My apologies for not posting for a very long time.

I don’t have any juicy reasons except I did find myself in a short term relationship with a pothead who could never maintain an erection for more than four thrusts.

After we ended things, I put myself in Sexile to mend my somewhat broken heart and bruised ego.

My semi-soft boyfriend was surprisingly great in bed in that he did things to me that I am usually afraid to request; things that did not require a fully erect penis. And he did those things with such gusto. I had the shit slapped out of my face and was choked oh so well during sex. His oral skills were great and I was able to come more than once whenever we were together.

Sadly, Mr. Semi-Soft was also as fucked up as I am when it came to communication, emotional expression and commitment. As things got worse between us, we spent more and more time apart. It was very clear to me that he was not interested in me anymore. So I did what any fucked up girl would do: I cheated on him with one of my (former) fuck buddies before we actually broke up weeks later.

It’s been a while since the break up with Mr. Semi-Soft, and yes, I do still think about him. I think about his tongue doing its magic on my clit. I wish I had someone who slapped, choked and bit me as well as he did.

I’m slowly coming out of Sexile having been with two of my fuck buddies recently; both of whom have never made me come in the past year or two I’ve known them.

My last encounter with Danny was…alright. It was a drunken and (for him) a coke-fueled sex romp that left us sweaty and him satisfied. All I got were massive bruises where he bit me. The jerk had the audacity to give me a hickey as well, which meant I had to swear a scarf around my neck at work for two days until it faded away (much like my pride).

Seriously, why do I fuck the same men when I know they cannot perform the way I want them to perform? I give hints or a guiding hand to inform them I want to be choked or slapped, but it never feels right with them. On top of that, afterward they would tell me they don’t enjoy doing those things, but only do so in the spirit of teamwork. At least Mr. Semi-Soft knew how to do it correctly and enjoyed it.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if Mr. Semi-Soft and I could meet up for a little roll in the hay. I have no emotional ties to him anymore, so I think it could be fun. He could be #3 in my Fuck Buddy rotation perhaps.

My goal though is to meet someone completely brand new. I hate recycling penis. Where can a girl meet a nice dominant who can maintain an erection for more than 3 minutes?

Later in the afternoon, as I was preparing for class, I decided to masturbate on the floor in my living room.  I had the most glorious orgasm that peaked and didn’t come down all the way; I remained in an orgasmic-like state of high and then peaked again.  It was an incredible feeling.  I don’t think I have ever had an orgasm last so long.  It was amazing that I could stay in a heightened state between two orgasmic peaks.  I think something physically and mentally is changing within me due to my marathon of sexual interactions.

I thought of all the recent cocks I have had and all the new cocks I have lined up.  All of a sudden I found it so exciting that I was getting all this attention.  Something must have triggered or a particular set of pleasure neurons.

Later that evening I drove to a fuck buddies house after class, knocked on his front door, and he opened it completely naked with all the lights out in the house.  It was mysterious yet sexy at the same time.  We greeted each other with a passionate kiss as the door was closed behind us.  He then walked into the bedroom and I took off all my closes as quickly as possible.  I brought myself and my purse with me to the bedroom and climbed on top of him lying on his bed.  I went down to see his cock and found myself immersed in his balls.  My eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the light but I don’t think it mattered.  He seemed to be enjoying me licking and kissing his balls.

I found my way up to the tip of his cock and sucked on the head and down the shaft; I just wanted to ensure he was hard.  Since I couldn’t see, the best thing to do is just feel or taste.  Once my mouth discovered he was hard I decided to try to slip him inside.  It took some more saliva and gentle easing, but he went inside just fine.  I got on my feet and did repetitive squats up and down the shaft of his cock.  I didn’t feel my usual orgasmic self, but I did cum.  It may have been that I am at that time of month but fortunately I do not bleed.  Either way, I was able to cum.  I then asked him to get on top of me.  He slipped out but was able to adjust and get back inside.  I like missionary position.  It allows a cock to drive deep into my pussy but along the top wall where I like it the most.  I spread my legs wide and hold on to his ass to drive him in more.  I cum, my legs shake, my pussy oozes juices, and squeezes his dick as I cum.

He then says, “let’s try something new” and positions me on my left side with my right leg on his left shoulder.  I hold on to his thighs to help him drive in deeper.  I cum again.  He then moves me to my knees and inserts himself again into my pussy doggie style.  I feel all of his cock from the base of the shaft upwards as he holds onto my thighs to drive in deeper.  He says he’s about to cum and I feel his cock get harder.  I then feel is ooze of creaminess released inside my pussy.  I push the back of my ass with my hands lying on the bed to ensure he is as deep as he can get and I squeeze every last drop of cum from his throbbing dick.  I cum once more in the excitement.

He asked if I wanted a towel, but instead of him getting up I decided to depart to the bathroom to clean up. I knew he got up early and I was interrupting his sleep with my presence.  But I was an invited guest and he came, so I think he is sleeping better because of my presence.

Hey everyone,

My name is Erica and I am the neighborhood slut.  I love fucking anybody and everything!!  If you want to get to know this dirty little whore then pick up the phone and give me a call.  Especially since I’m all alone, with my husband gone.. I need alot of attention so call me  1-888-892-0696 X 11.

I can’t wait to get all your attention!!!  Talk to you soon.  Love Erica

Jag minns när min morfar var ledsen en gång. Han brukade alltid plocka smultron och hallon på somrarna, vilket det är skamlöst gott om i Södermanland. Han hade som vana att på vägen hem bjuda barn på bären ifall han stötte på några. Någon gång på 90-talet höjdes dock beredskapen för pedofiler framförallt efter de bestialiska härvorna i Belgien. Och en vacker sommardag när morfar skulle bjuda några barn på smultron blev de vettskrämda och sprang så fort de kunde därifrån. Min morfar uppfattades som en ful gubbe, som barn sedan 90-talet lärt sig att akta sig för. (På 80-talet när jag växte upp hade vi gott om fula gubbar som ingen gjorde något åt men också var rätt ofarliga när allt kom omkring).

Idag är vi vana vid fula gubbar. Inte bara de malignt fula gubbarna, utan även gubbsnusk som klär av yngre tjejer och kvinnor med ögonen. Låter en hand smeka en oförsiktig stjärt på tunnelbanan. Som glider fram med glänsande panna och intensiva ögon och vill bjuda på drinkar till “lilla fröken”. Visst är det ute att vara äldre man på jakt efter yngre kvinna? Det finns få figurer som fått ta mer stryk på senare år, som är mer ute. “Jag hatar dig ditt äckliga jävla gubbslem” heter det som bekant. Ja, äldre män och yngre kvinnor är inte en darling i popkulturen just nu.

Däremot har begrepp som toyboys, MILFs och cougars blivit hetare och hetare. I nya tv-serien Cougar town spelar Courtney Cox en kvinna vars äktenskap gått i kras och nu vill återuppleva de ungdomsår hon aldrig hade på grund av ett barn hon fick tidigt. Hon följer med mer vana cougars ut på klubbar för att hitta yngre killar. Hon finner rätt fort en fuckbuddy/toyboy som är kanske hälften så gammal. Stämningen i serien är uppsluppen och åldersskillnaden framställs som afrodisiaka mer än som något problematiskt (även om Courtney Cox visar upp skamveck, bilringar och rynkor på ett sätt som är mycket ovanligt i hollywood).

Tidigare i år sändes även The Cougar som är en populär reality show där tjugo unga män (runt 20 år) tävlar om den framgångsrika fastighetsmäklaren Stacey Anderson som är skild med fyra barn (se även avsnittet om den fiktiva serien MILF island i den verkligatv-serien 30 Rock). Upplägget var detsamma som i The Bachelorette. Och jag börjar undra vilken som är den primära målgruppen för den här typen av serier? Är det äldre kvinnor som vill ha glada ungtuppar med synliga magrutor, slät hy och otvivelaktiga erektioner? Eller är det yngre män som efter idoga nattfantasier om lärarinnor och kompisars mammor efterfrågar mer mer mer?

Fiktiva serien MILF Island (från tv-serien 30 Rock)

Det är kanske rätt så oskyldigt. Och jämställdhetsaspekten får man aldrig glömma (amen!). Men ändå, är det verkligen alldeles särskilt fantastiskt med äldre kvinnor som tar sig yngre älskare?

En nära vän till mig är mycket snygg och stilig på alla sätt. När man är ute med honom kommer det alltid fram tjejer och vill visa sina MTV-moves.  Flertalet gånger har jag även varit med om att äldre kvinnor gått fram och börjat ta för sig lite på honom och viska sexuella inviter med Clint Eastwood-röst. Till hans stora obehag. När han provar kläder råkar butikskvinnorna ofta öppna skynket för att se hur “kläderna” sitter.

Själv arbetade jag länge som telefonförsäljare och hade egentligen bara en enda riktigt stor kundgrupp: kvinnor mellan trettio och femtio år. De var alltid minst lika intresserade av hur jag såg ut, hur lång jag var och om jag tränade som av tvättmedlet Afrodite. Inte mig emot, man säljer bäst genom att etablera sig i umgängeskretsar och mina kvinnliga kunders väninnor visste ofta vem jag var redan innan jag hann ringa dem.

Demi Moore gifter sig med 16 år yngre Ashton Kutcher. Madonna dejtar 22-åring. I tv-serie efter tv-serie tar sig kvinnor yngre älskare. Det är inte något problem i sig men reaktioner har väldigt mycket ett drag av revanchism över sig. Och vi förväntas inte bara notera det utan även aktivt stödja och vurma för det. Och triumfatoriska skribenter skriver att Ulf Lundell kan slänga sig i väggen för nu är det kvinnornas tur minnsann!

Meanwhile på playan i Brasilien, i Gambia och på Jamaica lägger just en blekfet vit västerländsk kvinna sin hand på en alldeles för ung mans lår. Hon kommer köpa honom en gåva för de sexuella tjänster han utför för henne. Hon kommer köpa honom kläder för de komplimanger han lyckas få att låta äkta. Har hon inte förtjänat att få känna sig åtrådd? Hon som alltid jobbat och slitit. Har inte hon förtjänat njutning med en vacker ung man som säger att hon ser ut som Madonna? Kvinnors sexturism till framförallt Sydamerika och Västafrika har samtidigt med cougar/milf-fenomenet blivit mer uppmärksammat även det troligen är hyfsat orelaterat. Kanske allra bäst i filmen Mot södern där en 55-årig vit fransyska inleder en relation med en 18-årig haitier (se även reportage som här och här). Det som är slående med kvinnors sexturism är att de flesta själva inte klarar av att erkänna för sig själva eller andra vad de håller på med. De vet att det inte är helt normalt kanske, men vill inte kalla det för sexköp. De väljer att förtränga maktassymetrin som präglar deras “relationer” med de strandraggande ynglingarna kanske just för att de är kvinnor och ser det hela som ett bejakande av deras sexualitet.

Från "Mot Södern"

Självklart anknyter det bara delvis till ämnet toyboys och cougars. Det finns självklart många fler män som köper sex än kvinnor, och fler män som sexturistar i Sydostasien än kvinnor i Västafrika. Stötestenen är hur vi som samhälle förväntas reagera på äldre kvinnor som kladdar på unga män och rika madamer som köper “negergossar” i kolonialländerna. Kvinnlig sexturism är kanske lite pinsamt på sin höjd. Äldre kvinnor med yngre män är Samantha i Sex and the city och vi förväntas alla säga “more power to her”! Var tog makt-aspekten vägen? Är det verkligen alldeles okej med en relation mellan en 20-åring och en 40-åring? Risken att bli utnyttjad är mycket stor för den yngre som saknar både erfarenhet, ställning eller skinn på näsan. Och det är inte vackrare för att gamlingen är kvinna istället för man. Det är inte särskilt pittoreskt när någon med ett mäktigt kontaktnät känner sig försmådd och den unga älskaren/älskarinnan står där och känner sig rädd och förpliktigad. Stiligheten och Odjuret.

Nu har jag låtit som en ålders-moralist. Age ain’t nothing but a number och allt det där gäller trots allt. För visst finns det ju relationer med åldersskillnad som funkar bra, även korta sexuella sådana. Frågan jag inte funnit svar på är om the cougar är en manlig eller kvinnlig fantasi? Och om det verkligen sker så ofta som man nuförtiden får intrycket av.

Men sluta dalta med tantsnusk! En omoralisk kvinna är omoralisk trots att hon är kvinna. Och det finns inget försonande med tantslemmet som gnider sig över stränderna runtom i världen. Inte heller är det mer okej att utnyttja unga män än vad det är att utnyttja unga kvinnor. Men visst är det nog rätt kul för många att ha sex med äldre kvinnor och äldre män, och sedan i äldre år har man sex med yngre män och yngre kvinnor. Så är cirkeln sluten.

Länkar

Dags för kvinnorna att vara gubbsjuka http://www.expressen.se/1.1665651 

och http://isabellestahl.wordpress.com/2009/08/09/kvinnan-ar-den-nya-mannen/

Cougar Town http://www.expressen.se/noje/1.1352094/courteney-cox-i-tv-komedi

Alam mo ba yung chat sa TV?

Kapag taglibog bored ako at di makatulog *ubo, ubo* sa ganyang lugar ako naghahanap ng pwede maka-… usap.

Patapos na ako noon sa kolehiyo, bente na ako noon, at naisipan kong mag-iwan ng sarili kong “ad” sa isang chat sa TV. Dahil nakabukod naman ako at magisa lang sa inuupahang kwarto, walang takot kong binigay ang landline ko. Wala pa yatang isang minuto nung lumabas ang mensahe ko sa TV nag-ring agad ang telepono ko.

Maayos kausap si Caller1. Palabiro, swabe dumiskarte, opinionated at lahat na lang ng bagay e binigyan n’ya ng malisya. Halos dalawang oras na rin kaming magkausap at ang paguusap na iyon ay nauwi sa SOP.

Halos araw-araw ay magkausap kami. Pero habang tumatagal at nakikilala namin ang isa’t isa mas nakikita namin na magkaiba ang opinion at pananaw namin sa mga bagay-bagay. Kaya madalas ay nagtatalo muna kami, nagkakaasaran bago mag-SOP.

Isang araw, kararating ko lang sa unit ko, nag-ring ang telepono ko. Nagpakilala siya na kaibigan daw siya ni Caller1. Binigay daw ni Caller1 ang number ko sa kanya. Nag-usap kami na nauwi rin sa SOP. Pero imbes na magba-bye after, nakipag-usap pa siya sa akin.

Ayos! Iba ‘to.

Nagpakilala siya ng maayos, Jigs and pangalan nya at bente tres na raw siya. Madalas daw akong ikwento sa kanya ni Caller1 kaya na-curious siya at hiningi ang number ko. Masarap siya kausap. Parang si Caller1, palabiro, may pagkamanyak at swabe dumiskarte.

Mas dumadalas ang pagtawag ni Jigs sa akin, kaya mas napapadalas ang SOP. Nagpalitan na din kami ng cell number. Magkatext kami madalas. Hanggang sa napagkasunduan na magkita na.

Nagkita kami sa harap ng Wendy’s malapit sa tinitirhan ko. Matangkad ‘tong si Jigs, mga 6′1″, semikal, morenong moreno, katamtamang pangangatawan at chinito. Una n’yang banat nung nagpakilala ako, “tara, doon tayo sa pad mo.”

Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting! Tigas Junjun!

Pagdating sa pad ko, konting usap, konting kulitan. Sa may kama kami nakaupo kasi wala namang sofa ang tinitirhan ko. Mayamaya, magkadikit na kami. Nakahawak na siya sa hinta ko at nakasandal naman ako sa balikat nya. Nagkukulitan pa rin kaming dalawa. Pinipisil n’ya ng todo ang hita ko. Masakit kaya gumanti ako, kinagat ko ang balikat n’ya. Gumanti s’ya. Tinulak n’ya ako sa kama kaya napahiga ako. Pumatong s’ya at kinagat ako sa leeg.

Medyo masakit ang pagkagat n’ya. Totoong kagat kasi, pero di nagtagal naramdaman ko nang gumagaan ang pagkakabaon ng ngipin n’ya sa leeg ko. Mayamaya’y naramdaman ko na ang dila n’ya sa aking leeg at marahan n’ya sinisipsip ang leeg ko.

Inangat n’ya ang ulo n’ya, pumwesto ng maayos at nagpangabot ang labi namin. Ang sarap niya humalik. Tamang wet kiss pero passionate. Ang galing din gumalaw ng dila n’ya. Nagmumukha tuloy akong banong virgin sa talent n’ya.

Ang kulitan na nauwi sa kagatan na nauwi sa halikan ay nauwi pa sa mas mainit pang tagpo.

Pagkatapos namin umakyat sa langit at maligo sa pinaghalong pawis, laway at tamod. Magkatabi kaming nahiga sa kama ko. Nagkwentuhan na parang magbarkada habang nakahiga. Biglang sinabi niya sa akin na may sasabihin siya pero huwag daw akong magagalit.

Sanay na ako sa mga ganyang hirit. Pero hindi sa maririnig kong pagamin mula sa kanya.

Pumatong s’ya ulit sa akin, tinanong n’ya ako na kung ilang taon na daw siya. Sa pagkakatanda ko bente tres ang sinabi nyang edad sa akin nung magkausap kami sa telepono. Sabi niya hindi raw siya bente tres. Hulaan ko daw. Mukha na siyang mama, kaya sagot ko, bente singko. Mali daw. Humirit pa ako ng bente otso pero mali pa rin daw sabay kurot sa tagiliran ko at sinabi nyang, “mukha na ba akong ganoong katanda?”. Nagtawanan kami. Sumeryoso ang mukha niya at sinabing kinse anyos lang daw siya.

Putang ina! Shet! Paking shet! Nakarinig ako ng sirena ng mobile ng pulis at lumalagapak na pinto ng selda! Statutory rape ito!

Nakita niya siguro na nabigla ako. Bigla n’ya akong niyakap at bumulong ng sorry. Humirit pa ako na baka binibiro n’ya lang ako at pinagti-tripan lang kung anong magiging reaction ko. Tumayo siya ng hubo’t hubad, tigas burat moment na naman ito at kinuha ang ID sa wallet n’ya kasama ang reg form sa pinapasukan n’yang high school. Umupo ako mula sa pagkakahiga. Tumabi s’ya sa akin at pinakita ang mga ID n’ya. Totoo ng kinse nga lang s’ya. Tatayo na sana ako para magbihis pero hinawakan niya ako sa kamay at muling nag-sorry (pota, parang telenovela lang) at naulit ulit ang palitan ng init ng aming mga katawan, pawis, laway at tamod.

Hindi ito ang una at huli naming pagti-trip. Tumagal ‘to ng halos tatlong buwan. Minsan ay sinusundo ko s’ya sa school n’ya at minsan nama’y siya ang nagpupunta sa eskwelahan ko. Mahina kung dalawang beses kami nagkikita sa isang linggo para mag-trip.

Masaya siya kasama. Matalino siyang kausap. Masarap siya sa kama. Pero hindi pwede e. Alam namin pareho na mali ang ginagawa namin at mas lalong mali na kinse siya, bente ako. Pero di namin mapigil ang isa’t isa. Kahit mahirap, nagdecide na lang kami na huwag na lang ituloy habang hindi pa malalim ang lahat.

Bente sais na ako ngayon. Bente uno na siya. Nasaan na kaya siya?

you said, ‘no offence but i told her we’re just friends.’

i didn’t understand. as the night wore on the picture became clearer. you were being dishonest to protect her feelings.

‘she’s an old flame and she still has feelings for me.’

i still didn’t understand. when we met you told me that your old flame knew you wanted a fuck buddy. she didn’t like it but you were honest. now, when faced with a question from her about who i am, you lie and tell her i’m just a friend.

i feel like a dirty secret.

so, what now? again, you’ve helped me become clearer about how i am with people. no more lies. what you do is your decision but i won’t lie for you. it used to be attractive, bending the truth to make me appear in a certain light in certain eyes. and now it isn’t. people can tell, anyway, when the truth is not being told.

so, ask me a question and i’ll tell you my truth. even if it hurts.

rules. you told me yours the night we met. you were after a fuck buddy; someone you could stay with when you were in town, take her out, show her a good time, fuck her, then leave. no falling in love. i turned you down that first night.

i digested your rules. i liked them. they were honest, up front, no room for confusion. 

so i made up my own rules and made a decision. you could help me. i invited you to lunch. we met. we ate. we drank, wine for me, beer for you. we played pool. then i told you my rules. i told you i was sexually abused as a child and i get triggered during sex sometimes. when that happens i’m transported back to the past and i need to stop, to be reassured, to be brought back to 2009. you listened. i asked if it put you off. it didn’t. we made an agreement.

you kept your word. i asked you to stop and you did. and we started again. then something went wrong. i arched at the wrong time and your cock rammed against my arse. it went in, only a small way, but enough to make me freeze and cry out in shock.

‘sorry,’ you said and i could say nothing. the pain was immense. i froze. you sat back and looked at me. i gasped for breath.

‘i can’t,’ i said. you laid next to me and wrapped your arms around me. my hands went to my face and covered it. i could no longer hold back the tears.

‘it’s me,’ you said, ‘it’s 2009. we’re here in this room together.’ i cried more.

‘what is it? tell me,’ you said.

‘you stopped. my dad wouldn’t have stopped.’

‘aye. i stopped.’

in the morning, it was different. it was light outside. i was on top. i came twice.

you jumped in the shower. i started to feel… what? uncertain, confused. i don’t know how to be around someone i’ve had sex with. i become hyper alert while trying to be nonchalant. i listen and watch for signs of rejection and coldness because i’ve linked sex with shame. it’s tiring. i forgot about this as a trigger, forgot to include it in our agreement, forgot to state that in the morning i might feel used and dirty despite being a consenting adult. these feelings are the ones that make me behave as if i’ve already been rejected and a piece of me recedes to a place where it can’t be hurt any more. autopilot.

i expect you to go cold, to not want me to touch you, especially in front of others because that is what i learnt as a child. instead you hold my hand; you hug and kiss me. i need to learn this. i don’t want your love but i do want your affection, especially in the daylight hours when it teaches me that i am not shameful. i want to reach out without shame, without fear and see what happens.

Joy, no strings attached

Fortunately, we didn’t extend it beyond its natural life span.  We met only once more, this time at the Harvard Coop Bookstore, one of my favorite places, which buffered me from letting anything get to me too much.  And though surrounded by my favorite objects, books, we still had difficulty maintaining a conversation about something of interest to us both (I read fiction, he was immersed in biographies).  We spoke of Einstein a bit more and, perhaps to end the awkwardness, he kissed me, which did automatically relieve the tension and put us on the same wavelength.  If only international conflicts could be settled so easily.

Having some propriety, we returned to the privacy of my dorm where we knew on which terms to interact.  Again, he was a skillful lover and I didn’t have reason to question what was happening, but it lacked the intensity of the previous occasion and I knew it’d be the last time we’d get together.

Still, it frustrated me that he spoke of a woman he’d been trying to get the attention of in a salsa dance class he was taking.  Of course I knew already that we had nothing in common, but I didn’t need to know whom he did want to date.  I suppose this jealousy suggests I felt more than I admit, but even in casual encounters one should maintain a pretense of je-ne-sais-quoi, no?  So when with someone whom I’m not going to date, I don’t need to be reminded by him that it won’t work.  I know this.  But let’s speak as if there aren’t others of more interest.

I suppose people speak of others they’re interested in during casual encounters so there is no question what is going on, but it’s annoying when they can’t see that you do in fact already understand, agree, and accept matters as they are.  Too much just-so-we’re-clear dialogue really can ruin an otherwise frivolous but pleasant encounter.

An alternative is that people mention others as a nervous habit, to make it seem as if you’re not just a fuck but a fuck buddy.  And buddies talk about people they want to sleep with, right?  I just don’t think you can force friend banter unless there is an actual level of comfort between the two involved.

What can I say?  Can’t we all just make-believe?

No one likes a break up!

The reason why I say I’ve gone through a ‘break-up’ is exactly for that reason – one of a kind relationship. Now, I’ll make this clear, there was nothing more between us – it was purely sex – cause that’s what the fuck buddy is, so don’t go on saying I’m upset because I was in love with him. Sure, he was a great guy, but we had nothing in common and we really could not have dated. It would not have worked. We just fucked.

Someone sends a text at 11.30pm saying “what are you doing?” and the other sends one back saying “see you in half an hour” – it’s perfect.

We had everything down to a T though, like we’d rehearsed it a thousand times [probably cause we nearly did], and the sex was amazing. By the end, we could even cum together – I don’t think you can buy that.

So now he’s got a boyfriend, and I’m gonna have to find a new one, or get into a relationship – either way would give the desired outcome [this could be debated]. The thing is though, I really don’t think these people are that easy to find. You have to be comfortable around each other, be completely open with each other, and most importantly, you need to get each other off at your best abilities – or else the WHOLE thing is a complete waste of time.

In the mean time, I spose I’m just going to have to substitute that time I would spend with him with watching my new box set of Queer As Folk.

So you know us kids…happy and wild…irresponsible and mediocre…funny and outrageous…interesting irrational characters.

There was a party yesterday after my horrible day at work (read here to know why). Hm, maybe I should start at where it all begun.

So I go home and am laying down in bed…relaxing. I pick up the phone and call my ex-boyfriend/fuck buddy/whatever he is now. We talked for a bit about what the other had to do for the day.

He had some business to take care off. I had just finished my business back at work. It was a nice three minute conversation before, “Oh shoot. I have to go!”

I looked at my computer and got the tempting idea of creating a video. Yes, another one! I thought about what song to choose and decided Paparazzi by Lady Gaga would do. It’s here. Let me know if you guys have anything to say about it.

After I’m done recording and editing and doing all the weird things I decided to apply to the video, I get ready and I leave for this party (don’t think in terms of time, it was around 9 pm when I left).

I got there and there was no one! I mean, the party is supposed to start one hour ago and ugh…no one. I called the host and asked  him where the hell he was. Turns out, there were people but they were just hiding in the backyard. What they did to the cars…I have no idea.

The night was okay…in what fits. We had some mixes (daiquiri, piña colada, etc) and some of us got a little bit drunk.

Now, as always, there has to be drama right?

At around the end of the night (when it was nearing 2 am), people started disappearing without notice. One of them, the host. Turns out they were off to somewhere to do cocaine. It’s not even the cocaine part, it’s the fact that they DROVE OFF with a cop station one block away and under the BIG TIME influence!

We bombarded their phones until they finally answered and basically forced them to come back home. When they actually got home, we had the biggest drama speech and fight of the world. Point being, it was outrageously over-dramatic and made the night a little storm of it’s own.

The rest of the night was people drunk, lots of kissing from weirdos, lots of dancing (that included me), and a lot of I miss you from old and new friends.

After, I went home. He, the guy I used to be talking to, had told me during the party to call him when I went home so I did. I spent talking to him from 2:30 until 3:30 in the freaking morning. Knowing that in four hours and a half I had to open my eyes and run my happy behind to work.

It was an interesting conversation, all in all. I decided to open the pages of my book to him and he learned a whole bunch of things about me and I some about him.

He says he really likes me. Sometimes I don’t know what to think about boys. I edited the one that explained why I am so confused but basically, we had broken off and are now talking or whatever the hell we’re doing again.

Do boys have a little red button with instant access for hormonal release? If they do then it’s about time they create the “stabilize me” button and fix them. Do they even know sometimes the things they do? Why am I talking about them when I’m a boy too?

Maybe I’m loosing my mind. I can tell you guys this…my eyes are back in my bed and my body managed to make it to work. I don’t know if I can endure a whole 6 hours without sleep. But, then again, who said I couldn’t sneak away?

<3

-Will

Caution: this will be a short post for the time being

Datey poo

A friend of my mine was debating with me about whether or not she should go out on her date tonight. Needless to say I did not really want to prescribe a particular course of action as I more often let my friends do their own thing. Something did strike me though. When she was referring to her plans with someone else tomorrow night, She said that she was asked out for a date with her Saturday night person. I thought to myself, “hmm…interesting..” No one really does that anymore. I am referring to “asking someone out for a date”. Quelle Taboo! Have you ever gotten the gumption up to suggest plans with someone your interested in and been asked weerily, “Is that a date?” In your head It’s like “AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH”, but then you bullshit and act like “NO”  it just a movie.  And with nazi-like questioning like that who wants to give them the satisfaction. A game then begins.

Ironically enough, in this day and age we’ll text or message a comfortable ex or a FB for a booty call, schedule it like it’s a pedicure and check it off on our blackberry appointment list. However, we meet someone nice at work or on line at Starbucks or a club and we’re a hot mess. We’ll quiver and get nervous when we really like someone but never ask them out for a date. We get asked out for coffee, for sushi, even a drink but a date! Addressing a date that is scheduled has its rules. You know you’re on a date, your friends know your on a date, and depending on how over a barrel you are even your parents may know you are on a date. Hopefully, your date might know they are on a date. But to actually call it a date and risk loosing the cool points?  Unspeakable. When it is heard from across the table it comes across almost as a grammatical error. To use  the word “date”  with someone you want to date or are on a date with seemingly offends or confuses the listener as if it was breaking some sort of Japanese honorific language rules. Yikes! So until we get comfortable enough with someone to either appear naked with or at least kiss depending on your boundaries, are we simply out for coffee with X?, Out at a concert with X?, Having a drink with X? Base jumping with X? I guess my main concern is that in these fragile beginnings to our relationships are we dating anymore?   Perhaps it’s more like “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet” kind of thing!

Rules for being Ms. Dick Friction’s fuck buddy:

1. Don’t ask me personal questions.

2. Wear a condom.

3. Don’t get soft in the middle of sex.

4. Don’t cum in my mouth. Feel free to shoot in my hair. That’s what shampoo is for, right?

5. Don’t tell me if you’re secretly married or have a girlfriend.

6. Keep all conversations to a minimum.

7. Don’t kiss me or ask me to snuggle afterwards.

Tomorrow night I am meeting an old fuck buddy of mine. He’s not really all that special, which makes him my ideal fuck buddy. We’ve known each other a few years, but occasionally lose touch due to work schedules or personal lives.

It’s been a while since I’ve fucked my fuck buddy, which is actually nice. To me, it’s like having sex with someone new. When we do hook up, we keep conversation to a minimum (check), he wears a Magnum condom (check), he goes down on me (check) and he fucks me nice and hard until he cums and collapses on the bed.

The last time we hooked up, it took him about five minutes of laying there just to catch his breath.

I’m hoping to give him a fucking amazing orgasm tomorrow.

As for me, I can do witbout an orgasm tomorrow. I’ve been masturbating almost every night for the past three months. My poor clit needs a break sometimes.