed my own flat tire, babysat children, fixed the kitchen sink plumbing, hugged my mother and father, renovated a house, cleaned toilets, supported my brother and sister, tended to a garden, bantered with the neighbors, dressed up for a night at the theatre, and spent time at professional networking events. People have told me I�m quite the �catch� yet I am modest by nature. I�ve been in relationships and I have never strayed - never even considered it, as I�m quite the believer in love.

To the average observer, I am normal � for lack of a better word. Only I know the truth.

I�m a craigslist ****. I can�t help it and I have had quite a bit of fun along the way. I have responded to personal ads, and even posted a few of my own � all casual encounters, mind you. Some of the men lack the intelligence to keep my mind engaged in simple email banter, so I politely tell them �thank you but no thank you.� Some men I simply email with; some men I have met. I�ve ****ed younger guys (who are fun in their own innocent way, even though they think they are badass lovers � it�s cute and endearing) and older guys (there�s some ****ing sensual, talented men out there) and guys around my own age (got to love the ***** hungry 30/40-somethings).

Some of the men I�ve met are good looking, some super effing hot. Some of them are not even close to what their pictures represent. Some of them are weirdos, complete effing weirdos and some of them are your average American males. Some of them can ****; some of them could not ****. One guy shaved his entire body, entirely. One guy probably never trimmed his pubs once in his life. One man I met had a huge ****, but could not keep it up and hard when it came to actually inserting it into my *****. He preferred to ******** and have me watch. Amusingly I watched, and let him *** on my face. I found this weird, but he got off, so I let him think I was having as much fun as he was. He could lick *****, so I wasn�t complaining, either. Another man I met for drinks and he went down on me in the parking lot. We met another time at his place and ****ed for hours. He could also lick *****. One guy wanted me to **** him with a strap on � so I did. I thoroughly enjoyed it � now I know why you fellas like doggie style so much � what a view. One man photographed and sketched me. Another man I met had the excitement of a child on Christmas Eve. He could barely contain himself � I went to the bathroom and he was shouting �Yes! Yes! Oh my god, this is really going to happen!� to himself, not knowing I could clearly hear every single word. We made out like we were lovers in love; his touch was electrifying. He is now a Top 5 ***** Licker in my book of lovers.

Met one guy for drinks, he took me back to his place and never laid a hand on me. As I was getting up to go he attempted to make out; I told him not to wait until I was leaving next time. We�ll see if he calls. One guy was so ****ing hot (tall, built, full of muscles, biggest **** I�ve ever had the pleasure to **** and ****); we had wild uninhibited *** all night. He smelled so good I went to work the next day without showering so I could get a whiff of his man scent throughout the day. His pheromones were so strong I can still get wet thinking about how fantastic he smelled. I would have made him my n.s.a. lover � but strangely he never returned my callback even though he texted me the next morning and mentioned how he was still throbbing � why men do the things they do simply isn�t worth the effort to figure out. One guy met with me, and his girlfriend was (unknowingly to me) across the bar; it was a set up to see if I�d be into a threesome � I could see through their scam, but I liked their creativity so I played the dumb blonde card and let both of them lick my ***** and pinch my nipples. One guy loved nylons, so I wore a short skirt with thigh highs and let him finger me under the table at a busy restaurant; no one suspected a thing, except the waiter who winked at me on my way out the door. One guy just wanted to give me a massage; so I let him. It was so good I sucked the *** right out of his **** as a thank you.

I�ve sucked huge cocks and not so huge cocks. I�ve had many, many orgasms. Burned many a calorie. I�ve experienced different kinds of lovers, fetishes, and ****** likes/dislikes. It has been an educational experience to say the least. I believe each situation was a win-win for the involved parties.

I�m a self admitted Craigslist ****. Call me what you will, send me what you will � but know that honestly, I don�t give a shit what you think of me. I�m confident enough in myself that words will never hurt me. Judgments � never needed them in my life, so a judgment from a stranger means nothing to me. I�m an empowered single woman with a high *** drive; I�m simply doing the best I can to quench my ****** urges and having tons of fun along the way. I always practice safe ***. If I wanted a relationship, I could have one � but I�m enjoying my first single summer in many, many years. I�m enjoying the shit out of being a CL ****. I love my life.

Let me close with a big ol�THANK YOU Craigslist! You have made this one hot steamy summer. I appreciate what you have done for me��

 
I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first--" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with the drugs, I like to tell them this story

 
I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first--" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with the drugs, I like to tell them this story
That makes no !@#$ing sense...

And as far as the OP:

cliffs = good girl turns into a sult by having *** with several people on craigslist, probably has aids.

 
I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first--" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with the drugs, I like to tell them this story

I find that very amusing for some reason

 
I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first--" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with the drugs, I like to tell them this story

lulz that shit made no sense

 
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DerekSmith07

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