I have this thing for DJs. Something about being able to control the mood of every individual in a building excites me. So last week I got a major crush on my DJ flavour of the month. I met him at some random party a while back, and we kept in touch. Last week our conversations reached a new level, and I got the vibe he wanted to make sweet sweet love to me and have my babies, so I agreed to go out with him.
The DJ and I had a great time. We both had the same favourite drink, he made me laugh, we both love the same kind of music...yes, I could definitely see myself walking down the aisle and becoming "Mrs. DJ" with this one. I knew he was a bit younger than me, but only by a couple of years...right? An hour into our date I was struggling to decide which one of my BFF sisters would be my maid of honour, and he asked me to guess how old he was. "30?" I asked. "23" he answered. Fuck. Really? Again? What the fuck is my problem? I'm like some kind of fetus magnet. I carried on with the date but when he dropped me off, I didn't kiss him. I fall in love with anyone who sticks their tongue in my mouth, so for once, I was trying to be smart.
For the next week we kept chatting and I mean, I liked the guy, he's just so young. I don't think I can go down this road again. By the time I'm finished banging the under-25 population, I'll have no eggs left and my legacy will die with me. Not acceptable. So how can I have my cake and eat it too? Last night I figured it out.
I was staying in a small-town hotel for work. Small. Like small-fucking-town. Like nothing is open past 9pm except for McDonald's, which closes at 10. So I decided to start sending the DJ some suggestive texts. I told him I was going to play with myself but I needed encouragement...by way of pictures. He was immediately into it. He of course asked me for one too, so I gnarled my body in some kind of Cirque-de-Soleil pose where I looked 30 pounds lighter than I actually am, and took a picture of my headless torso. I'm no idiot. I don't need this shit to end up on BustyBabes.com. In return, he took text orders from me and sent over a photographic story of what he was doing on the other end. It was the funnest 20 minutes I've ever had in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, and it ended happily ever after for both of us. Nice. I actually had so much fun I relived it this morning by myself thanks to the "Save File" feature.
The weird thing is, I feel like I'm done with him. Like I got what I needed and I'm good. Huh. Even if I'm not done, I'll just go back to the pictures and be done again....and again, if necessary. So I told him to beat it and he did. And now I want him to actually beat it. Ironic. I think I've found my new hobby.
Next.
