Things I Can Do Without: New Year’s Eve

I really don’t like New Year’s Eve. I hate it just about as much as I hate Valentine’s Day. I hate it for the same reason I hate Valentine’s Day. Those day’s remind me of how fucking single I am. I don’t go out because when then clock strikes twelve I wish everyone around me would spontaneously combust, just poof into a pile of ash on the ground you. I would stand there smiling.nye3

nye1Actually most of my New Year’s Eve party experiences have been weird anyway. There was the time I was at a party with my brother and cousin and a guy who was so drunk he pissed himself followed around for thirty minutes telling me we were making out at midnight. I finally ditched him and locked myself in the bathroom until well after midnight to avoid being attacked by a drunk with pissy pants. Or the time my brother’s friend proclaimed that he was kissing me as the clock chimed twelve. I pursed my lips together so that he couldn’t stick his tongue in my mouth. We were at a party he and his longtime girlfriend were hosting. Then the was last year when, as my roommate and I were leaving a party, a wasted man, walked up to me and told me I was very pretty and that he wanted to touch my hair. Before I could respond he reached out to do so, lost his balance and caught himself by grabbing a fistful if my hair. What’s not to love right?

nye2You stand around awkwardly with a platonic friend or someone you hope isn’t going to attempt to kiss you while a room full of people erupt in PDAs. That isn’t horrible at all. It makes me feel like the only single woman on the planet. Completely and permanently alone. . .

So I hate New Year’s Eve. The only thing I like about it is getting all dolled up . . . to feel like the most undateable woman on the planet.

So this year I am going to ski resort town for the holiday. My roommate wants me to go out with her and her father (who dates twenty year olds and calls me baby). Ad my dumbass will go because I never get to go out and apparently I am a fucking masochist.

I am bringing my Taser.

My Christmas Arsenal

My roommate is gone until after the New Year. She is spending Christmas with her family and I have the house all to myself. It has reminded me that I love living alone and really enjoy my privacy.

The issue is that when I am alone my crazy gets turned way up. I have been having full blown conversations with myself since my roomie left and sometimes didn’t stop in the few instances when I had company before and during Christmas.

roscoe pYou know you are talking to yourself too much when your dog seems concerned and keeps giving you “How can I help?” looks. Mostly I have just been sitting around watching movies and snacking and . . . talking to myself.

I have also tried to turn off the heater with a television remote. There is no remote for the heater so who the fuck knows why that happened.

I have had a terrible cold since last Saturday and worked right up until Christmas. Christmas day I had a few friends over for movies and some nice Mexican food. It was nice to have company although I could have cancelled dinner and been okay with that too.

I got some presents. Mostly geeky t-shirts and collectables that I never have money to buy for myself. I also got an alarming number of self-defense tools including pepper spray, a Taser and a crossbow pistol. I do live and work in areas full over nasty tweakers and criminals but it isn’t really my neighborhood as much as it is the entire county in which I reside.

taserShould a zombie apocalypse arise or mass riots ensue I am set. I will spray pepper spray in your eyes, tase your face then put an arrow through your nuts. I guess the real plan was that I would just do that to any would be attackers but . . . now I have an arsenal.

To be entirely honest I am more concerned that my friends and loved ones think I need that kind of protection. I was wildly amused opening my gifts and finding each means of defense more extreme than the next. Maybe I could respond to the multitude of men that have asked me out lately with one of these items . . . but no. That would be assault and I am not cut out for prison. I’d be lying if I said thinking about it didn’t make me smile though.

I am just concerned everyone seems to think I am going to be assaulted.

ramboThe truth is I have been asked out several times over the past two months and I just don’t want to date anyone (well anyone who has asked me out lately). Some of the guys who have asked are scary and some are just not . . . appealing to me in a romantic way. That being said, I am not scared of any of them. I am at work. I am not alone at work and I have no problem telling any man (or woman) no.

Don’t think I even have it in me to hurt someone or would be thinking clearly enough to defend myself. I would just be thinking everyone was right.

But now I am fucking RAMBO!

jammiesOther than that I am just sitting on the couch watching movies in my panties and talking to myself about whatever pops into my little head. I should start doing it in my Stallone voice.

Merry Christmas Pretty People and Happy New Year.rocky-adrian-o

Things That Changed When I Hit My Forties

Things that never used to bother me bug the shit out of me now. Maybe I am just getting old and/or I am less inclined to deal with people’s shit. Maybe I am finding a balance between overly positive me and overly pessimistic me. Unless it relates to dating or my permanent single status I am pretty optimistic. (That made me laugh out loud!)

I thought I would compile a list of things that have changed about me.

  1. cat callI can’t stand it when a man calls women girls.  I am not a girl.  I have lived half my life. I have an adult son. I am an adult woman.  “Hello ladies!” totally works and makes even an idiot sound like a gentleman.
  2. Sexy is not my adjective of choice.  When a guy says I am sexy out of context I feel objectified. If we are discussing sexy things or I am clearly trying to seduce you sexy is fine! In that situation sexy is appropriate but nice, pretty and/or beautiful are way more appealing if you are trying to convey attractiveness.  I’ve said it more than once and I will probably say it a million times more, smart/intelligent and FUNNY go a very long way for me, way further than any of the aforementioned adjectives.  . . .  but being told I am attractive is still nice.  I am on the downhill slope after all.
  3. If you are a dick (this applies to both genders), even if we still speak, my heart has put up a wall when it comes to you.  I have no intention of bringing it down.  I refuse to allow people who have hurt me to do so repeatedly.
  4. red formanI am less inclined to be sentimental about people who have no place in my life.  I used to wonder about old friends and lovers.  If we don’t talk I don’t want to keep tabs.  The occasional email or drunken phone call is no longer necessary or welcome.  I am finally over it.
  5. Mean girl, trolling shit is for middle-schoolers.  If everything (or almost everything) I post or do annoys you then don’t follow me or unfriend me but please STFU. I do what makes me happy!  Taking pictures of myself and posting them has nothing to do with anyone but me. If you don’t like them then don’t fucking look at them.  The same goes for my posts on any social networking site. Which leads to number six . . .
  6. If you don’t have anything nice to say then shut your mouth because I am over all the ugly, mean bullshit. Do what you need to do but leave me out of it. K? K!
  7. weddingI worry that I look old.
  8. I constantly worry that I look fat.
  9. I still hate couples and weddings. I am to the point in my romantic life where I am just completely confused about how coupling even happens.  It is definitely a skill I do not possess.

I guess I am finally growing up! Probably not . . .  but it could happen.

Things I Can Do Without: Attack of the Ex

On Thanksgiving I was talking to my son and he asked me if I was still friends with my ex on Facebook. I told him I had unfriended quite a while ago. He was very happy I didn’t talk to him. I actually hadn’t given him any thought in a long time. I was proud of myself. That was one cancer I could eradicate permanently from my life and I finally found the strength (common sense) to do so.

I had actually decided to unfriend all of my exes about the same time my test results started coming back funky. I just decided life was way too short to keep tabs on people who didn’t matter. In the case of my most recent ex, I actually blocked him. He was never going to completely leave my life unless I totally cut him out of it. I needed him gone for good.

So two days after my conversation with my son, I got an alert that someone had sent a message to my blog’s fan page. I went to see read it because I do still have people ask me for advice which I enjoy but speak of the devil and he shall appear. It was from my ex. He hadn’t tried to contact me I almost year now but there he was. No more remission from him.


I didn’t even read the message. I just deleted it. I had nothing to say to him and genuinely didn’t give a shit what he had to say. I was unaware that blocking someone still gave them access to you fan pages. You live and you learn. I left it at that.

A few days later I posted a meme on my page that amused me. In the comments he posted another . . .


“What a fucking TWAT!” I thought. Because rape is fucking hilarious. It was a good reminder of what I despise about a man I had formerly found myself so drawn to. I banned him from my page so no more of that.

I guess that is one of things that has changed about me in the three years (Fuck!) that I haven’t dated since he left my life. How could I let someone so disrespectful have a place in my life? Well he doesn’t have one there know. I would stay single before I date another man who has so little regard for me or women in general.

I guess that is something.

The Real Question

Now that we’ve established what I have been up to for the past two years (in case you missed my last couple of posts… tests, cancer, surgery and more pending tests), I am sure you are all curious about my dating situation. That is, after all, what I primarily write about.

bh4If no one wants to hang out with a chick with cancer I am certain no one wants a relationship with her. So… I haven’t been on a date in two and a half years and I haven’t had sex in seventeen months. (Yes I put those in the correct order.) But that isn’t really the reason I haven’t dated. In fact out of the few guys I have been even marginally interested in in the past two years I have only talked to one about my health stuff and that was after my surgery. Like I mentioned in a previous post, most people didn’t know I had cancer until I had my surgery.

The real reasons I haven’t dated are:

My choices here in the shallow end of the gene pool are very limited and I am hyper picky and moderately shallow when it comes to what initially peaks my interest. Here, in this town, the mark of an eligible bachelor is that he still has most of his teeth and that is icky… just icky.

bh2I get hit on a lot at work. I throw a lot of numbers in the trash. My issue with the men who hit on me at work are that they are at the library in the middle of the day looking at dating sites, printing out court documents for their pending court dates, watching porn or asking me to help them print emails from women threatening to go to the police if they don’t stop stalking them (Yes this has happened) or using their sex offender registration card as a second form of idea to get a library card. All of these men have asked me out.

Thirdly, I am stuck here until all of my tests come back okay because I don’t want to move then have to find a new doctor and start all of this shit all over.

But the most important reason is that I am still scared absolutely shitless of rejection. One of my very good, very wise friends said that I always fall for men who are not and never will be truly available to me. That may be partially true but I definitely don’t do that intentionally. I am attracted to who I am attracted to and that is just happenstance as far as I am concerned.

broked heartWhat I know is that for whatever reason, I have never had a real relationship, not one in forty plus fucking years. It never really bothered me. For a long time that didn’t matter to me. I worked a lot and I was raising a kid alone. Then one day I woke up and it was all I wanted. It was so important to me that I couldn’t think about anything else. My son turned eighteen and I wanted someone for me. I dated and fell in love and it was always one-sided. I started writing about and sharing some wisdom about dating and sex. Then someone said something to me, in my blog that scared the shit out of me. She observed that maybe I wasn’t supposed to find love, that maybe I was meant to go through all of this so others could learn from me.

I can’t tell you how much I hated reading that. I think I may have secretly thought it myself. Maybe I was just always going to be alone. I think at some point I just accepted that as fact. I still hate the idea of it though. I can’t talk about it without crying most of the time.

bh3I would always get to this point, when I was dating someone, where this guy just knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they didn’t want me. “We can still date (have sex) but I don’t want a relationship,” I would hear. I got that a lot. But they always knew they didn’t want me. And we are talking about every man I have ever dated. No matter how well things seemed to be going, I could never find one who actually just wanted me, to just be with me. Even my guy friends arrive at this conclusion. They’d say the reason I wasn’t in a relationship was because I didn’t need anyone or I wouldn’t really give someone a chance.

I don’t know but… no man in my life. It still makes me sad to think that it just isn’t going to happen. I don’t want to be a fuck buddy. I don’t want anything casual. I just want one real relationship, one guy who wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him. That guy, if there is a guy, is probably already sure he doesn’t want a relationship with me.

I think at this point my heart is so broken that I am just more comfortable with that hurt then adding any more pain or scars. I know I would love to have someone. I would love to have new lessons to teach but I also know that might just never happen and it definitely won’t happen while I am here.

What I’ve Learned from Having Cancer: No One has Time for a Mortal Girl

I am a fucking tank. I can handle anything. Any who reads this blog or knows me knows I have been through a lot. To be entirely honest. What I am going through now has nothing on the things I have had to deal with. I am a strong woman. I try to keep my problems to myself.

The hardest thing about the past two years, whether or not it is really over, is that people don’t really see that anymore. When I did tell the few people I told before my surgery and the ones who know now, what had happened, they, mostly all of them, took a huge step back from me. I think part of that is because I never ask for emotional support and just by virtue of being sick, people thought I was seeking it out.alone

I don’t ask for help. For the bulk of my life no help was available and when it was I just didn’t know how to ask. I always found a way to fix everything or work through it. It doesn’t mean I don’t need or want support, it just means I have learned that people are seldom able to truly support anyone in this type of situation. Some (the people you live with and your children or partner) have to. I actually feel horrible for people in this position and would do anything to unburden them, short of lying.

That in no way means that I don’t wish that people had been there with me. I definitely did and still do need that but I have resigned myself to the fact that no help is coming. This like everything else in life is my fight and my battle to win or lose, emotionally and physically. It affects me, and how I have carried myself through it defines who I am more than what is happening to me. How I deal with a problem is what matters and I think I have dealt with it pretty well.

That doesn’t mean I don’t feel raw and exposed about it all. I don’t think I have ever felt so alone in something. When someone does bring it up it always feels forced or patronizing and I fucking hate that. No one really wants to talk about it. That is an awful conversation to have. I know no one wants to talk about it so why bring it up? If it is uncomfortable for you imagine how horrible it is for me to feel like someone is just checking my expiration date?

alone 2

I don’t mean to imply that I think no one cares. I know people care. People also have their own lives and worries and don’t want to think about my shit or what I am going through. I also don’t readily provide updates or tell people how I feel.

This bottling up of my emotions has left me very sensitive, more sensitive than even I am comfortable with so I will project those feelings, the loneliness, the sense of abandonment into places they don’t belong. I fucking cry more now and I am not a crier. If I am crying I am normally pissed not hurt. When I am hurt I work that shit out in private. But I cry about a lot of stupid things now. I just want the world to give me a hug that isn’t coming. I teach that lesson; we take care of ourselves. We need to be able to do that.

When people admire your strength and the fact that you never ever put that off on anyone you get labeled as strong. You are strong for not making other people uncomfortable. You are strong for not talking about your feelings ad nauseam. But when something happens, something that threatens your life . . . no matter how strong you are and how much people admire that strength you aren’t the viewed the same.


Now I am not as strong. I am fucking mortal! Seeing me reminds people that even they are mortal. Talking about my mortality doesn’t happen because no one wants to think about that.

BUT I am still a fucking tank. I am a fucking tank because I have to be. Like I said at the beginning of this piece, I have been through worse but it would be nice to be able to talk about it. It won’t happen but it would be nice.

What I’ve Learned from Having Cancer: Waiting Sucks

I have . . . had . . .? Have cancer. I guess that is what I am supposed to say. I have been having this long strange battle with my body and abnormal cells for about a year and a half now. I could count how many people knew I had cancer before I had surgery to remove it from my cervix. My doctor was confident they got it all and I don’t go back to the doctor to be retested until March.

IMG_1220About six months after I moved to Southern Oregon I finally took time to do a little research and find a primary care provider. The first thing he did was do a pap smear and send me for my first mammogram. When the pap came back I was told I had cervical dysplasia and needed a biopsy. My mammogram came back and the doctor said he needed more pictures and an ultrasound.

Now before I go any further . . . None of this surprises me. Cancer, terminal fucking cancers, runs in my family. Both of my grandmothers, my father and my aunt died from it. My mother had cancer twice but she was in remission from both when she died. I was well aware that the odds were never in my favor genetically.

So I went back in to repeat my mammo and to have a cervical biopsy. My test results returned neither good nor necessarily bad. I was told they could develop into something or turn out to be nothing so we would just wait and see. Six months later I would have another pap and another mammogram.

pap-smear-300x202Six months later I received my reminder postcards in the mail and return to have the tests retaken. My mammogram took forever and resulted in me returning to the radiologist two extra times for additional ultrasounds all while being told jack shit about why. My pap smear came back abnormal again so I was referred out to a gynecological specialist for another biopsy and to review my mammogram.

She started with my biopsy and told me when it was finished that everything looked better than she thought. She said it seemed to be clearing up on its own as these things sometimes do and that she didn’t think I needed to worry. The mammo results were another story entirely. My mother had breast cancer and I have always kinda’ expected I would have it at some point. She told me I had what appeared to be cluster cysts but without a biopsy they couldn’t say definitively. I asked if we were doing a biopsy and she said we couldn’t because the cists weren’t palpable. If I can’t feel them by touching my breast and if she can’t feel them then they are too small to biopsy. So after over a year of tests and anxiety I was being told again, “We’ll have to wait and see.”

When I left her office I actually felt more at ease. Maybe all of this would really just take care of itself. Roughly two weeks later while I was at work one day in May, I saw that I had a message from the specialist on my phone. I stepped outside and called her back. She told me that the growth on my cervix was in fact cancer. I totally shut off. I heard surgery, meeting and cancer.

I went back into her office later in the week. She said I did need to have a portion of my cervix removed but she didn’t think I would need follow up treatment. We scheduled the surgery. I had fucking cancer, cancer no one in my family has had. Add a new one to the list.

I told only a handful of people. My roommate knew, my son, a few of my closest friends, my boss and coworkers, and my nieces. The news spread a little and a few more people knew that I had been going through test for more than a year and a half at that point but largely I didn’t want people to know because I am not big on pity and I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself.

People really don’t want your bullshit affecting them and I get that. I accepted it for what it was and moved forward accordingly. I had surgery in July and my follow up appointment in August. I got a few tattoos and a puppy along the way and now I am fucking waiting again. I believe my lack of patience is apparent in everything I write.

MeI hate waiting and I have to wait. In March, I will find out if my cancer is back, still there or still gone. In March I will have another mammogram and probably another ultrasound and eventually a biopsy. I hate waiting.

The truly awful thing about all of this is that I am now and always will be a very mortal girl. People change when they know you are in fact mortal when they realize you have an expiration date. That has probably been the worst thing about all of this but that is a post for another day. But it was time to let people know what was happening with me.

I have (had?) cancer and I just needed to say it. I am going to fight. I don’t know how not to. It is just who I am.


All The Men I’ve Ever … Before

I know, I know. I haven’t written a post in forever. I really do want to try and fix that because I miss ya’ll and I miss writing just to write and clear my head. I feel, for the first time in a long time, like my focused, narcissistic, determined self. I read something today that inspired me to write today.

I have a friend who keeps a book of all the women he’s ever had sex with. It is a point of reference rather than a brag book. I use to constantly tease him about wanting to read the book and he always said no. No kissin’ and tellin’. He just keeps a log and I don’t fault him for it at all. I think it is actually pretty smart. I don’t give a shit how many partners someone’s had because A) those with plenty of practice tend to be pretty fucking good at what they practice and B) people who live in glass houses.

So I have been thinking about my friend and that list a lot. I thought in honor of my forty first birthday I would compile my own list of sexual partners with a few details about the person and/or experience. Fortunately for you, my dear readers, I don’t have any qualms about kissing (or fucking) and telling. A little anonymity goes a long way and I figure with some cute little nicknames no one will be able to identify anyone other than themselves and all is good in my world. I am getting old and my memory won’t be sharp forever.* I need to preserve my history for posterity and so I just don’t forget.

Without further ado in no particular order…

Dr. Kinsey

I met Kinsey via online dating. He was a psychologist working for a local hospital. I was working as a freelance writer, mostly dating and sex stuff. We spoke online a few times and I told him about my blog and the nature of my writing. We talked about our partners and stranger sexual experiences. We didn’t really talk about sleeping with each other and although I knew he really wanted to. I loved our candid conversations about our experiences and he always marveled at my openness. He asked me questions about how my open approach to casual sex affected me and was curious about why I didn’t seem to get stuck or struggle emotionally with casual sex. I always felt like he was more interested in me from a professional prospective. We had sex one night after I had been out drinking with friends and invited him over to my place. We had both had a considerable amount of experience in that department. He was 29, nine years younger than me at the time. It was hands down the best sex I have ever had in my life. He dressed like a hipster and had very big dick. He had an amazing tattoo along his ribcage. We fucked like we had had sex a million times before. We never saw each other again. We made plans to get together again several ties but it just never happened.


Secret Agent Man

I met the spy online too. I had sex with him twice. He was one of two guys I have had sex with that could make me squirt intentionally. He was good with his hands and was the only man I ever slept with that wasn’t circumcised. He also had bullet hole scars on his back and chest. He said he was shot breaking up a fight in a park involving his brother. After the second time we slept together he told me he worked for the government and couldn’t talk about what he did. I never called him again.


The Psycho

Dated him a few times. He was way younger than me. He was an Iraq War vet. After we had sex, while he was still in my bed he told me he wanted to go back to Iraq so he could shoot people. I couldn’t get him out of my house quick enough.


The Soldier and my Neighbor

This was only threesome. It was GGB. One drunken night I hooked up with my man whore-neighbor and my roommate. We both stumbled onto our neighbor’s birthday celebration after a party. We gave him one hell of a birthday present. She’d had sex with him before. It was one of the longest continuous sex sessions I’d ever had. I also decided while I find women beautiful I am really not into having sex with them. I am still very close to her.  I ran into him in a restaurant a month later and had no idea who he was.


The Flip Flopper

He was a very hot (very hot and much younger) solider headed for his second tour in Iraq. He came over to meet my next door neighbor. They met via the internet. She asked me to come over to make sure he was cool and safe. He was more interested in me so he informed her he wanted to see my place. He had the biggest dick I’ve ever seen. He didn’t really know what to do with it either. He did however point out that when I came it seemed like I was going to squirt then he proved it to me several times.


My First

We met a party where I was wasted drunk and at seventeen years old decided to lose my virginity to a guy whose name I couldn’t remember the next morning. We wound up dating off and on most of my senior year. I let him treat me like shit until I found out I was pregnant. We broke up for good shortly before my high school graduation. I haven’t seen him since I was nineteen. I sent pictures of our son to him for a while but never got a response. My son has never met his father. He is currently serving an eight year sentence in prison.


The Thug

The second man I ever had sex with was a year behind me in school. He was friends with both my first and my best male friend in high school. He was really drunk when we had sex. I don’t remember much about the experience except that he seemed to have way more experience than my only other partner. He seemed kind of scary when we were younger. We hung out quite a bit in high school because we had mutual friends but we never really talked about when we had sex. We are still friends today and he has become one of my closest male friends. He’s listened to me cry after breakups and checks on me from time to time. He isn’t nearly as scary as I thought he was. He is actually one of the most thoughtful, caring friends I have.


The Punk

Although we dated for quite a while I was in my early twenties I remember the least about him. He had some severe emotional issues and wasn’t impressive in bed.


The Sweetheart

I meet this big teddy bear online too. He was also a vet of the Iraq War but had no desire to go kill people. We were very sexually compatible. He wasn’t well endowed but he was great with his tongue. He was the first guy I had anal sex with. When we stopped seeing each other it wasn’t traumatic or drama filled. He lived about two hours from me and when he met a girl who lived in his town I was happy for him. We don’t speak at all but I still have a very high opinion of him.


My First Fuck Buddy

We had mutual friends. If we were at the same “thing.” We’d typically wind up having sex. We were young so it was just meh. I have no idea what happened to him.


My Brother’s Friend

We hooked up one night because we were bored. A few nights later he asked if it could happen again. I said sure and half mention to my brother that I was hooking up with his friend. My brother asked him about it and he said we never had sex. I told him to fuck off and we never had sex… again.



In my twenties I was seeing a cook at a restaurant I worked at. He had been dating one of the waitresses at that same establishment for eight years. We had sex when he’d drive me home from work at the end of our shifts together. He was the first guy I ever gave head. I later found out he was or had tried fucking every female we worked with. I stopped sleeping with him after that. His girlfriend found out about me after we stopped sleeping together but she wanted to kill me just the same. I looked him up on Facebook once. They are still together. If I regret any of my partners it is him. I’ve been cheated on so many times and it never feels good. Being the other woman feels pretty shitty too.



Last year I had a one night stand in a shitty little farming town, with my friend’s 25 year old nephew. He was amazingly hot. His aunt always said he looked like and Abercrombie and Fitch model. When we met I knew we’d have sex. Later that night he said the same thing to me. We had marathon sex. It started in his garage and ended in his bed several hours later. He had stamina for days and never lost his erection after he came. He wasn’t great but he wasn’t bad.


The Guy with the Smile

We met at a bar and what was supposed to be ONS wound up being a yearlong relationship. He introduced me to BDSM. The few times he made me squirt he asked if I peed on him. He was an awful kisser. I threw up on his crotch once during a blowjob. He gagged me and it just happened. We both laughed about it. He was never a good boyfriend but he could be really sweet. I don’t think he has it in him to be anyone’s other half. but he had a really high sex drive and so do I so we were pretty compatible in that respect. His dick was as big around as my wrist and we were good in bed together. He is one of the only men I’ve ever been in love with and he never deserved it.


My First ONS

I was super drunk at a high school party. He was the third person I ever had sex with. He was the first person to go down on me. I was so drunk that I finally tapped him out, went outside and threw up then went home and passed out.


My First Fuck Buddy

We had mutual friends. If we were at the same “thing.” We’d typically wind up having sex. We were young so it was just meh. I have no idea what happened to him.


The Pretty Boy

“The most attractive guy you’ve ever been on a date with” as my son described him. We had mutual friends and dated for a few months. He is still the most attractive man I‘ve ever had sex with. We weren’t compatible in bed. He was also more sensitive then I like my men but he was a nice guy. We still talk occasionally.


The Effing Maintenance Guy

The FMG was an attractive, well-built man who used to do maintenance at my apartment complex. He was charismatic and confident. I had a crush on him that had me acting like a middle school girl. We went on a few dates. I had abstained from sex for thirteen years before the FMG. When we finally had sex I was stupid infatuated with him. The truth is he was a narcissistic asshole. He always talked about himself and expected that I would just orgasm because he was inside of me. He didn’t take long to finish and I almost never did. He is the reason I started writing again and the reason I created my first blog but that is the only good thing that came from that relationship.

*When I started writing this list I kept reminding myself there were eighteen people who were on it. When I got to number seventeen I realized I’ve slept with nineteen people. I forgot one person before I even started writing.  This post has already benefitted me and is officially justified.










NSFW: Saturday Night (The Dry Spell is Over)

Saturday afternoon I sat in the backyard of my place under a willow tree in the shade with Jim, my second dad.  We had just poured ourselves glasses of brandy and had sat down to chat.  I was cranky.  I had just finished sixth straight day of work.  I had wanted the day off for my niece’s graduation but one of my coworkers wanted to go to a library patron’s graduation.

As I had finished about half of my glass my phone rang. It was my other coworker and friend. She had been in an argument with her husband and wanted me to come over for drinks.  She also had a graduation party to go to and didn’t want to go alone.  I agreed to go with her. Sunday was my only day off and I figured I might as well have some fun Saturday night.

She came and picked me up.  We went to the graduation party.  Half way through several beers she got a c all from her nephew, not the one she tried to fix me up with before, not the groper.  She told me she was going to grab a bottle and go and pick him up.  I stayed behind will she ran her errands.  I sat around and talked to the other party guests.  When she returned, I watched as her nephew got out of the car. He was a returning veteran of the Iraq war. She said he was cute but I had assumed he would look like his brother but I had never seen him.

He was gorgeous.  All the blood in my body flooded to my special place. As they approached he extended his hand to the graduates before we were introduced.  He held his hand out to me and gave me this smile that told me I could easily get laid that night if I so chose. We all socialized for another thirty minutes before my friend suggested we left and continued drinking at her place.

sn2The three of us piled in the truck and headed back to her place.  We sat in her shop and talked. Her nephew and I flirted, kept catching each other’s eye and smiling.  We walked to the store for more beer. When we got back to the house her nephew walked home to get his dog.  “What do you think [of my nephew]?” she asked. “I think he is fucking hot.” I said straightforwardly. “He looks like an Abocrombie and Fitch model,” she pointed out.  He was tall, thin and chiseled with curly dirty blond hair and blue eyes. He did look like a model.

I stepped out on the porch as I saw him coming back toward the yard.  He walked up to me and asked me, “Do you want to come back to my place and have some fun tonight?” I looked into his eyes. “Yes, I do,” I responded. “Good,” he said and smiled at me. We both walked into the house then headed back to the shop.  We sat around talking the played some darts.

sn1Every time he was near me he would say things like, “You are in so much trouble now,” and promised to make me scream.  I was a mess from that point on.  I was wet for hours before we left for his place. He would occasionally brush up against me or whisper something.  Halfway through a game of darts he stepped up behind me and pulled me into him.  Apparently he couldn’t wait much longer either.  “We are leaving,” he announced. He slid his fingers between mine and just like that we were walking back to his place.

When we got to the house I realized he was actually staying with his brother, the groper.  The groper has a girlfriend now so I didn’t see the issue.  He led me into the garage because he wanted smoke.   I plopped down onto the sofa in the middle of the space.  He leaned down over me and kissed me gently, lightly brushing his tongue against mine.  He sat down next to me and passed me a cigarette.  My hand slid up and down the inside of his thigh. About halfway through his cigarette I began rubbing his cock.  He immediately snubbed out his cigarette swung my legs up onto the couch, slid between them and started kissing me.  He sat back and I undid his pants and he pulled mine off and through them across the room. I took my hair out of the braid I had it pulled back in. “You are beautiful!” he exclaimed as if it were the first time he actually looked at me.  “Why would you ever pull your hair back? You should always wear it down. Don’t ever wear it up. You are fucking gorgeous.”  sn3

I blushed as he pulled me up and removed my tank top and bra.  I lay back on the sofa as he slid inside me.  “I am going to keep you up all night.” He whispered into my ear as he began moving rhythmically in and out of me.  And he kept his promise.  He made me scream several times.

sn5After a few hours we quietly made our way to his room.  We had sex from 9 p.m. until 4:00 a.m.  I was extremely sore and happy. At about 4:30 over exertion and dehydration from the alcohol started to take its toll on me. I felt nauseous and couldn’t sleep. I had said I’d stay the night but felt like I was going to be sick. I sat on the edge of the bed and fumbled for my clothes.  He lifted himself up off the bed and asked if I was leaving. I told him I was because I didn’t feel well and would keep him up.  “But I want to fuck you sober in the morning,” he whined.  “I want you to too,” I assured him, “but I feel like shit.” (And I really did although I was practically raw.) He finally conceded.

“Have you ever had that much sex in one night?” he asked.  “I have not and I am sore as hell. You should be proud of yourself.” I answered. He pulled me down to him and kissed me lightly on the lips. “I am always proud of myself,” he whispered.  I got up and left.

You gotta love twenty-five year olds.  They have stamina for days.  And yes he was really good in bed.

It All Started with the World’s Ugliest T-Shirt

IMAG0195_BURST004Last Tuesday as I got ready for work, I pulled on my new turquoise reading program tee and examined myself in the mirror. “This shirt is so fucking ugly,” I mumbled to myself.  We have a youth summer reading program this summer at all of the library branches and as part of the program we were given t-shirts with a squirrel reading a stack of books.  I suppose it is meant to inspire to children to read but I hate it.  It reminds me of a t-shirt a heavy older woman would wear. (Go ahead and give me shit about this. I don’t give a fuck.  The only adult women I see wearing shirts with cartoon characters on them are very heavy and/or old.) I would never voluntarily wear such a shirt.

When I entered the living room my nieces and best childhood friends had a grand old time teasing me about said shirt.  I was well aware of how stupid I looked but I had to wear the shirt at some point.  I went to my second day of work at my newest branch. It was business as usual aside from the fact that I kept remembering at random moments, mostly while talking to male patrons, that I was wearing that ugly t-shirt.

In the afternoon a cute guy came into the library dressed in a suit.  He was on his way to a job interview and was using the computer to send out another resume for a job.  He asked me for help and went over occasionally to answer a question for him.  He reminded me of a much taller version of Pretty Boy.  He had a nice smile and flirted with me every time he beckoned me over to help him.

When he was finished he came over to my desk and thanked me for helping him. We talked for a few minutes when he paused and asked, “Do you know how to tie a tie?” I glanced at his tie and realized he had it on backwards.  I laughed and told him it wasn’t in my job description.  I paused for a moment then asked him to come to me.  He untied his tie. I reached up and adjusted his tie, sliding the back of my hands down his chest as I did so.  He stared down at me and looked up at him. “Do you want a single or a double?” I asked. “Which ever you think looks best,” he said smiling.  I tied his tie then patted his chest. “All done,” I announced.

He looked down into my eyes and at that very moment I remembered I was still wearing that stupid fucking shirt. I met his gaze and he said, “You are really pretty.” I blushed looked down at my shirt and replied, “Yeah, with my sexy squirrel shirt.

I must have caught him off guard because as he started to laugh some spit shot out of his mouth and hit my face.  I looked down and wiped my face off.  He took a step back and so did I. He was embarrassed and I was embarrassed. He thanked me again and left.  It went from a bad porn plot to awkward in about one second.

Call me crazy but I think there should be a date before body fluids are exchanged.

Update: He did come back into the library.  He still seemed a little uncomfortable because of our last encounter but I still like looking at him.  Maybe we’ll have another moment.


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