My sales were up this 3 day post-Thanksgiving madness over last year.

And I think I am getting laid this week.

Will blog more soon. I am still soaking my feet and petting my paycheck.

My girlfriend at work, the one who is not a bitch (I should give her a real fake name) asked me if I was going to protest the Proposition 8 California passing.

She is somewhat fascinated by my bi-ness.

“No way, no how!”

“Why not?” she asks.

“I’m a bi woman. I am at the bottom of the pile in the gay world. If I get together in a long-term relationship with a lesbian, then I am a lesbian. That whole ”man thing” was just a “phase” that I got over.  If I get together in a long-term relationship with a man, than I am a straight woman who was “just experimenting” before going back to the dick.”

“What? People don’t really think that, do they?”

“Hell yes. Worse has been said. To my face. Most of the single lesbians I run into won’t even consider dating me and the one that would, I’m not attracted to her.”

Martha looks sad (oh, that’s a good name for her. She looks like a Martha). “That sounds awful! Do you get lonely?”

And just to prove I’m a silly girl, I burst into tears. At fucking work.

“Oh I am sorry!” She hugs me and I cry a little more, than get it back together before a customer sees me. Crying has really unnerved her, as if I was the last person in the world she expected to see cry.

“Not your fault. I’m sorry, I didn’t know I let it get to me.”

“Sit, let me re-do your makeup. Your mascara ran.”

I giggle and look around. We work at different counters. “OK.”

She quickly does me up. She can’t resist changing my lipstick shade.  I go from S.O.S. PINK to WHORE RED. Which doesn’t look too bad.

“Let’s go to Cinabon for lunch!” Martha says.

“I thought you said you would never go there again.” Martha has to really watch what she eats.

“Screw that. Let’s get high off of sugar and bitch about bitchy girls!”

I love Martha. She’s like the nicest person ever.

And if anybody is ever mean to her, I am, without a doubt, going to KICK THEM IN THE FACE!

Part 1
Part 2
Intermission

Somehow in all this kissing Kevin has managed to extract his keys from his jacket. Like I said, handy guy.

Into his apartment we go. Now I am either going to be fucked, murdered, or fucked and then murdered. But since I am on the verge of a full body orgasm, my thoughts turn to something more important.

Like how fast I can get that thick dick in my cunt.

A girl needs to have priorities.

His apartment is a blur, other than the killer view of downtown. Kevin was not kidding about moving, boxes where everywhere, things mostly packed.

Into the bedroom we go, and he tosses me on the bed. He looks at me panting.

Oh my God. The duvet cover is like a million thread cotton. If his freak’n duvet cover feels so nice, what does the sheets feel like?

Then I am like shut up bitch and get to fucking.

And then I am like fuck fuck fuck I am on my period.

“Ah, so I, uh, think we should get a towel.”

Kevin is taking off his shirt. “Fuck the towel.”

“Kev, it’s one of those tampon and pad days. With wings.”

Fuck. Why the Hell did I say that?

“Fuck the wings.” He takes of his pants and boxers at the same time. His dick pops up.

Red and purple.

Hard.

Still pulsating.

OMG OMG OMG.

Kevin is even more yummy naked, but suddenly all I can see, all that is in my focus, is that penis. It’s like Kevin disappears, leaving only his dick behind.

“That is the best dick I have ever seen,” I admit.

My voice is like a switch. He jumps on the bed and just like is some stupid movie, rips my blouse off. Buttons go flying and before I can say stop I pay for that with my own money he roughly pushes my bra up, says

“Yeah! Oh God, your breasts are perfect, it’s like you’re a model!”

And then he shoves one in his mouth and starts sucking.

Sucking

Sucking

I’m going to have to interrupt this tale (we will get to this thick juicy dick in but a moment) and relate something about my body.

I am not some girl in a porn story. To get me off, you need to a) rub and lick my poufy parts expertly, b) finger my g-spot, or c) both. Sticking a dick in me and pumping away is not going to make me come. Just like almost every other woman on the planet.

With two exceptions. I have very sensitive boobs. You play with my boobs for twenty or thirty minutes, and I am a guaranteed to come with even the lowliest pencil dick. My body goes into hyper-drive. Chewie punches it, and I go off.

Which is why I started playing with my breasts in the car. Cause, yanno, he certainly isn’t going to eat me, and I don’t think I want him fingering me either.

I’m a smart girl—or so I thought.

Exception number two I did not know about at the time: doggie-style fucking does something to that g-spot. Bang away back there with some foreplay and WHAMO. I have been known to scream. Actually, when I am on all fours and some hot chick is back there finger fucking me, whoa boy. About the same, especially if she is talking dirty to me, biting my ass.

Anyway, Kevin is sucking. He is wallowing in my boobs. My bra is still connected in back, but he doesn’t care and after a few minutes neither do I. I am 1/3 turned on by that make out session in the elevator, 1/3 from the boob play and 1/3 by having a man manhandle me. It was just what I needed, and with each suck, nibble and lick I come closer to coming. I am that turned on. It’s electric, and I feel tingly.

It’s too much, it’s too much.

“Kevin…”

“Um?” Suck suck suck.

“Fuck me.”

“Hmmm.” Suck suck suck.

“Fuck me!” Suck suck suck.

“Mmmmm.” Kevin has my number now. He’s dialed it in. Suck suck suck.

The bastard. Oh God, the bastard. I moan. He sucks harder.

“Please please please oh please fuck me give it to me give it fuck me!”

Okay my begging finally gets to him. He yanks off my dark gray skirt.

He looks down. There I am wearing my “period panties”, lacy bra askew. The panties don’t match the outfit at all, of course, and this confuses him for a nano second and then I can see it in his eyes, oh ya, she’s on her period. Then he just simply yanks them off too, and throws them on the floor.

Now I feel the height of stupid. Little Miss Must Look Perfect (cause that’s what I do), bra at the bottom of her neck, string hanging out her twat, feeling like a dork who’s on the verge of some type of life altering orgasm.

At least I am shaved. I swear—string or no Kevin looks like he is drooling. I must look young. To him I am young. To him I am the babysitter. I’m the go to jail girl. He wants it, oh he wants it his body is singing, and he is shaking.

My practical nature floats above the sea of hormones for a second. “Gonna need a…”

Kevin grabs the string, my eyes go wide. He yanks it out.

And then, dear God, he throws it over his shoulder. It smacks against the wall… splorch… and slowly slides down, leaving… leaving…

Okay I avert my eyes and quickly take my bra off. He is now fumbling in the nightstand, and gets a condom.

“Here, give that to me!” I command.

He does.

I throw it where he tossed my tampon. I grab my feet, legs still in stockings. I am Kevin’s porno fuck. His model fuck.

“You clean? No AIDS?” the porno fuck girl asks.

“Yes, clean. AIDS, no.” No hesitation. He could be lying. I don’t ovulate on my period so I can’t get pregnant, but the dick looks fine. Kevin, I decide, needs a little special treat.

I can barely stand it. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen in my lungs.

“DO IT!” Please please please…

Wham! He is in me like that’s what he was made to do. I throw my legs over his shoulder, giving him the green light to

stroke away. His thick dick is perfect. It’s perfect. He is perfect. Sweat is all over his body, all over mine. He is pumping in big strokes. I am bouncing on the bed.

“Oh God! Yeah! Your little cunt is tight! Oh God. You’re a hard body! Good you’re beautiful!”

I moan. I squeak. I make noises that have never come out of my mouth before. I can’t help it, I talk dirty.

“You like that little girl shaved cunt, don’t you, Kevin? Huh? Oh, oh yesssss…”

“Yeah! Fuck yeah!”

Then he growls! And then bites my neck. CHOMP. He sucks on my neck. He is pumping, sucking, pumping,

I come, I am coming, I am dying, I am dying, I can’t even see! My eyes are open I can’t see! oh yes oh yes oh yes yessssssssss his dick oh yes the dick the dick, each stroke a caress of pure bliss, my body feels like on big clit one big clit.

I stop shaking and gasping and Kevin is still pumping away.

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to come!”

My brain turns OFF. COMPLETELY OFF.

“DON”T COME YET!” I hear someone say. Was that me?

Kevin looks confused. I push him off. And I can too, four years of workouts, training. I push him down on the bed, and he smiles. He wants me to mount him.

Then like a snake striking, a little hot pink cunt snake…

I put his dick in my mouth.

“OH MY GOD!” Kevin yells. “OH MY GOD! OH JESUS!”

Yes, I have turned Kevin into a religious man. Or maybe he already was.

His dick tastes like sweat and yes the iron tang of blood. I am busy slurping, concentrating on hot and wet, hot and wet. Kevin grabs my hair and yanks on it, pulls on it, it’s painful oh please keep pulling and he starts to fuck my mouth, he is fucking my mouth I can hear his body tense, feel his body tighten his dick grows bigger and harder and he is coming and coming and someone is screaming, oh yes I made him scream, a man is screaming for me, Kevin the thick dick is still pumping away and then his dick turns into that sensitive lightning rod and he pulls my hair until I stop.

I look at him. He is covered in sweat. He is dripping in it and he is still holding my hair like I am some naughty vampire he is trying to keep at bay.

I look into his eyes. They go from animal to Kevin.

And then they soften. Oh, they soften. He looks at me like I am a goddess.

I swallow.

Part 1.

The thing is, up north in the winter; in a blink it is dark. I went into Whole Foods under twilight, and now that we are in the parking lot, it’s dark and raining.

“My apartment is downtown, I just walked,” he says.

Okay, I think. If he’s a serial killer he lives in a nice neighborhood. Downtown has nice apartments or nicer apartments in tall buildings.

“I drove.”

“Your place or mine?” Kevin asks sweetly.

I have already made up my mind I am going to fuck him. Fuck him hard. I am going to fuck him to forget my girlfriend broke up with me because I made the most stupid basic lesbo/bi mistake ever. It’s so prevalent it’s clichéd: I fell in love with a straight girl. I thought I could “turn her”. Fuck I was so stupid, about as stupid as some gay girl trying to “turn” me of off guys (that would come later). So this was going to be an “I am pissed” fuck. When I ovulated earlier it hurt, and made me horny as hell. Now I am on my period, and cramping. I work at not being cranky (cause that tanks your sales), but I can’t be on 100% of the day. I need to let my hair down and cut loose. I needed a good fucking.

And I really wanted the cheese wheel. He held it in his hands. Since I haven’t fucked him yet, I guess he is holding on to it.

“Your place is closer,” I answer.

I lead him to my car. He starts for the passenger door. I toss him the car keys. “You’re driving.”

“Oh, why?” he asks. He looks curious. Good.

“Cause I’m going to be playing with my breasts.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yeah!” he says. “Fuck yeah!”

We get in.

We are in my car. One hand is on my breast, playing with it, and the other is in my purse, holding on to the pepper spray. The real reason I don’t want to drive.

No sooner then we leave the parking lot we are in the typical shitty traffic.

“Let’s get down to it,” Kevin says. His voice is husky. His slacks have a huge bulge. I have talked fucked him into a tizzy.

“You have a psycho boyfriend?”

“No.”

“How old are you?”

“18.”

“Oh shit! Oh shit! Fuck, yeah. 18!” Kevin likes them young.

The pervert.

Lucky me!

He gives me a look.

“Those stockings or hose?”

I do the hand under the blouse cha-cha and take off my bra. I pull it through my sleeve and throw it on his bulge.

“I normally wear hose to work, but these are stockings.” I hike up my skirt to show him the tops.

Kevin peels his eyes away, nostrils flaring, to look at the road again.

“You normally get it on with strangers?”

Okay Kevin, that’s not a nice question. I give him a chance to recover.

“Before I answer that, do you?“

“No. Never. You’re so hot though, I can’t help myself. It was like I am possessed or something.”

“That’s better.” I give him a look that says, I may be 18, but I know what’s what.

“Kevin, let’s be clear: You are my breakup fuck. I need you to fuck me, hard. I want that girl to be fucked out of my mind with some deep dicking. To answer your question, no. Not at all.”

“Girl?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes, I am bi. And I really want that cheese wheel,” I admit.

“What’s your name?”

“Jessica. Jessie McHottie.”

He laughs. My breasts are becoming very sensitive. I moan and squirm.

“Oh Jesus.” Kevin looks like he woke up and found himself in a porn video. He is so eager it turns me on.

We pull into one of a parking garage to one of the high-rises. He punches a code on a pad and the door opens. He parks my little car in a guest spot.

I let go of the purse and my breast. Before he can do anything, I unzip his pants with a quick yank. His dick practically jumps out. Quickly I unbuckle my seat belt and lean across, with the gear-shift poking me, and put it in my mouth.

Slurp slurp slrup. Mmmmmm thick.

“Oh yeah! Oh yeah!” He starts to thrust.

Slurp slurp slrup. Then I spit it out. Phat-too-e!

He looks at me and his gaze is wild, predatory. His dick is throbbing. I have never seen a dick throb without coming, and it fascinates me.

I suddenly realize I must look exactly the same. My face feels hot. I have this burning ache on my breasts. I am practically panting. I bet my eyes are dilated.

He puts his dick pack in his pants and zipps, and boom! He is out of the car. I grab my purse and he opens my door.

YANK! Suddenly I am in his arms. He has picked me up completely. He is holding me and the coveted cheese wheel. He locks the door with his elbow, pushes the door closed with his foot. Kevin is a handy guy.

Now his is marching to an elevator. He gets in and stabs a button.

Then he kisses me. His tongue slides over mine, he caresses it like a dirty old man kissing the babysitter. It’s not some quick and dirty tongue stab; it’s an all-consuming caress. His mouth is hot. He has a hot mouth and

as the elevator goes up, a little whimper escapes from my throat. The ache moves down from my breasts to my crotch, and I feel like I am on fire.

He is sweating.

I am on fire.

He is holding me.

I am on fire.

The elevator stops, and I am burning joyously…

When I turned 18 I moved out, right in the middle of my senior year in high school. Not that I was doing much my senior year, but there it is.

As part of my “getting comfortable as Bi Girl”, I got a job. Work work work work that’s what I did, since I was 14. When I turned 18 I had money saved up. My totally nice parents insisted in paying for my AA degree. So I ran the numbers. At the top of the list was insurance for the beater car.  Then I factored in rent, food, etc. I came out a little ahead, but secretly wondered if I could do it. I could live at home, and save money while going to school.

The problem I had with that was I had never (at the time) woken up with someone. The desire to be my own person and to sleep next to a warm body was so intense it was consuming me. Sex and going home was not doing it. I wanted more. Even if it was for one night. I wanted morning sex. Or at least morning snuggles. Hell, I would even settle for morning breath just so long as I didn’t have to come back home before dawn like an errant bad boy.

So I moved out. I found a bachelor apartment that was clean, new carpet and new paint. The problem with it was in the corner of an apartment building surrounded by trees in one corner, and bordering a wetland cum swamp on the other corner. To say it is dim would be an understatement.

But it was cheap and then it was mine, and I loved it.

Unfortunately the whole stupid “first month rent, last month rent, cleaning deposit” thing hurt. It cut into all my other budgets. I had to ride the bus to work. I gave up lattes (a habit I never started back up, saving me a major chunk of change each year), cut here cut there and I managed to squeak by without resorting to Mr. Visa.

I was doing okay until I was hit with a terrible ace of loneliness coupled with a crampy period from Hell. So I literally raided the coin jar and went to the bank to cash it up. I am going to splurge with my $33 at Whole Foods. Yes, I was going to buy something nice to eat.

Of course I run to the cheese counter. Oh my gosh, the cheese counter! At Whole Foods! Yum!

And there, was a small Gruyère Cheese Wheel. For $83. I stood there and looked at it. Yearned for it. The Cheese Guy was busy helping an old lady, so I just stood there, uninterrupted, trying to will my $33 into $83.

“Yes, I want that cheese wheel too,” says someone next to me. I startle. Standing there is a taller, older man. Well everyone was older than me at the time. He looks weathered, but he is decently dressed, in slacks and a white shirt with nice shoes. He is what, 28? 32? I don’t know. I’m not good with those things. He has blue eyes and brown hair. His voice was soft yet full of warmth.

Yes, this man is yummy.

I can’t help it. I look at his ring finger. It’s ‘empty’. He looks at me looking at his ring finger. I feel like a dork now. I am sure I am blushing. Fuck, some adult I am, huh girly? Crap.

He smiles though so I try to recover.

“I just moved so I am a frugal girl. But that wheel of Gruyère is calling to me.” Okay that wasn’t too bad. I work with people day when not in school, after all. I’m not shy.

“I’m moving soon too! I can barely afford it, but that is all I could buy.” He sounds honestly dejected.

I notice he has a hand basket with goodies. Some goodies, but not much. $83 does not go very far at Whole Foods.

He looks at me. I am dressed nice because that is what I do.

I look at him. He has gorgeous eyes, pretty white teeth. I can see something in his smiling eyes. He likes to look at me. He thinks I am pretty. He doesn’t think I’m a dork. He likes my breasts. He doesn’t think I’m a dork. He’s got a handsome look.

Then I feel that tug. That primal yank. I stand up taller, and look him in the eye.

“I’d fuck you for that cheese wheel,” I say all low and hot. Because that’s how I felt. Low and hot. No sooner than it was out of my mouth I screamed to myself WTF are you DOING JESSSIE?!?

His eyes go wide, but to his credit, only for a half a second. He drops his basket. Literally, it goes thunk on the floor.

He grabs the cheese wheel.

He grabs my hand. He pulls me after him.

“Name’s Kevin,” he grunts.

In the bread isle, I plant my feet. “Kevin, stop. I’m on my period.”

I feel like a total dork talking about my period to a stranger, even one I just declared I wanted to fuck. It was crass and stupid, but really, it was the only thing I could think of to slow down the hormone train screaming down the mountainside.

He snorts. Actually snorts. “Bah! You think that’s gonna stop me from having cheese wheel sex with the hottest perky leggy skirted nice ass number I have seen in this store, ever?“

OMG OMG OMG is all I can think.

He continues to yank me back to the checkout line.

I do not protest.                                                                   

I may be a young little slut, but I am far from stupid when it counts.

And now, I have cheese…

I’m a working fool. And working, makes me horny.

For one, I really really like my job. I sell makeup and other products at a high-end department store. I work on commission.

You would think makeup sales would not support me, but it does (I lead a very frugal life, however). Everything I am wearing: my black panty hose, my (short) skirt, my blouse, my sexy lacy panties, my jewelry, the heels, perfume and of course makeup come from the store. They only thing not purchasable here is my swank lab coat and my non-prescription glasses that I wear on occasion when I feel smarmy.

I buy all this at a slight discount. I carefully target the salesperson I purchase these things in total mercenary fashion. Ha ha, get it, fashion? I could buy the items and log me in as the salesperson, but I don’t. This makes the other person who helps me very happy. I take their advice and smile and be polite. That also makes them happy. I also do their makeup. I am win win win.

So they send me customers. I do sometimes compete with them, if a customer asks “oh, where did you get that blouse!” I will, time permits, get the blouse for them. Sale. If time doesn’t permit, I say “oh go talk to so and so.”

But back to horny. I get a lot of attractive women across my counter. They sit in my chair (sit up please!) and I doll them up. Sometimes they just show up with a list or for the endless promo items (I hate promos but oh well).

And I am a sucker for cute women who dress nice. You know who the cutest women are? Mommies. The mommies who carry or push a baby/toddler around, but still look good. I swear to God a mommy with only a slight little tummy pooch, big milking breasts and the glowing skin with even a half-way decent ass makes me WET. I want to have their husbands watch little Jr. and I want to take them back to my shoe-box dark bach, strip them naked and nibble on their tummies.

Then I want to suck milk from their breasts.

Then I want to stick as many fingers inside them as possible and finger fuck them silly.

Aren’t I awful?

One day a mommy came in and she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I flirted.

She flirted back.

Then I found out that she wasn’t wearing the ring because her fingers got poofy from having a baby (who knew?). She was having her rock holder resized.

She bought a lot of makeup and left smiling.

I was sad. And wet. I had to buy another pair of hose and give myself a sponge bath. I smelled like a bordello.

I know she knew. She knew I knew she knew. But she left anyway, after making her choice. I would like to think I made her horny and she went home and fucked her husband.

Shit. I worked all weekend. And now I have needs. Carnal needs.

We had been going to the Nutcracker every year. Mom and I loved it, Dad loved that we loved it and put up with our silly ballet fetish, and the brother liked to look at the skinny girls with boobs.

When I turned 13, it was like a switch. A great big hormone switch. Boobs. Blood. Butt. Legs. Despite this mega growth spurt that seemed to sneak up on me, I was fairly reserved. Other than some exploration, I had been avoiding finger fucking myself.

It’s not that my girlfriends and I talked about masturbation all the time. However, when they did talk about it was scary. Their eyes would get this possessed look, their voices would drop lower and they would rub their leg unconsciously. It was like they were possessed by their own orgasms, and later I would find out they were.

Because I too would join the ranks of finger-banging zombies, but not in the way I imagined.

So I avoided masturbation because it creeped me out a bit. Sounds weird, I know. It was bad enough I was taking Advil for five fucking days, you can say I don’t like big changes. So I didn’t.

This self-imposed orgasmic exile ended when Dad pulled out all the stops and got us front-row tickets at the Nutcracker. That was soooo cool. It was the first year eldest sib moved away, so it was just us three.

I was enjoying the show and the peacock dance was on. Yanno, the solo dance where the dancer comes out of the cage and does a dance for everyone and then goes back into the cage?

Well she comes out of the cage and I am sitting there looking at her in her costume up close dancing sensually to the music. I guess I must have been staring with my mouth open or some such shit because as she was dancing she looked out at the audience and winked at me.

Winked.

At.

Me.

I close my mouth and for the first time ever I have this funny feeling, down there. I caught myself breathing fast. I look at her face. Her feathers. Her tight costume. Her eyes. Her long legs. It was as if I poured her into a glass and drank her. ZAP! She was burned in my mind.

And then… I wanted to kiss her.

The show ended, we went out for food, Daddy got lots of praise and I went to bed at night at my usual time.

Only, this night, I sleep nude.

I closed my eyes.

The peacock came into the room.

She pulls off the covers.

She runs her hand along my side, my legs, and finally my breasts.

She is kissing me.

She kisses my breasts.

She takes a finger and then starts rubbing me. She is looking into my eyes, kissing my eyes.

She is rubbing and rubbing rubbing and

OH MY FUCKING GOD OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT!

I taste blood. I have bitten my lip so hard to keep from crying out that it is bleeding.

I close my eyes and do it again.

And then again.

And then again.

I am exhausted.

I fall asleep and wake up cold because I forgot to put the covers back on.

The demanding peacock comes back into the room. This time she lies down. I am kissing her. Sucking her breasts, rubbing her poufy, licking her. She is moaning, she is calling my name she says “I love you! I love you! I love you!” Over and over and

OH MY FUCKING GOD OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT!

Oh ya Baby, Jessica HAS ARRIVED! I was in a great mood for a week. Then I realized that I could not get off by myself unless I was heavily fantasizing about something. Then I was scared. I was looking at girls my age. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to fall in love with a boy and make him want me so he would stay with me and love me and be mine and we could be a couple! With a sinking feeling I realized I did want a boy, and that I didn’t care if he loved me.

I just wanted him to fuck me.

It was at this point I knew that high school was going to SUCK.

But at least I could come so hard I sometimes rolled off the bed, so there was that.

Look, I’m young, OK? I don’t know much about anything except makeup, and ya, I’ll write about that (let me tell you my new vibrating mascara wand is way cool and I am not kidding either). So what does that leave me with? Well there is school, and I used to journal about that. But man was that boring… insipid, even.

That leaves me with sex.

I’m good with sex. Yuppers, sex with women, sex with men. Well, sex with young women and sex preferably with man-boys (don’t seem to have luck with men-men).

I was way confused right before high school. At first I thought I was gay, but then I started fantasizing about boys sticking their penis in me while licking my breasts. In a roundabout way, I realized I was bisexual.

Which started sucking.

I found a girl attracted to me but she accused me of being gay and just being in denial. That one hurt. Especially since she was a poufy licker extraordinaire.

Then men, well, hell. They find out I am bi and they think they have “turned me” from gay to straight.

NO!

Or they want a threesome with another girl.

NO!

Then I actually met another bisexual. We didn’t exactly hate each other, but we didn’t like each other either. We were both disappointed, he more so than me, I think. He really liked my ass and I think he wanted to stick his dick up there in some bi-guy hunter thing. Only, I have a “you shall not stick things in my pooper” rule.

You would think an equal opportunist romper would live a life of low-hanging fruit. In reality, I am usually lonely. I want the same thing as any other girl. I want someone to love, someone to love me, I want to be in love. Only, sometimes I want the woman, and sometimes I want the man.

But this is no woe is me blog.  All things being equal, I live a good life (and get a great discount on makeup!) So, join me while I talk about naughty bits…

A friend of mine, one of those eternal optimists that sometimes grates on your nerves but you like to be around anyway because she is not a bitch (and you know what I mean), said I was being a tensy-wensy bit shallow with Mr. Insipid Puppy Kicker.

Okay, yes. I was.

But my point still stands. The world is filled with people who yell and are selfish and say mean things. I just can’t spend the energy on them. If I thought that maybe he was having a bad week or something then sure I would give him a chance. My gut, my little tummy, says run away. So I did.

I’ll tell you one thing. Mr. IPK was the undisputed MASTER at doggie style fucking. I had never done it before that way (secretly, I had this fear of some eager dude just sticking it in my small little butt), and when we first did it, that’s what he wanted to do, so we did. And holy crap!

It was amazing!

My prosaic (or should that be INSIPID) confession: I was a big missionary style fan, because it’s just very intimate. But boy-howdy doggie style. He’s banging away back there and it was like my g-spot was being jolted with every thrust. The first time was like

“Oh” (thrust) “my” (thrust) “God” (thrust) “you” (thrust) “have” (thrust) “the” (thrust) “best” (at this point I dully note my face is in the pillow) “looking” (thrust) “ass” (thrust) “and” (thrust) “your” (thrust) “little” (thrust)  ”cunt” (thrust) “feels” (thrust) “so” (thrust)  ”good” (thrust)  and

and them I am coming, the orgasm isn’t one of those cute little releases where you scrunch your toes. It was like being zapped with a gigantic jolt of FUCK, literally I was so wound up my fingers popped and then I screamed. And he was still going. Then I was grunting. Me. Grunting! I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe and then he came inside me and I screamed again. Two! I came twice! OMG!

Yes I am vain (hello, makeup girl), him praising the wonders of my girlish figure got me going.

That weekend, anyplace he could bend me over in my bachelor-shoe-box apartment he did, and I let him. Insisted. Begged.

The moral of this story?

Don’t be mean to girls.