Author Archives: cearalynch

Australia

Im about half way through with my 6 week trip to Australia. I started in Melbourne, rented a camper, and have been making my way up the East coast. Im currently in Rainbow beach. A tiny little beach town with not a whole lot going on. I’m only stopping here because tomorrow I take a 3 day camping trip to a nearby island.

(a small rural road. picture shot through the windsheild of my camper, hence the “keep left” sign reflected through the dashboard.)

Ive been traveling solo, which I know a lot of people think is really strange, but I like it. I get to do what I want, at my own pace. Driving long stretches of rural highways for several hours by myself sounds really lonely to some, but being stuck in a vehicle with one person (unless I really like them) sounds like hell to me. I’m perfectly content passing the time with podcasts, audiobooks, and my own sick thoughts.

I’ve met a lot of great people along the road. In Melbourne I hung out with an adorable rockabilly couple who invited over for dinner and took me out to a local rock show. When I told them what I do for a living, the guy told me he used to date a professional dominatrix who specialized in flinging shit at her clients. She would work out of their aparment so he’d always make himself busy at a coffee shop or something whenever she was working. He said she was usually really good at keeping everything clean, covering the whole place with plastic wrap and what-not, but one day when he was at home and wanting to watch TV, he picked the remote control and discovered it smeared with her shit. He asked her to find another place to work after that.

In Sydney I met a group of hipster film makers who had dropped acid earlier that day to “center themselves” for the trip to Papa New Guinea they were about to take. One of them had spent some time there shooting polaroids of men and boys who grew large crops of weed (article.) They decided to go back to shoot a documentary for Vice. They took me to some great bars around Sydney, telling me their fears and visions about going to one of the most dangerous places on earth with a video camera.

Driving north the weather got drier and warmer. Byron Bay was my first beach town. I met an attractive young australian medical student who was taking time off from uni to surf. I spent the week with him watching the sunset, climbing trees and making out on the beach. Our time together was cut way to short and I truly regret not clubbing him over the head and keeping him as my live-in camper van sex slave. Alas, he continues to text me with youtube videos of puppy dogs just to keep me pining.

After Byron Bay I decided to spend a few days hustling on cam to help offset the cost of this rediculously expensive country. It was a good haul. I had a Dutch foot boy (pictured above) lap at my sneakers as I sat back and sipped wine, talked to a slutty sissy who wanted me to pimp him out to “homeless ghetto nigger cock,” and convinced a devoutly religous man to take viagra on an empty stomach cum all over his holy book.

Keep it up, pervs. You’re funding a life worth living.

Come again?

When I was 15 years old I walked behind a beaded curtain to the toy section of an adult store in downtown Portland, Oregon and bought my first vibrator. I didn’t get into a lot of trouble as a kid, so this felt rather bold and risky to me at the time. I was petrified I’d suffer some kind of humiliation if the clerk asked for my ID and recognize me for the salacious minor that I was. Instead, he glanced up at me for only a moment and then back down at his book.

I masturbated a lot but I wasn’t sure if I had ever cum before. I really wanted to try a vibrator. I had done my research online and picked out a toy that was both highly reviewed and within my $20-30 dollar budget. A pink pocket rocket.

I spotted it immediately. Still scared, I took it off the shelf like some smutty porn parody version of (panty?) Raider’s of the Lost Ark; praying I could touch it and get out of there without the whole building collapsing around me.

I took it off the shelf cautiously. Then, while holding my breath, I carefully approached the cashier like walking a tight rope. I handed it to him. He fished it out of he box and put batteries inside.

“Gotta make sure this isn’t a defective one. Ever since they just started exploding inside women we’ve had to test them.”

I stood there completely still. Wide eyed. Processing. I knew these were words but the meaning escaped me. I didn’t know how to respond.

“Ah I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” he grinned.

Oh yes. A joke. “YES. HA! HA! HA!” I skillfully laughed like a grown-ass woman who does taxes and drives a car. He turned on the mini massagar and watched it dance around the counter for a moment or two before nodding in approval and selling it to me. I walked out feeling victorious. A noble young sex warrior.

A few months later I had my first unambiguous orgasm on the carpet of my bedroom floor in front of a mirror. I don’t know why, but for the first few years of my orgasmic life I masturbated in front of mirrors. It felt hot and really egotistical at the same time. I also masturbated a lot. I loved vibrators and became obsessed with buying different kinds, eventually committing to a hitachi magic wand. Ole faithful.

The boys I dated hated them. They felt threatened and wanted nothing to do with them in our sex life. One ex didn’t like that I masturbated at all, taking it as some kind of personal attack on his ability to satisfy me. After I took his virginity, he dramatically erased his entire porn stash, as he didn’t “need” it anymore. I think he always resented that I never displayed a similar testament.

I give them a pass. They were teenage boys, after all. But it did leave it’s impression on me. I never gave up vibrators, but it did take me well into my adult life to feel okay with bringing them back into coupled sex with without feeling like I was stepping into the field of land mines that was male fragility.

3 years later, I became a porn store clerk myself. I worked the morning shift of 24hr establishment, which meant it was slow as fuck. When there were no customers and nothing to do, I picked out a my favorite toy from the shelf, went to the bathroom, unwrapped and used it on myself. When I was done, I’d wash it thoroughly with toy cleaner, put it back in the box and returned it to the sales shelf.. It’d take all of 10 minutes. I contemplated buying the toy for myself at first, but soon realized it was better to have one available at work.

I remember the day a customer came in and bought it for themselves. It was a little sad. “Farewell, sweet prince.” I whispered as it walked out the greasy door.

These days since I work from home, I can masturbate whenever I want. Occasionally I try to reign it in. It makes me a little more interested in my actual sex life if I’m not constantly practicing my mini DJ set. But when left to my own devices, I will get myself off up to 5-6x a day, and that’s not because I’m some insatiable trollop. When I really started paying attention to why I like to cum so much, I realized I often did it to help me sleep, to relieve stress, and to temporarily avoid my responsibilities. AKA:

In less than I week I will be leaving the country to travel for another couple months throughout Australia. As a result, I have been shooting videos like crazy so I’ll still have a steady stream of new content being released while I’m away. After burning through my list of customs, coming up with my own ideas has been a little mind numbing.

Earlier this month as I was walking around my neighborhood, a somewhat unique idea popped into my mind: I could shoot a video of me masturbating from the neck up.

I say “somewhat” unique, because I didn’t come up with this idea myself (there’s an entire website, beautifulagony.com, dedicated to this very concept) but it’s something I haven’t done before. Perhaps a little vanilla, but also fits within the “tease and denial” category. So, I wrote it down on my “to shoot” list.

So, get this. No lie a week later I received this email from a regular (Randy):

I’ve never received this request before, nor has any femdom POV producer shot anything like this (to my knowledge) This was just pure coincidence that this idea occurred to us around the same time.

I charged him $300. He has no idea that I was planning on making this video anyway. I can only imagine the jolt that’ll run through his cock when he reads this and finds out. (I’m laughing at you, Randy ^_^)

I filmed the clip after shooting 4 others. It was late in the evening, I was tired and ready to be done. The perfect clip to “finish off” with. I started off by showing what toys and fingers I’d be using, then cut to me lying on my beige tuft couch getting myself from beginning escalation, crescendo, and descent. It was satisfying, intimate and beautiful.

Randy emailed me again a few days later to say that he couldn’t explain why, but that he no longer wanted the clip (he didn’t ask for a refund.) A week later he admitted he was worried it would tarnish some kind of “professional” relationship he was hoping to someday establish with me (haha) but that he changed his mind and wanted to clip again.

This time, however, he was concerned I’d be faking it in the video.

I do a lot of pretending in my line of work, but I don’t think faking orgasms does anyone any favors. With exception to my “Phone Sex” video, I’ve never faked an orgasm and I don’t intend to start. I told Randy he could still have the clip, but that now he’d have to wait until it was released on clips4sale and buy it all over again. He said he felt as giddy as a fan girl.

Anyway, the clip was posted today. Enjoy.

http://www.clips4sale.com/16312/13635265

Responsibility

His email:

I caught you on the Love + Radio podcast the other day and found you to be insightful and intelligent. Very refreshing.

I don’t mean to tell you your business, but I would be a bit careful as to how you treat some of your clients. I know it’s just for fun and a way to make a living, but some of the people who seek you need help. Professional help. And a humilatrix might get them off, but it also might just dig them deeper into their hole.

The vast majority of your clients are probably just horny and find you attractive and fun, but their are indeed troubled souls out there. And I know you don’t intend to make them more troubled. So please be careful. And stay hot.

My Response:

How do you propose I do that?

It would be easy to suggest my job is unethical if seeking out my services was purely a symptom of mental instability. But it isn’t. As you acknowledged, most of my clients are just horny and find me fun. Healthy people have fetishes, even ones related to deep humiliation. What people enjoy sexually does not give you any kind of predictive inference about who they are as a person.

However, given that there are a certain number of people in the general population that are mentally ill, it then follows that a certain percentage of my clients are mentally ill as well and, yes, perhaps my services are not beneficial to them given their current condition.

How am I to distinguish this sort of client from the rest? The only information they are giving me is what makes their dick hard.

What is my responsibility? At what point should override a grown man’s personal choices because I have a better understanding of what’s best for him? Should I run a psychological screening test to ensure each client is in the right state of mind to purchase my services? Request a letter from their doctor?

I do not want to harm anyone, but when someone tells me to “be careful” with no practical tools or advice as to how, all they are doing is instilling feelings of guilt and paranoia, suggesting I have an important yet unattainable moral obligation.

Many of my clients eroticize unethical behavior and personal destruction. They want me to behave like a sadist: to hurt them, fuck them over, leave them broke, destroy their life and not care about them in the slightest.

This could blur the lines of fantasy and reality until one realizes my clients have the power to end the fantasy at any point by turning off their computer. I do not chase them. I never make first contact or follow up. Every interaction with me begins with their initial approach, is contingent upon their payment, and ends when they stop sending money.

The Cost of Caviar

In 2006, when I was first profiting from the exciting market of deranged perverts who’d buy anything that came out of or off of me, a guy named Archie asked to buy my shit.

Although I was somewhat new to this world, I had already sold several pairs of used panties, socks, tampons, toenail clippings and a bottle of piss. I had quickly come to the realization that there wasn’t anything so revolting that there wasn’t a some guy out there willing to buy it. In fact, it seemed the more revolting the better. So, by the time I got this request I wasn’t so much shocked as I was wondering what had taken so long.

I told Archie I’d sell him my shit for $100 which, at the time, seemed like a huge amount of money. He agreed and after he paid I proceeded to prepare his package in my sister’s living room one day while I was house sitting. I remember squatting over an open tupperwear container thinking this was just the sort of unique, perverse memory I would cherish forever.

Archie was quite the study case. He used to write me long winded emails about his shit eating pursuits. Here’s a sample from the mail vault:

“Dear Ceara

I have bought 202 pee/poo packages here on ebanned (yes, i do keep score. i even weigh the contents so i’ll know how much FEmale waste i’ve eaten over the years), and YOU are only the second at ebanned i’ve been willing to pay this much for. About half the GIRLs get $20 for the pee and $20 for the poo. The rest get a flat rate of $50 for both. YOU are, by a very large margin, much sexier than most of the ebanned GIRLs, so i have no problem with YOUR $100 fee demand. Based on looks alone, YOU are so obviously worth it.

i’m telling YOU all this just so YOU understand that W/we both have requirements necessary for a smooth, happy and successful business relationship. i’m not a newbie shit eater. i’ve been an on-going, enthusiastic, and serious total toilet for GIRLs since the mid 60’s. Before becoming old and ugly, i frequently had the privilege of receiving my fecal fix directly from its divine source. Those were truly the “good ol’ days”

W/we live on opposite sides of the continent. i’m in Georgia. How nice it would be if YOU were only down the road. i could get the shit still warm and fragrant instead of 2 or 3 days old. Still, if it’s from an attractive GIRL; GIRL shit is GIRL shit, and i can’t imagine ever being so stupid as to decline the honor of eating any i can get my mouth on. But obviously the quality of fresh shit far exceeds older shit. As YOU can probably imagine, shit has an extremely short shelf life. Pee, surprisingly, is pretty durable. menstrual products have the shortest safety margin. In hot weather they can go dangerously bad in a day. Spit goes bad quickly too. Sweat is weird, often it gets better for several days before either going rancid or becoming odorless.

i am plenty knowledgeable about all aspects of FEmale products and consider myself a true connoisseur. It is no lie or exaggeration when i say i’ve consumed in excess of two tons of FEmale excrement over the past 42 years. If i included non-excrement stuff, it would be nearer to four tons. YOU can see that this is no passing fancy for me. i live to be a toilet for GIRLs. Life would truly be pointless if i were cut off. the odd thing is, as i’ve aged, i’ve become a good bit more picky. In my youth i would eat the shit of almost any GIRL who was willing to share, but now, in my cranky old age, i need the youth and beauty i see in GIRLs like YOU. i feel i’ve earned it.

In the past 42 years i’ve invested over $150,000 in my shit eating pursuits. Naturally that’s money well spent, but as my life runs out, i want my final days to be a big time and glorious event. That’s why lately i’ve narrowed my suppliers down precipitously. I’ve paid my dues and put in my time, and as grand as it all was, i want only the best from now on. When i’m sitting around in my rocker on the porch of some old folks home, i want to remember the faces of GIRLs like YOU and let my imagination fill in the odors and taste YOU were willing to share with me. i want and need memories like that to sustain me in those final days.

-Archie”

Lovely, isn’t he?

Archie was so specific about how he wanted his special treat to be shipped that he mailed me the supplies himself so that all I’d have to do was leave my deposit, seal it up and expedite it to him. When I got his package, it contained multiple layers of ziplock bags, an air tight tupperwear container, a $100 bill and a small keep sake: a flat piece of art glass that had a rainbow sheen like an oil slick and 3 dancing women depicted on the front. I thought it was one of the ugliest things I’d ever seen. Like some tacky gift you’d give an old lady along with a gaudy broach. I immediately threw it away.

In retrospect, I should have kept it, as hideous as it was it’d would have made a great conversation piece.

It’s no secret that I’m kind of an odd girl. I get psyched over things that are bizarre and gross. Selling my shit did nothing for me sexually and while the money was nice I mostly I just liked the fact that I could say that I did this unique, fucked up thing once in my life. It wasn’t something I cared to sell regularly. At least not for just $100, which was increasingly becoming less money in my POV.

I continued to get these sorts of requests, but guys would always balk at the obscenely large price I was now charging and refuse. No big deal. That’s the beauty of having multiple, lucrative revenue streams; if I don’t really care to sell something, I can charge whatever I want. If the client doesn’t want to pay, so what? I’ll make 6-figures anyway. Considering this, I assumed I had priced myself so far out of the market that I’d never sell my shit again.

That is, until last week when a regular client of mine, Marid, inquired about buying my poo.

It came as a bit of a surprise coming from him. Up until this point, he had commissioned only soft-core, lesbian make out videos from me with specific women he picked out. They were all pretty tame and not within my fetish niche (or personal interest) but he always paid so exceptionally that it was worth it. I was always figured his tastes were rather mainstream.

So, I quoted him a price. Marid haggled. The indignant femdom in me held firm. I don’t like my clients thinking my prices are, in any way, negotiable. How dare they. Fuck em. I don’t need their less-than-my asking price money. I was ready to write the offer off completely and move on.

But, as I went about my day, reality started to slowly seeping in. I really thought about what he was offering; what it could pay for, my financial goals, how big of a dent it’d put in my mortgage, my upcoming 8 week trip. There’s a side effect to making far more than enough money to live comfortable; you sometimes forget the value of it. I had to consciously remind myself that even though it was less than than what I was asking, it was still a lot.

And so for the second time in my life, I agreed to sell a man my shit.

This time, for $4,000.

…

…..

It’s a surreal feeling. After 9 years, I never thought I’d sell my shit again. I certainly never thought that as I aged in an industry that sustains itself on the life blood of youth, would the value increase 40x.

Marid paid promptly, as he always does. From there, my experience was not unlike the first time: I packaged the contents in tupperwear, then locked it in tight with vacuumed sealed bag. I included a container of piss in there as well, because sometimes true generosity strikes me. The entire thing was expedited and on his door step the very next day. He contacted me right away to say thank you.

Marid isn’t as detailed and colorful in his emails as Archie was. In fact, when I asked him what he did with the contents, he only admitted to enjoying the smell. But as I pried further, he confessed to touching and tasting it as well,

“Just because I’m crazy about you.”

Meet Camille

Every once in a while, a sub comes along who takes his desire for public humiliation to a new level. While other “men” who share this fetish can do nothing more that share dull, faceless pictures of themselves wearing a g-string, this extreme sub relishes in an ever-increasing number of eyes running across every inch of his body. His excitement is contingent upon his identity being revealed and his secrets exposed. His thirst for shame cannot be satiated.

Ladies and gentleman, meet Camille.

This is not the first time I’ve exposed him nor am I the first woman to do it. To call Camille an “attention whore” would be an understatement. He has paid thousands of dollars to have pictures and videos of himself dressed like a fruitcake and engaging in gay sex spread across the internet time and time again. He has a history of “pretending to be straight” by dating poor unsuspecting women who have no idea that he was stuffing his mouth with cock every second their back was turned. Of course he loves playing with fire by giving me their contact info as well.

I felt it was time to give Camille exactly what he deserves: a thorough exposure video. One that includes all his pictures, a cam show where I humiliate him ruthlessly, and some footage of him doing what he does best: taking big black cock in his mouth and ass with my name written all over him.

Here’s a taste:

Pathetic isn’t he? See the full video here

Salon Q&A

Check on my recent interview for Salon here.

Cuckolding, cuckolding and more cuckolding

A sizable portion of my income comes from paid custom video requests. Those videos are then resold and make up the vast majority of the ones you see on my store (http://www.clips4sale.com/16312)

It’s nice. I produce a lot of videos. I have made over a thousand all together and release 4 new ones every week. If I had to come up with a fresh idea for each one myself I’d go insane. Instead, my customers not only do half the work for me, but pay me handsomely to do so.

If you keep up with my content, you may have noticed I have a fair amount of cuckolding role play videos where I play some variation of the viewers slutty, cheating wife. Various titles include:

Office Slut
I Want His Baby
Post Coitus Humiliation
Cuckold’s Spoiled Wife
Cuckold’s Threesome
Cuckold’s Rules
Cuckoldress’ Rules
Cuckold’s Loan
The Cuckold’s Proposal
Gynocologist
Boss Is better
Traveling Cuckold
Sick of Small Dick
My Sister’s Husband
Cock Curious
My Inner Slut
New Sleeping Arrangements
Anniversary Gift
The Pill
Be Nice to My Man
I Want My Bentley
USA Fuck trip
Hot Wife
Collateral Wife
Distracted Wife
Fuck This Marraige

…etc

All of these have been commissioned by one guy named Bo from Dubai. He is by far my #1 purchaser of custom clips. At first his orders would come one at a time, spread out within weeks, but this year he’s been buying them in large batches, spending upwards of $2k at a time. Since January he’s spent $4,500 on these videos. His request always start out the same,

“You as my wife.”

It never ceases to amaze me how he never gets sick of this theme, acted out by the same woman, with slight variations. He actually thinks they’re not repetitive.

His most popular request was “Phone Sex,” a video that came out last year which reached number #1 on clips4sale. Its also quite possibly my most pirated clip. I have had now 3 different male friends of mine not affiliated with the industry tell me they ran into this video while browsing tube sites. Just yesterday I saw a screen grab taken from it and used for a banner on reddit thread dedicated to porn involving women having sex in risky/public places where they have to be quiet (but generally fail.)

I suppose it’s a more risque clip considering my body of work. I’m basically talking on the phone with my “husband,” affectionately staring at a couple of used condoms, when my headless boyfriend comes into the room and bangs me from behind as I try to play off my moans as phone sex. It was pretty corny from my point of view. The sex is simulated, the orgasm is fake, no one is really on the phone and the one line required from my boyfriend at the time was poorly executed. Its 5 minutes. Never the less, people went bananas over it.

I’ve been slowly chipping away at his recent batch of customs. 4 have been shot this week, 10 more currently pending. ..Mind numbing…

[By the way, if you’re reading this and interested in a custom video simply email the full description to contact@cearalynch.com and I’ll quote you a price.]

@cearajunky was in town on Saturday. As our tradition, I had him take me out to nice dinner and give me a nice stack of bills. As some of you know, he’s the only sub of mine I bother to meet in person. I don’t session with him (I don’t session with anyone in person) we just hang out socially and he gives me money because he likes to. It’s a lovely arrangement.

After dinner he took me to my first Blazers game. I didn’t think I’d be into it, sports in general are painfully boring to me. I didn’t grow up with them in any way. But I felt like as a Portlander I should goto at least one game in my life. To my surprised I actually really enjoyed it. I’ll definitely go again. I made him buy me this sweet hat afterward. That, combined with dinner, game tickets, and $400 tribute added up to rather expensive night for him. I’m sure he’d repeat every day if he could.

Go Blazers!

Belize

I just got back from spending 5 days in Belize. Alexandra had went home after Tulum, Shauna broke off to San Pedro, and Meggerz, Mistress T, and myself stayed in the tiny, boring little island of Caye Caulker. I wasn’t a fan.

Sure, there was some charm to it. A laid back vibe. But all in all not much to do. Despite being an island, there wasn’t a proper beach. Just smelly seaweed separating the water from the concrete. Most things were over priced because they had to be imported.

We took several tours together, each of which were conflicting blend of awe and torment. There was the night snorkeling just as a thunder storm was rolling in. I saw one octopus at the cost of swallowing a whole lot of sea water. Then there was the tiny plane tour over the Blue Hole. The sight was breath taking, but it was all I could do to keep from puking as the pilot treated the plane like a roller coaster; dipping, swooping, turning 45 degree angles. Finally there was the scuba dive into the Blue Hole, which was an overrated experience that required an agonizing 2 hour boat ride in horrible weather conditions that made me want to cry and puke until I looked like a shriveled raisin. Hey, at least I can say I “did it,” right?

It wasn’t all bad of course. I had top notch company to keep me from total misery. Thank Xenu for that. Not to mention the dutiful subs who paid my way so I didn’t have to (@cearajunky sent $300, @soleshine sent $550 and Mr. F a whopping $1,200)

Anyway… I’m home now. It feels great. After a much needed mani/pedi I’ll be back terrorizing horny men out of their money for at least a couple months until my next international voyage.

Tulum

I woke up this morning 6am in Caye Caulker, Belize. I spent most of the morning laying in a hammock, taking pictures of the hostel kitten and listening to my Love + Radio episode which went live today.

I’m quite happy with it. Check it out:

https://soundcloud.com/loveandradio/thank-you-princess

I spent the last several days in Tulum Mexico, a cute boho town with Mayan ruins and Cenotes. Mistress T and Meggerz arrived making it a group of 7 of us. It was a refreshing change from Cancun: touristy, but not overly commercial. Charming and laid back.

Our first night we feasted at a Mexican restaurant that treated us to free tequila shots, giant somberos and napkins folded meticulously into roses. The result: 7 women simultaneously partaking in a 20 min selfie session.

We rented bikes and rode around the town, visiting the beach and the ruins.

Alex, Shauna and I spent the next day scuba diving in the Cenotes. It was incredible. Our first two dives were in Dos Ojos where we swam through caves and resurfaced in sections where bats dwelled and were miserable over the fact that divers were constantly shining lights at them. Afterwards we dove in El Pit. Easily one of my favorite dives of all time. A 100m cavernous pit with sun rays shining through. I felt like I was floating through space in canyon from another planet.

Later that day I learned that one of Mistress T’s good friends, “Gaspman,” of Club Stelitto, had passed away. I didn’t know him, but watching T greive over him that night was one of the most tragically beautiful things I’ve wittnessed. She spoke uninhibitly through tears about how he lived, who he was, and how precious life is. I was at a loss of words (not that there was anything I could have said that would have made a difference.) So I just listened, soaking it in. She made me wish I knew him.

Death has a way of making you reflect on your own life. Am I living it the way I should? Do the things I stress over really matter? Are the people I hang out with really worth my time? If I died tomorrow, would I regret anything?

On our last day we found a small seafood food restaurant off the beaten path on the beach. They cooked freshly caught fish over an open fire. It had no sign or menu, the waiters barely spoke English. We ordered some of the best ceviche and lobster I’ve ever had. Afterward then lounged hammocks tied to trees and enjoyed each others company as the sun set.

Sayulita and Cancun

Last week I spent some time in my favorite little surfer town in Mexico; Sayulita. I fell in love with this place last October and made it a point to come back this year.

It all seemed more or less the same since last time I was there, with some noteable differences. The hostel that had just barely opened when I last arrived, Lush, was now booming; packed full of travelers. Lots of new faces though many the same, some relationships formed and broken, an engagement..

This town would suck all sense of ambition out of me if I lived here. All I want to do is walk on the beach, watch sunsets, make new friends and drink tequila. It’s for the best that I only visit in short spurts. Temptations run rampant here: parties every night, bad decisions encouraged, an abundance of beautiful bodies looking for sex. It can get the best of some. I like to think I practice all things in moderation. I can’t have anything distract me from an Internet full of vulnerable men for me to prey upon, afterall.

A large storm hit during my last day here. It would have lasted 3 days. I woke up early with my travel companion (who had much to drink and little sleep the night before) and we waited in the cold and rain for the bus to take us to the airport. We landed in Cancun that afternoon.

Shauna Ryanne arrived a few hours after me and we stayed at another party centric hostel. While my travel companion caught up on some much needed sleep, Shauna and I walked the plaza and ate churros.

The hostel, Orquideas, seemed really cool. Free breakfast in the morning, family style dinner at night, engaging people, plenty of hammocks, colorful murals, the sound of loud, enthusiastic fucking at 3am. Spring break! Yeah!

Alas, we only spent one night here before meeting up with Alexandra in her big beautiful villa. The view is incredible and its probably the sort of place a financial dominatrix princess is suppose to be vacationing in, but to be honest if it weren’t for the fantastic company I’d be bored out of my mind here. Theres nothing but hotels, shopping malls, and a small strip of gaudy, over-the-top dance clubs catering to spring break. Everything is 10x as expensive. It feels more like Vegas than Mexico.(Lesson here: Alexandra is the true princess among us.)

The three is us went scuba diving yesterday. The water was stunning. Crystal clear. We swam around a lively coral reef and explored an underwater museum. Afterward we drank margaritas, ate fresh seafood, and entertained eachother in conversation. Friday we dive again in Cozumel.

Lynch 2.0

https://www.cearalynch.com