You're probably wondering why I've been so quiet. The reason for my month of silence can be summed up in 5 words: Lia Magic Wand G-spot Vibrator. This 6.5-inch piece of silicone has changed my life. I kid you not, last Saturday I didn't get out of bed until after 5pm, and when I did it was only to replenish electrolytes so I could make it through my next session which started at 9pm. This pink rod of ecstasy has been my best friend and lover for the past month, until last night.
I've become better friends with the 23 year-old DJ over the past month. Apres the BlackBerry sex, we never ended up hooking up for real, instead we kinda became friends. Problem is, I was sitting at my office yesterday minding my own beeswax and he e-mailed me. The e-mail itself was a harmless, dumb-ass picture of Borat. Although it was clear that this guy didn't understand women in the slightest, that wasn't the problem. The problem was, when I saw his name pop up in my Outlook, my stomach flipped. Fuck. I realized I'm obviously starting to like this guy. Jesus Christ. After 30 seconds of daydreaming about how this ridiculous age gap worked out for Demi and Ashton and would surely be the same for us, it was imperative that I stop the mere stomach flip from escalating into another full-fledged, five alarm cougar attack. I immediately grabbed my phone and scrolled through to find a number of contestants suitable to distract me long enough to get over my DJ crush. After a few minutes I had it down to two finalists that I had let fall into the wings over the past few weeks...lucky them.
One of my two finalists lives in Switzerland ...he's a pilot and has a huge crush on me - harmless, but distracting - good. The other is a vertically-challenged hottie I met a couple of months ago at a wine tasting. He's an executive chef at the restaurant that was hosting the event, and he's cute as a button...and he's 29, which is "mature" in Nice Girl years. My Swiss pilot entertained me for the last 2 hours I was supposedly "working." I somehow even managed to convince him to try and quit smoking. (See? I am capable of good things). When my Swissie had to go to sleep, I started texting the chef. He was very responsive and we chatted all evening, and after 2 (10) glasses of wine, he asked me to hang out. I summoned him over to my place and we drank copious amounts of wine and made sweet love to each other until 3am. Then we woke up at 7am and did it again. Nice. I'm not gonna lie, after he left this morning I quickly re-acquainted myself with Lia, just in case she felt left out after last night's real-cock antics. We both felt much better. Five minutes after the chef left, something strange happened. He started texting me again.
All day today he has been having an ongoing conversation with me and keeps referring to our next "date." Huh. I have so many questions. Was last night a date? Does this guy actually like me? Is everything my mother said about putting out on the first date a lie? Was all this Nice Girl crap a complete waste of time? Do I even like this guy? Is it mean to ask your fiancee to stand on a milk crate while you exchange vows?
I hope to have the answers to at least some of these questions very soon. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Beat It
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.
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.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Table for One, Wine for Three...Hundred
Hottie McAccent and I stopped seeing each other in a very boring, just not calling anymore kind of way. I'd have more to say about it if I gave a shit, but this guy was so busy he told me he saw his last girlfriend once a week for 3 years. Next.
So after the Israeli I decided to behave myself for a while. That ended last night...with a bang. There's a bouncer I may have mentioned a few months back that has been trying to get me in his bed for ages. He's hot but for one reason or another I just haven't been 100% into it, so it's never happened. I also feel this immense amount of pressure since even though I know he wants to have sex, the non-animal part of me still wants the element of surprise rather than the strict planning of sexual penetration sessions that he seems to prefer. So after opting to have wine FOR dinner instead of WITH dinner last night, I started to text him.
I was being relatively open about what I wanted from him, to the point where he kept asking things like "you're fucking with me, right?", or "are you jk??"...this was his lucky night, I was finally ready to give in. One small problem...he was working. Since I'm a day-walker, waiting for someone to finish work at 3am is relatively unacceptable, but since it had been a few weeks since my last penis sighting, I thought I'd take one for the team. I decided to go out with friends and continue to extend my liquid dinner into liquid dessert, and then a liquid midnight snack. I washed all of my liquid meals down with Stoli sodas. Sure enough, come 3am I was still up, hooray for me.
The bouncer finally got off work around 3:25am and said he was coming over. Greeeat. By this point I'd been home for about an hour becoming one with my amazingly comfortable sofa. I was semi-conscious when I heard him buzz in. For a second, I forgot who I was expecting and I thought I'd maybe ordered pizza.I was much more excited to have double-smoked pepperoni in my face than I was to have a penis in it, so when I realized no pizza was coming, I was slightly disheartened. But whatever, maybe this would be okay too.
First of all he was sober. That's not good. I'd been drinking copious amounts of liquor since sunset, and the sun was now rising. I also had to work in 5 hours, again, not a good start. But when he grabbed me and kissed me passionately, I figured this might be the best thing that's happened to me in a while and I decided to just let go. I must say that I haven't been kissed this way in quite some time...since I was a kid actually, when I would come home from school and my dog would tackle me and lick my face because she missed me so much. Yes, that was the last time I was kissed like this. I've had less saliva on my face after a four hour conversation with my friend "Lispy Larry." Unfortunately this horrible "kiss" set the mood for me. I wasn't in the mood to have sex, but I was in even less of a mood to talk about it, so I was a good sport and went along with it, and it was fun...for about an hour. Gentlemen, unless your dick is filled with vibrating beads and twirls inside us, we do not need to be fucked for longer than 10-20 minutes. Come 5am I asked if he was going to finish anytime soon. I now had to work in 4 hours, and I certainly was not going to finish anytime soon. He said he couldn't finish with a condom on. Classic. And too fucking bad, it was staying on. Then we started the bobbing war. He was trying to push my head into his lap and I kept pushing it back up. The only thing I want in my mouth at 5am is McDonald's hash browns, thanks. I told him he had to finish soon because I...was...done. He wasn't impressed. Him and his blue balls waddled out the door around 5:30am and I passed out on my couch in peace.
Then I woke up to a text message from him this morning, "There's nothing to say...lmao, worst sex ever." Now I wasn't particularly offended by this. I had no emotional attachment to the bouncer and mind-blowing sex is hard to come by when your level of sobriety only allows you to do the starfish. I guess I was more irked by the idea that a guy thinks it's okay to "lmao" to a girl after fucking her. That's not very nice! And who talks like that...what are you, 5? What if I liked him? That kind of thing could have really hurt! So I had to respond..."Well what did you expect? You've been begging to fuck me for weeks and I've turned you down repeatedly. I tell you I've had 2 bottles of wine and want you to come over, so you do...7 hours later at 4am! Ooooobviously I just wasn't into it, or you".
Next.
So after the Israeli I decided to behave myself for a while. That ended last night...with a bang. There's a bouncer I may have mentioned a few months back that has been trying to get me in his bed for ages. He's hot but for one reason or another I just haven't been 100% into it, so it's never happened. I also feel this immense amount of pressure since even though I know he wants to have sex, the non-animal part of me still wants the element of surprise rather than the strict planning of sexual penetration sessions that he seems to prefer. So after opting to have wine FOR dinner instead of WITH dinner last night, I started to text him.
I was being relatively open about what I wanted from him, to the point where he kept asking things like "you're fucking with me, right?", or "are you jk??"...this was his lucky night, I was finally ready to give in. One small problem...he was working. Since I'm a day-walker, waiting for someone to finish work at 3am is relatively unacceptable, but since it had been a few weeks since my last penis sighting, I thought I'd take one for the team. I decided to go out with friends and continue to extend my liquid dinner into liquid dessert, and then a liquid midnight snack. I washed all of my liquid meals down with Stoli sodas. Sure enough, come 3am I was still up, hooray for me.
The bouncer finally got off work around 3:25am and said he was coming over. Greeeat. By this point I'd been home for about an hour becoming one with my amazingly comfortable sofa. I was semi-conscious when I heard him buzz in. For a second, I forgot who I was expecting and I thought I'd maybe ordered pizza.I was much more excited to have double-smoked pepperoni in my face than I was to have a penis in it, so when I realized no pizza was coming, I was slightly disheartened. But whatever, maybe this would be okay too.
First of all he was sober. That's not good. I'd been drinking copious amounts of liquor since sunset, and the sun was now rising. I also had to work in 5 hours, again, not a good start. But when he grabbed me and kissed me passionately, I figured this might be the best thing that's happened to me in a while and I decided to just let go. I must say that I haven't been kissed this way in quite some time...since I was a kid actually, when I would come home from school and my dog would tackle me and lick my face because she missed me so much. Yes, that was the last time I was kissed like this. I've had less saliva on my face after a four hour conversation with my friend "Lispy Larry." Unfortunately this horrible "kiss" set the mood for me. I wasn't in the mood to have sex, but I was in even less of a mood to talk about it, so I was a good sport and went along with it, and it was fun...for about an hour. Gentlemen, unless your dick is filled with vibrating beads and twirls inside us, we do not need to be fucked for longer than 10-20 minutes. Come 5am I asked if he was going to finish anytime soon. I now had to work in 4 hours, and I certainly was not going to finish anytime soon. He said he couldn't finish with a condom on. Classic. And too fucking bad, it was staying on. Then we started the bobbing war. He was trying to push my head into his lap and I kept pushing it back up. The only thing I want in my mouth at 5am is McDonald's hash browns, thanks. I told him he had to finish soon because I...was...done. He wasn't impressed. Him and his blue balls waddled out the door around 5:30am and I passed out on my couch in peace.
Then I woke up to a text message from him this morning, "There's nothing to say...lmao, worst sex ever." Now I wasn't particularly offended by this. I had no emotional attachment to the bouncer and mind-blowing sex is hard to come by when your level of sobriety only allows you to do the starfish. I guess I was more irked by the idea that a guy thinks it's okay to "lmao" to a girl after fucking her. That's not very nice! And who talks like that...what are you, 5? What if I liked him? That kind of thing could have really hurt! So I had to respond..."Well what did you expect? You've been begging to fuck me for weeks and I've turned you down repeatedly. I tell you I've had 2 bottles of wine and want you to come over, so you do...7 hours later at 4am! Ooooobviously I just wasn't into it, or you".
Next.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Can I Borrow a Cup of Sour Milk?
Well, the neighbour situation has finally gone bad. Extremely bad. Aw well, we had a good run.
Around Christmas I liked my next door neighbour; in fact, he was my first human case study in The Nice Girl Project experimental phase. I have never slept with him since. In fact since then, I have had absolutely zero interest in him. The sex was average. That means I forget what it was like. If it's amazing, I remember, and if it's horrible, I remember, but I literally can't tell you one detail of how things went that magical night in December. The only thing I remember is he has a nipple ring, (weird), and he's hairier than a muskox in the middle of an Arctic storm. After that I started dating the minor and my neighbour was seeing someone, so we didn't really talk much. It was slightly awkward, but so was talking, so I was happy to cap our hallway discussions at "How are you?". About a month ago we started talking again, and this quickly turned into our neighbourly old set-up where him, his roomie and myself wander back between each others apartments and hang out on a regular basis. It's lovely, like an episode of Friends. Except, remember that episode where Ross and Rachel break up and you want to cry and kill yourself? It's more like that one.
This past weekend I was hanging out with my neighbour's roomie and neighbour was on his way back. He phoned me en route and said "Hey...I'm bringing a girl back to hang out, so I just want to make sure you're not all over me...if you want to be all over my roommate, please, show him the love, go ahead, but just make sure you aren't all over me." Wait. Hold up. Was I sending off my secret sexual muskox calling whistle again? The egos on men never cease to amaze me. This lovely neighbour of mine managed to offend me in so many ways, logarithmic equations are needed to understand them. Not only did this piece of work assume that I am so in need of his hairy, pierced physique that I am not able to contain myself even in the presence of stranger spectators, he also suggested that I move on to his best friend/roommate and that would be entirely fine, like I'm some kind of hooker or something. Jesus Fuck. If I got paid every time I banged someone I'd be a fucking millionaire, get a clue asshole. In a nutshell, this phone call did not sit well with me. Did I mention I was drunk? Minor detail, but it explains why I reacted like this: there was a bowl of sugar-coated sour candies on the coffee table. Ironically, I had given my neighbours the candies the day before. I took the bowl of sour candies and dispersed them evenly on his bed sheets, under the comforter, being careful to ensure that every granule of sugar made its way into the bed. I lay the comforter over it and hoped that him and his date would have a hot, sweaty makeout session on the bed before realizing that melted sour candies had become one with his Ralph Lauren sheets. I went home.
The next day I got a nasty text message from him saying I was some kind of douchebag and to fuck myself. Then another "I will never forget what you did." What this guy for realsies? He'll NEVER forget what I did? Me neither because it was hilarious, but save the "I Know What You Did Last Summer" tone for the PO-lice, freakazoid. This nasty text message convo went well into the night. I told him he was an arrogant fuckwad and he told me I was negative and bad energy. You would be too around arrogant fuckwads, trust me. So I told him I don't want to talk to him anymore. Delete. 12 hours later I see him in the elevator. Fuck.
Okay, that's only half of the neighbour story. Remember my upstairs neighbour? I slept with his hot best friend months ago, then a couple of months ago upstairs neighbour tried repeatedly and aggressively to get me in the sack. It was exhausting to hang around him, so I didn't do it often, but that smart little devil knew that eventually, my blood alcohol level would be so high, I would be powerless against his un-stellar advances. I pity fucked the poor guy once, and that was that. He smells like smoke and has a straw up his nose more often than in his mouth...there's nothing I find appealing about this one. Which, in true male form, makes me irresistible to him. I've managed to keep him at bay, but then bumped into the hot best friend about a month ago and hooked up with him. He's still yummy, but I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings so lied to my upstairs neighbour and let on that nothing happened.
Then about 3 weeks ago I was hanging out with upstairs neighbour and his friend. All was going fine until his friends gradually left and there we were, alone. It was a ticking time bomb. I knew that in no time I would have to be beating away his unsexy ass, so I made for the exit, much to his shagrin. The next morning I woke up to a text message from him: "You told my friends that all I ever do is throw myself on you and you're not interested in me? I'm done with you, nice knowing you." Hm. Now that was a thinker. I don't remember telling his friends that but it was entirely possible. And I agreed, it wasn't a very nice thing to say to his friends. But bigger picture, was this some kind of incredible newsflash? I'm not interested in him and he throws himself on me incessantly every time we're together, which ends when I finally manage to beat him off me and say the word "no" anywhere from 12 to 60 times. Hm. Perhaps the combination of cigarettes and cocaine causes amnesia. They should really put that on the package.
I didn't have any kind of a response because frankly I wasn't interested in being his friend, and I had more interest in having sex with a celery stick than him. I didn't respond or give two shits. But for the next hour he texted me and told me I was a slut among other things. A slut? Do people over 12 still say that? Isn't any single person over 18 a "slut?" Since just 5 days prior I witnessed him doing lines of coke off a bathroom floor, I didn't take much offense to him thinking that I was the dirty bird here.
So there we have it. In the course of a week I've been called a slut by one neighbour, and told to fuck myself by another. Now where the fuck am I going to go when I need to borrow a cup of Stoli? Assholes.
Around Christmas I liked my next door neighbour; in fact, he was my first human case study in The Nice Girl Project experimental phase. I have never slept with him since. In fact since then, I have had absolutely zero interest in him. The sex was average. That means I forget what it was like. If it's amazing, I remember, and if it's horrible, I remember, but I literally can't tell you one detail of how things went that magical night in December. The only thing I remember is he has a nipple ring, (weird), and he's hairier than a muskox in the middle of an Arctic storm. After that I started dating the minor and my neighbour was seeing someone, so we didn't really talk much. It was slightly awkward, but so was talking, so I was happy to cap our hallway discussions at "How are you?". About a month ago we started talking again, and this quickly turned into our neighbourly old set-up where him, his roomie and myself wander back between each others apartments and hang out on a regular basis. It's lovely, like an episode of Friends. Except, remember that episode where Ross and Rachel break up and you want to cry and kill yourself? It's more like that one.
This past weekend I was hanging out with my neighbour's roomie and neighbour was on his way back. He phoned me en route and said "Hey...I'm bringing a girl back to hang out, so I just want to make sure you're not all over me...if you want to be all over my roommate, please, show him the love, go ahead, but just make sure you aren't all over me." Wait. Hold up. Was I sending off my secret sexual muskox calling whistle again? The egos on men never cease to amaze me. This lovely neighbour of mine managed to offend me in so many ways, logarithmic equations are needed to understand them. Not only did this piece of work assume that I am so in need of his hairy, pierced physique that I am not able to contain myself even in the presence of stranger spectators, he also suggested that I move on to his best friend/roommate and that would be entirely fine, like I'm some kind of hooker or something. Jesus Fuck. If I got paid every time I banged someone I'd be a fucking millionaire, get a clue asshole. In a nutshell, this phone call did not sit well with me. Did I mention I was drunk? Minor detail, but it explains why I reacted like this: there was a bowl of sugar-coated sour candies on the coffee table. Ironically, I had given my neighbours the candies the day before. I took the bowl of sour candies and dispersed them evenly on his bed sheets, under the comforter, being careful to ensure that every granule of sugar made its way into the bed. I lay the comforter over it and hoped that him and his date would have a hot, sweaty makeout session on the bed before realizing that melted sour candies had become one with his Ralph Lauren sheets. I went home.
The next day I got a nasty text message from him saying I was some kind of douchebag and to fuck myself. Then another "I will never forget what you did." What this guy for realsies? He'll NEVER forget what I did? Me neither because it was hilarious, but save the "I Know What You Did Last Summer" tone for the PO-lice, freakazoid. This nasty text message convo went well into the night. I told him he was an arrogant fuckwad and he told me I was negative and bad energy. You would be too around arrogant fuckwads, trust me. So I told him I don't want to talk to him anymore. Delete. 12 hours later I see him in the elevator. Fuck.
Okay, that's only half of the neighbour story. Remember my upstairs neighbour? I slept with his hot best friend months ago, then a couple of months ago upstairs neighbour tried repeatedly and aggressively to get me in the sack. It was exhausting to hang around him, so I didn't do it often, but that smart little devil knew that eventually, my blood alcohol level would be so high, I would be powerless against his un-stellar advances. I pity fucked the poor guy once, and that was that. He smells like smoke and has a straw up his nose more often than in his mouth...there's nothing I find appealing about this one. Which, in true male form, makes me irresistible to him. I've managed to keep him at bay, but then bumped into the hot best friend about a month ago and hooked up with him. He's still yummy, but I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings so lied to my upstairs neighbour and let on that nothing happened.
Then about 3 weeks ago I was hanging out with upstairs neighbour and his friend. All was going fine until his friends gradually left and there we were, alone. It was a ticking time bomb. I knew that in no time I would have to be beating away his unsexy ass, so I made for the exit, much to his shagrin. The next morning I woke up to a text message from him: "You told my friends that all I ever do is throw myself on you and you're not interested in me? I'm done with you, nice knowing you." Hm. Now that was a thinker. I don't remember telling his friends that but it was entirely possible. And I agreed, it wasn't a very nice thing to say to his friends. But bigger picture, was this some kind of incredible newsflash? I'm not interested in him and he throws himself on me incessantly every time we're together, which ends when I finally manage to beat him off me and say the word "no" anywhere from 12 to 60 times. Hm. Perhaps the combination of cigarettes and cocaine causes amnesia. They should really put that on the package.
I didn't have any kind of a response because frankly I wasn't interested in being his friend, and I had more interest in having sex with a celery stick than him. I didn't respond or give two shits. But for the next hour he texted me and told me I was a slut among other things. A slut? Do people over 12 still say that? Isn't any single person over 18 a "slut?" Since just 5 days prior I witnessed him doing lines of coke off a bathroom floor, I didn't take much offense to him thinking that I was the dirty bird here.
So there we have it. In the course of a week I've been called a slut by one neighbour, and told to fuck myself by another. Now where the fuck am I going to go when I need to borrow a cup of Stoli? Assholes.
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Secret to a Man's Heart
Well, I finally did it. I found the perfect balance between the Nice Girl and my raging hormones. If all goes according to plan I will have a new boyfriend in a couple of weeks.
About a week ago I had a party and my neighbour and his friends popped in for a few minutes. One of his friends was yummmmmy. Okay, I know what you're thinking, another neighbour story?? I can't help it if my neighbours and their friends, brothers, fathers, and goldfish find me irresistible, so shut up and just keep reading. We had a few minutes of flirtatious conversation and nothing much came of it, especially since although he was gorgeous and had an accent that made me wet myself, I was more concerned with the other guests at my party and the amount of glass they were breaking. Hottie McAccent went back to my neighbour's place and that was that. That night, in keeping with my "elegant slut" status, I ended up having sex with my OTHER neighbour's best friend...again. Fuck. Actually thanks to Aunt Flo we didn't ACTUALLY have sex, so the next day when other neighbour asked "did you bang my best friend?", I was able to answer "no I did not" without my nose shooting out like I just snorted five rails of Cialis in Gepetto's workshop. I felt no need to add, "but I licked his balls while we both masturbated."
Anyhoo, back to Hottie McAccent. So three days after my party there was another party in the building, and guess who showed up? Well of course me...as soon as I hear the word "party" I grab the champagne and Silly String and I'm on my way. And...Hottie McAccent. The second I saw him I remembered why I was so attracted to him in the first place. Seriously. He's gorgeous, smart, affectionate, and just the perfect amount of controlling. Anytime any guy talked to me he would come and touch my leg or rub my arm or something, clearly giving off the "she's mine" vibe. I love that. In fact, I wouldn't have been the least bit offended if he whipped out his penis and peed all around my section of the couch. That night I kissed him a few times, and he asked me to go downstairs to my place, but I couldn't go. I had too many of my own friends that I invited to the party, and I didn't want to bail on everyone. Besides, we just met, geez! What, did he think we were going to go have sex or something? What would ever give him that idea? So after a few amazing kisses and hours of conversation, he left...with my number. That's the first time in months I've watched a guy walk away from me with blue balls.
The next day he asked me to go on a date. YES! I was very excited, and we went out last night. I'm not going to share the details of the amazing date or how I'm already imagining myself converting to Judaism and marrying this man, let's just skip to the part where I manage to show some restraint and act like a Nice Girl...ish. Thanks to the fact that I only had 2 glasses of wine on our date, I still had some sense about me, and I knew I wanted to see this man again. I was NOT going to have sex with him. 20 minutes into our make-out session I could see where this was going...directly into my vagina. So I tell him "I like you and I want to see you again so I don't want to do anything too fast." This was about the most shocking thing I've ever said; even more shocking is that I meant it. So we made out for a while longer and we were both getting far too excited. In an attempt to ensure my pants stayed on, I figured I would take care of him. So down I went. 10 minutes later, after being told I was "amazing" about seven times, I swallowed and came up for air. I have actually never done that before for a guy that wasn't my boyfriend, but I figured I would bend the rules since this was a special occasion: mine and my husband's first date. After my "amazing" performance, I laid back down and we cuddled and talked for about half an hour. It was late and I had to go, and he kept saying he didn't want me to go - nice. Then, something wonderful happened. Hottie McAccent asked me out on a second date. That's right, whilst on the first date, I was asked on a second one, and even given a time and place. Wow.
This is it. I've discovered the secret to a man's heart. Blowjobs.
About a week ago I had a party and my neighbour and his friends popped in for a few minutes. One of his friends was yummmmmy. Okay, I know what you're thinking, another neighbour story?? I can't help it if my neighbours and their friends, brothers, fathers, and goldfish find me irresistible, so shut up and just keep reading. We had a few minutes of flirtatious conversation and nothing much came of it, especially since although he was gorgeous and had an accent that made me wet myself, I was more concerned with the other guests at my party and the amount of glass they were breaking. Hottie McAccent went back to my neighbour's place and that was that. That night, in keeping with my "elegant slut" status, I ended up having sex with my OTHER neighbour's best friend...again. Fuck. Actually thanks to Aunt Flo we didn't ACTUALLY have sex, so the next day when other neighbour asked "did you bang my best friend?", I was able to answer "no I did not" without my nose shooting out like I just snorted five rails of Cialis in Gepetto's workshop. I felt no need to add, "but I licked his balls while we both masturbated."
Anyhoo, back to Hottie McAccent. So three days after my party there was another party in the building, and guess who showed up? Well of course me...as soon as I hear the word "party" I grab the champagne and Silly String and I'm on my way. And...Hottie McAccent. The second I saw him I remembered why I was so attracted to him in the first place. Seriously. He's gorgeous, smart, affectionate, and just the perfect amount of controlling. Anytime any guy talked to me he would come and touch my leg or rub my arm or something, clearly giving off the "she's mine" vibe. I love that. In fact, I wouldn't have been the least bit offended if he whipped out his penis and peed all around my section of the couch. That night I kissed him a few times, and he asked me to go downstairs to my place, but I couldn't go. I had too many of my own friends that I invited to the party, and I didn't want to bail on everyone. Besides, we just met, geez! What, did he think we were going to go have sex or something? What would ever give him that idea? So after a few amazing kisses and hours of conversation, he left...with my number. That's the first time in months I've watched a guy walk away from me with blue balls.
The next day he asked me to go on a date. YES! I was very excited, and we went out last night. I'm not going to share the details of the amazing date or how I'm already imagining myself converting to Judaism and marrying this man, let's just skip to the part where I manage to show some restraint and act like a Nice Girl...ish. Thanks to the fact that I only had 2 glasses of wine on our date, I still had some sense about me, and I knew I wanted to see this man again. I was NOT going to have sex with him. 20 minutes into our make-out session I could see where this was going...directly into my vagina. So I tell him "I like you and I want to see you again so I don't want to do anything too fast." This was about the most shocking thing I've ever said; even more shocking is that I meant it. So we made out for a while longer and we were both getting far too excited. In an attempt to ensure my pants stayed on, I figured I would take care of him. So down I went. 10 minutes later, after being told I was "amazing" about seven times, I swallowed and came up for air. I have actually never done that before for a guy that wasn't my boyfriend, but I figured I would bend the rules since this was a special occasion: mine and my husband's first date. After my "amazing" performance, I laid back down and we cuddled and talked for about half an hour. It was late and I had to go, and he kept saying he didn't want me to go - nice. Then, something wonderful happened. Hottie McAccent asked me out on a second date. That's right, whilst on the first date, I was asked on a second one, and even given a time and place. Wow.
This is it. I've discovered the secret to a man's heart. Blowjobs.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
From Doggie Bag to Barf Bag
My mother is always telling me to be less picky and to give guys a chance that I'm not immediately attracted to because "you never know." What a crock of shit. This is what happens when you do that:
About a month ago my sister and I were having drinks at one of our favourite restaurants. We sat at the bar so we could flirt with the hot bartenders as per ushe, and about 3 cocktails in a very average and boring guy dressed in a business suit sat next to my sister. Throughout the evening he told us he was a very busy lawyer and lived in the city among other things. While my sister went to the washroom, he took it upon himself to ask me out for drinks sometime. Here was my big chance to volunteer my valuable time for a good cause: Very Unexciting Lawyers/Vagabonds Anonymous, or VULVA. I agreed that we could grab a drink sometime. Whoopdie-frickin'-do. Over the next 2 weeks Vulva texted me several times and seemed rather eager to meet. I was flattered and thought maybe there was something to this VULVA thing. As I get older I find that my mother is almost always right. Perhaps Vulva and I would fall in love and have kids and I would be a happily married mother living in a rich neighbourhood with all our lawyer money. But, this is me and of course that didn't happen.
First of all he wanted to meet on a night that my favourite sports team was playing a huge playoff game. He suggested we go watch the game somewhere. Was he fucking kidding me? I don't even make plans to hang out for 3 hours with people I LIKE, let alone the VULVA spokesmodel that I'd said a total of 20 words to. I agreed anyways so I could get the date over with and enjoy the rest of my weekend. I got to the lounge first. When he showed up a few minutes later, he was in runners. Wow. Impressive. He said "hi" inexpressively and sat down. Hmm. Now I don't expect much, but after 2 weeks of persuing me and making me feel like a gift from Allah, I was expecting maybe a hug, a pat on the back, a high-five even, but nothing. So he awkwardly sits down and orders a beer. Now I may not have chemistry with every guy I agree to go on a date with, but one thing I can always guarantee is that we have a fun time together. But not Vulva. Holy fuck this guy was boring. I had to carry the entire conversation and after an hour I finally gave up. I didn't give a shit and wasn't about to waste any more energy on this dud. He spent more time staring at my rack than my face. I'm sure this may happen a lot, I have a great rack, but please, don't let me catch you for fuck's sake. The way this guy ogled at me you would have thought he had just been released on probation. I tried to block it out of my head by downing copious amounts of vodka.
We ordered dinner and I ate my entire steak and all the side dishes, and Vulva had about 6 bites of his food and asked the server to wrap the rest in a doggie bag. I don't trust a man that doesn't eat. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever met one before. My favourite part of the date was when he finally did decide to speak after 3 Stella Lights. He told me that his best friend was a high school teacher, and he didn't know how he managed those kids. I agreed "Ya, kids are nuts these days with their attitudes, sex, and drugs...yikes"...but he didn't mean that. He corrected me..."Oh, no I mean the way the young girls dress these days you could really get into a lot of trouble." Now I was convinced I was sitting with a pedophile. The second time he decided to speak he told me that he's "not actually a lawyer"...he's a "law student." Now I'm not one to judge, and if he just said that in the first place I wouldn't have cared, but to bring me there under false pretenses was unacceptable. An average boring lawyer? Maybe. An average boring student? No thanks.Throughout the night he asked me several times if he was "creeping me out." If you have to ask, the answer is yes.
I'd had about 5 vodkas and 2 glasses of wine, and Vulva had about 4 beers. The playoff game was coming to a close, thank fucking God. Vulva paid the bill and asked me if I wanted to go to his place for a drink. I was so incredibly shocked that someone could be stupid enough to perceive the notion that anyone would want to prolong this disaster, that I momentarily lost all sense of reality blurted out "sure." WHAT...THE...FUCK...did I just DO??? I immediately started telling him I was pretty tired and I thought we should just have one more drink somewhere close by, but he insisted. I told him okay, but warned him that I was leaving after one drink because I was really tired, (aka my friends were around the corner and I was ready to actually go have a good time, fake-lawyer-free). He agreed and off we went. The entire walk there I was trying to figure out how to get the fuck out of it. Oh well, one drink won't kill me. Unless he is a sex-crazed jailbird and is willing to murder me just to get a peek at the goods. Fuck.
We get there and he immediately asks if he can have "just one kiss." Was this guy for fucking realsies? On what planet does cringing and "I'm tired" mean I'm into you? Fuck. This was all my fault. I should have never agreed to go to this potential house of horrors. Luckily, after I turned him down for a vial kiss, he told me he had heartburn and excused himself. He proceeded to the bathroom where I heard him vomit for the next 5 minutes thanks to the paper-thin structure of his ancient apartment complex. Those 4 beers must have really put this idiot over the edge. I've never been so excited to hear someone vomit. This of course set the scene for my prompt exit. I had my shoes on as he came out of the bathroom, his eyes all red and bloodshot..whew, ya that Stella Light will really hit ya hard, you really gotta be careful there. Fucking lightweight. Anyhoo, shoes on, off I scurried into the sunset, thanking Allah for not allowing me to be murdered by Vulva, who had, over the past 4 hours gone from "fine" to "incredibly creepy."
I felt filthy. I've never felt so filthy without having done a single thing. I needed a scalding hot shower and a body brush stat. So I ran home and did just that...after getting drunk with my friends of course.
Fuck was my mom ever wrong. From now on I'm trusting my gut and only giving hotties a chance.
About a month ago my sister and I were having drinks at one of our favourite restaurants. We sat at the bar so we could flirt with the hot bartenders as per ushe, and about 3 cocktails in a very average and boring guy dressed in a business suit sat next to my sister. Throughout the evening he told us he was a very busy lawyer and lived in the city among other things. While my sister went to the washroom, he took it upon himself to ask me out for drinks sometime. Here was my big chance to volunteer my valuable time for a good cause: Very Unexciting Lawyers/Vagabonds Anonymous, or VULVA. I agreed that we could grab a drink sometime. Whoopdie-frickin'-do. Over the next 2 weeks Vulva texted me several times and seemed rather eager to meet. I was flattered and thought maybe there was something to this VULVA thing. As I get older I find that my mother is almost always right. Perhaps Vulva and I would fall in love and have kids and I would be a happily married mother living in a rich neighbourhood with all our lawyer money. But, this is me and of course that didn't happen.
First of all he wanted to meet on a night that my favourite sports team was playing a huge playoff game. He suggested we go watch the game somewhere. Was he fucking kidding me? I don't even make plans to hang out for 3 hours with people I LIKE, let alone the VULVA spokesmodel that I'd said a total of 20 words to. I agreed anyways so I could get the date over with and enjoy the rest of my weekend. I got to the lounge first. When he showed up a few minutes later, he was in runners. Wow. Impressive. He said "hi" inexpressively and sat down. Hmm. Now I don't expect much, but after 2 weeks of persuing me and making me feel like a gift from Allah, I was expecting maybe a hug, a pat on the back, a high-five even, but nothing. So he awkwardly sits down and orders a beer. Now I may not have chemistry with every guy I agree to go on a date with, but one thing I can always guarantee is that we have a fun time together. But not Vulva. Holy fuck this guy was boring. I had to carry the entire conversation and after an hour I finally gave up. I didn't give a shit and wasn't about to waste any more energy on this dud. He spent more time staring at my rack than my face. I'm sure this may happen a lot, I have a great rack, but please, don't let me catch you for fuck's sake. The way this guy ogled at me you would have thought he had just been released on probation. I tried to block it out of my head by downing copious amounts of vodka.
We ordered dinner and I ate my entire steak and all the side dishes, and Vulva had about 6 bites of his food and asked the server to wrap the rest in a doggie bag. I don't trust a man that doesn't eat. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever met one before. My favourite part of the date was when he finally did decide to speak after 3 Stella Lights. He told me that his best friend was a high school teacher, and he didn't know how he managed those kids. I agreed "Ya, kids are nuts these days with their attitudes, sex, and drugs...yikes"...but he didn't mean that. He corrected me..."Oh, no I mean the way the young girls dress these days you could really get into a lot of trouble." Now I was convinced I was sitting with a pedophile. The second time he decided to speak he told me that he's "not actually a lawyer"...he's a "law student." Now I'm not one to judge, and if he just said that in the first place I wouldn't have cared, but to bring me there under false pretenses was unacceptable. An average boring lawyer? Maybe. An average boring student? No thanks.Throughout the night he asked me several times if he was "creeping me out." If you have to ask, the answer is yes.
I'd had about 5 vodkas and 2 glasses of wine, and Vulva had about 4 beers. The playoff game was coming to a close, thank fucking God. Vulva paid the bill and asked me if I wanted to go to his place for a drink. I was so incredibly shocked that someone could be stupid enough to perceive the notion that anyone would want to prolong this disaster, that I momentarily lost all sense of reality blurted out "sure." WHAT...THE...FUCK...did I just DO??? I immediately started telling him I was pretty tired and I thought we should just have one more drink somewhere close by, but he insisted. I told him okay, but warned him that I was leaving after one drink because I was really tired, (aka my friends were around the corner and I was ready to actually go have a good time, fake-lawyer-free). He agreed and off we went. The entire walk there I was trying to figure out how to get the fuck out of it. Oh well, one drink won't kill me. Unless he is a sex-crazed jailbird and is willing to murder me just to get a peek at the goods. Fuck.
We get there and he immediately asks if he can have "just one kiss." Was this guy for fucking realsies? On what planet does cringing and "I'm tired" mean I'm into you? Fuck. This was all my fault. I should have never agreed to go to this potential house of horrors. Luckily, after I turned him down for a vial kiss, he told me he had heartburn and excused himself. He proceeded to the bathroom where I heard him vomit for the next 5 minutes thanks to the paper-thin structure of his ancient apartment complex. Those 4 beers must have really put this idiot over the edge. I've never been so excited to hear someone vomit. This of course set the scene for my prompt exit. I had my shoes on as he came out of the bathroom, his eyes all red and bloodshot..whew, ya that Stella Light will really hit ya hard, you really gotta be careful there. Fucking lightweight. Anyhoo, shoes on, off I scurried into the sunset, thanking Allah for not allowing me to be murdered by Vulva, who had, over the past 4 hours gone from "fine" to "incredibly creepy."
I felt filthy. I've never felt so filthy without having done a single thing. I needed a scalding hot shower and a body brush stat. So I ran home and did just that...after getting drunk with my friends of course.
Fuck was my mom ever wrong. From now on I'm trusting my gut and only giving hotties a chance.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Don't Fuck Where You Eat
Lately I've been picking up guys that work at my favourite hangouts. You know the deal, you go there a few times, see the same faces, and pretty soon they're using that an excuse to flirt with you and eventually bang you. Well, me. Anyhoo, I've come to the conclusion that this is a very bad idea. Unless I end up falling in love with one of these random idiot DJs, bartenders, waiters, or bouncers and we get married in Bali at sunset, after our sexy shenanigans are over I can't ever go to these places again.
The DJ
The DJ and I dated for about 3 months, which is generally too brief to turn into a psycho...generally...but not for this girl! That's right! I totally fell for the guy and continued to stalk him throughout last summer, earning me level 5, red-alert psycho status with him, his entire group of friends, his co-workers, and the people in charge of his life insurance policy. Don't worry, no animals were harmed during the Summer of Stalking, I simply drunk-texted him repeatedly, tried to seduce him at every opportunity, and wrote a comic book about what an asshole he is and mailed it to him. I know what you're thinking...it's available for $4.95 plus shipping if you provide me with your address.
The Bartender(s)
The bartender was yummy and he made me yummy drinks. I took him home and let him cum on my face. About a month later I went back to his bar in hopes of the opportunity to cum on his face, but he wasn't working. But did I let that get me down? No way! I took home the new bartender. We fooled around a bit, had some fun, and the subject of roommates came up. What you're about to read is exactly why I wish guys couldn't talk...Bartender number 2 was best friends and roomies with Bartender number 1. Oopsie daisies.
The Waiter
Despite the fact that I own scotch older than this guy, the waiter at my favourite sports bar was really sweet and I enjoyed chatting with him on my several visits to the establishment, which is across the street from my apartment. After flirting a few times at the bar, we hung out sober one night, (imagine that), and watched movies and cuddled (cute). There was a good 5 hours of date time before we actually had sex, and when we finally did, it was mind-blowing. I thought for sure this guy would be back for more, particularly because I live across the street from his work so in order to keep things from being awkward we could at the very least remain sex-buddies. Nope. He never called me again, and the next time I went to the sports bar he said hello and seemed happy to see me, but then left out the back door like I was there with my stalker-vision goggles and machete. Please, it was daytime, I only carry those at night. Idiot.
The Bouncer
I just met the bouncer 2 nights ago and he was really nice and immediately started talking about "dating" and what his wedding ring was going to look like. Sappy yes, but it did the trick, I was totally into him. He got my number and asked me to text him so he knew I got home safe (cute). Then the next day he flirt-texted me all day (double-cute). Then last night, he texts me: "Soooo....I just want you to know I just got out of a serious relationship and am not looking for anything heavy, but I think we could have a lot of fun together." Hm. Now normally I'm 100% on-board with sex-deprived men trying to get over their ex-girlfriends, but don't disguise yourself as a sweet guy who wants nothing more but to cuddle and get married and then turn into a freak as soon as I show interest. I told him to beat it. He replied "I think you're beautiful, let me know if you change your mind." Ya for sure...I'll get right on that. Delete.
Off the top of my head I can think of 5 of my ex-favourite places that I can no longer show my face. Unless I join a Jewish Social Group or AA, I'm running out of places to go. I gotta run, it's $1.99 Deal Day at Denny's and haven't fucked the dishwasher yet.
The DJ
The DJ and I dated for about 3 months, which is generally too brief to turn into a psycho...generally...but not for this girl! That's right! I totally fell for the guy and continued to stalk him throughout last summer, earning me level 5, red-alert psycho status with him, his entire group of friends, his co-workers, and the people in charge of his life insurance policy. Don't worry, no animals were harmed during the Summer of Stalking, I simply drunk-texted him repeatedly, tried to seduce him at every opportunity, and wrote a comic book about what an asshole he is and mailed it to him. I know what you're thinking...it's available for $4.95 plus shipping if you provide me with your address.
The Bartender(s)
The bartender was yummy and he made me yummy drinks. I took him home and let him cum on my face. About a month later I went back to his bar in hopes of the opportunity to cum on his face, but he wasn't working. But did I let that get me down? No way! I took home the new bartender. We fooled around a bit, had some fun, and the subject of roommates came up. What you're about to read is exactly why I wish guys couldn't talk...Bartender number 2 was best friends and roomies with Bartender number 1. Oopsie daisies.
The Waiter
Despite the fact that I own scotch older than this guy, the waiter at my favourite sports bar was really sweet and I enjoyed chatting with him on my several visits to the establishment, which is across the street from my apartment. After flirting a few times at the bar, we hung out sober one night, (imagine that), and watched movies and cuddled (cute). There was a good 5 hours of date time before we actually had sex, and when we finally did, it was mind-blowing. I thought for sure this guy would be back for more, particularly because I live across the street from his work so in order to keep things from being awkward we could at the very least remain sex-buddies. Nope. He never called me again, and the next time I went to the sports bar he said hello and seemed happy to see me, but then left out the back door like I was there with my stalker-vision goggles and machete. Please, it was daytime, I only carry those at night. Idiot.
The Bouncer
I just met the bouncer 2 nights ago and he was really nice and immediately started talking about "dating" and what his wedding ring was going to look like. Sappy yes, but it did the trick, I was totally into him. He got my number and asked me to text him so he knew I got home safe (cute). Then the next day he flirt-texted me all day (double-cute). Then last night, he texts me: "Soooo....I just want you to know I just got out of a serious relationship and am not looking for anything heavy, but I think we could have a lot of fun together." Hm. Now normally I'm 100% on-board with sex-deprived men trying to get over their ex-girlfriends, but don't disguise yourself as a sweet guy who wants nothing more but to cuddle and get married and then turn into a freak as soon as I show interest. I told him to beat it. He replied "I think you're beautiful, let me know if you change your mind." Ya for sure...I'll get right on that. Delete.
Off the top of my head I can think of 5 of my ex-favourite places that I can no longer show my face. Unless I join a Jewish Social Group or AA, I'm running out of places to go. I gotta run, it's $1.99 Deal Day at Denny's and haven't fucked the dishwasher yet.
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