My Dad
I’m visiting him. He makes sense. Sometimes it takes time for it to get to me. Osmosis of words is silly at beast. (lol 666).
Stumble Upon
Del.icio.us
Buzz
It Happened Again
Today was one of those days you would like to not have. I felt rather dark waking up, and it just got worst from there.
Ok, that’s not fair. I felt good, not great, but good. And so I went to work, doing an afternoon shift on a snowy day. I made good money and was drinking my water and Cokes (i.e. Rum and Cokes to the public) and laughing when a dancer walked by me. I don’t know here name since she was new and usually there is a 90 to 10 chance that she wouldn’t be back tomorrow. But she smelled.
She smelled of Joe. The girl who broke my heart. I felt horrible.
My mind remembered the first moment I smelt that smell. We were both taking a pee when she exited the stall next to mind just at the right moment for me to walk out of mine. We whapped heads and I smelled that smell. It was like Jasmine and sweat. It smelt… beautiful.
And today I smelt it again. And the memories came back. And I felt empty inside.
The Boy didn’t cure me of my woes. I think I knew that before. The only mind that can help me is… my own. And right now, its smelling jasmine and sweat. And missing what could have been.
Computer Crashed
On Tuesday of last week, I downloaded Microsoft’s security patch. Big mistake since my computer started to
My computer wigged out, not my pussy! But this is so cute.
act funny. Not funny haha, but funny, oh crap… did I save that? Either way, it thre blue screens of death all the time and the most I could do is back up some of my music.
I figured I was screwed.
Luckily, I had to do this bachelor party over at the Marriot and found myself a geek who was able to help get my computer back together. I didn’t even have to blow them!
I think she is nice and all, but I think we are from two different worlds. She bears men, and I bare to them. I wonder if she’ll call? And if she does, what we’ll talk about?
Pimples and Must See TV
Mr Mann, my boss who has not fired me yet, told me last night when I was working about life in the early 90’s. It’s was a magical time when Must See TV existed and the girl gawking establishments (Gentle Men’s Club to most people) were not filled on Thursday nights. It would seem even lonely men liked their Seinfeld. Who would have know?
Ahh, said this to me as I was changing my top and trying to fit my C cups in an A cup. I don’t mind changing in front of him, though I find it kind of disconcerting he seems to dismiss the naked female in front of him as something to talk to and not about. But, he and Mrs Mann have been in business for a long time. I’m not the first or last blond he has seen trying to defy gravity with stetchable material.
Anyway, he was sipping his water and telling me about the boring 90’s and how he liked the current economic mallaise. Men can’t afford hookers, but staring at naked women was still part of their dispoable income range.
I ask him if he was worried that naked chicks like me may become passe due to the easy accessibility of naked girls on the internet. He scoffed and then said something intersting.
“Pictures of naked girls will never smell like a naked girl.” I stopped fumbling into the oversized jeans which I would let drop in the deneumont of my act to expsoe my lack of underwear, and looked at him.
“What?”
“Guy,” he said starting for the curtain to the stage area, “A man can always see a naked woman if he wants. They have never been hard to find. But to sit down and breath the same air, see the dance of lights on her perspiration, and fantasize that a lovely naked create if close enough to bite, that will never go out of style.” He exited through the curtain. I paused and thought about what he had said.
Reality is what you make it. Naked girls on the internet are still pixels. I’m flesh, but I don’t date anyone at work. To the men who come to see me, they don’t care if that is my reality. To them, 4 vodka tonics in me and I’m theirs.
Mr Mann popped his head back in and said, “Besides, pictures can be airbrushed, but that pimple on your butt is real.” He disappeared.
Poor little Boy (Part 3: The Aftermath)
I miss her. Yes, the Boy helped and I probably feel better now because of him. But like he said, “We needed each other at that moment. The moment is gone.”
Ok, I know you want to know what happened. Yes. He got me out of my clothes on the couch, and then he put his member into my sacred spot and we both thought of frickin England.
Ok, that’s not fair. I’m writing this blog as a kind of therapy for myself, and if someone else actually reads it, you probably deserve some details.
Unfortunately, I’m not feeling very good right now to give more details than: Yes, we took a shower. Yes, I swallowed something not of my body. Yes, he made my hair mat up in the back of my head like a French whore. And finally, we actually exchanged phone numbers the following day. It seems the Boy actually has a personality. Who would have known? Or cared?
Anyway, today I feel very melancholy. The Boy called to tell me thanks but he was as blah as I was. We both decided to suggest finding ourselves a good replacement girlfriend. I emailed him this:
He emailed me this:
I’m thinking the Boy will be a good friend. If he pays for my Warcraft subscription!
Poor little boy (Part 2: Klingon Sex)
So me and the boy arrived at my house. You’re probably thinking I shouldn’t bring boys home but I have some tricks I learned from a friendly bouncer which basically would scar most people for life. I’m not afraid. It’s life. Either live it and accept you will die, or hide in a basement until you die. Either way, you don’t get to keep your toys.
The boy seemed kind of nervous so me being the kind gentle soul that I am, grabbed the top of his jeans, pulled them down to his ankled and gave him the blow job from Hell as he leaned up against my front door. Yes, we were inside. What kind of freak do you think I am?
Anyway, when the Boy (there is a reason to capitalize) came, something was abundantly clear.
Boys are relatively easy to calm down. The only issue I might have faced is if he would have left, or worse… fallen asleep. But, fortunately, he seemed to perk up. Or relax. Well, that happens after… you get the idea.
The Boy took off his pants and underwear and we reclined on my couch. He noticed I was still clothed, and I told him he was half clothed. If he wanted me out of my clothes, he would have to cook me dinner and clean my house.
“Are you serious?” he said moving as if he was getting off the couch.
I thought, hmm, the fish swallowed the hook farther that I swallowed per se. I lunged at him and kissed him for the first time. Lots of guys don’t like cum breath, but I think I got the Boy by surprise and he had forgotten what we had done on the entry way cause he kissed me back and passionately. I ran my fingers through his hair and twisted. His head came off like a top… oh wait, that was Steven Segal.
Ok, where was I? I ran my fingers through his hair and pulled back and made him look at me. “Listen to me,” I said. “This is between you and I and for one night only.” He looked a little worried, so I smiled. “I’m relatively sure we won’t sleep. Are you ok with that?”
His eyes moved to not make contact with mine for a moment as if he was wondering what the fuck he had gotten himself into. Then his eyes came back to me and abruptly pushed me back slamming my head into the couches arm. “Oww,” I said.
“Are you ok?” he asked. I noticed a part of him was starting to poke me. I looked up at him and squinted my eyes and licked my lips. And then…
Poor little boy (Part 1:Initiation of the Plan)
I am not a bad person. I did what I had to do. And sometimes, you have to do selfish things. And sometimes it involves tying a guy down to your bed and humping his brains out.
Ok, I didn’t do that. My bed doesn’t have anything to tie to. Anyway, here the story of how Guy got her mojo back.
Like I posted yesterday, I decided to go out hunting for something to get my ovaries off. I called into work telling them I had to do something and couldn’t work. I think Mr Mann said it was ok, but I hung up on him before he responded. Hopefully, I still have a job, but there are a couple other Gentlemen’s clubs around for me to work.
Anyway, I got dressed and whored up. My (.)(.) were close to my chin and my \|/ was about a inch from being exposed by the lack of material I had on. And then I noticed the temperature was frickin cold, so I put on some jeans and changed into a flannel shirt. I figured I was going to be easy so there was no reason to believe my lack of whorishness would prevent me from… well, being a whore.
I left home around 8 which is rather early for a good hook up, but I figured I had some spent up energy and would hate to find some BODY who was too drunk to fuck. The first bar I went to had like 3 people in it and none of them looked yummy. I went to this dyke bar I love, but again it was too early for anyone to be there.
And then I saw him.
He came out of the bathroom (In this bar, it’s not men’s or women’s. It’s the bathroom.) He was about 6 foot and had a crew cut. My gaydar was pretty silent so I was pretty sure, he was a straight man in a gay bar. He was either into watching girl on girl action, or he was just visiting. I watched him and he ended up at a table with two older butchier girls which my gaydar screamed of stereo type.
Now normally I’m shy (must be why I take my clothes off for a living), so I slowly walked over to where they were sitting and used the oldest pick up line in the world.
I said, “Hi.”
The lesbians said hi back and the boy didn’t say anything. I asked if they minded if I joined them. One of them almost jumped out her skin and emphatically said “Yes!”
The little boy seemed less enthusiastic, but upon further review, it turned out he had just broken up with his girlfriend and was a little distracted. His mother, Dee, told me a long and twisted story about how the boy (his actual name is hid to protect his gender) had loved and lost and was finally coming to grips with life with out the girl (I forget the bitch’s name). Dot, Dee’s ‘friend’, told me how she never liked the girl and thought the boy should and will do better.
All this time, the boy was quiet. So I told them about my recent past which ended with the obvious question, “Are you gay?”
Which I responded, “I’m happy, but not necessarily gay. I like boys too.” I said this as I turned my head and focused my blue eyes right on the boy. He smiled. Dee and Dot laughed.
So I asked the question I had been dying to ask. I leaned over and whispered into his ear, “Want to go have angry break up sex?”
At first I think I actually saw him blush. Dee and Dot looked inquisitive like they wanted to know what I had said which had gotten this reaction from the boy. I smiled, and leaned back. I slowly put my hands behind my head which made my bra lift my (.)(.) up higher and made them stick out. I think I saw some spittle form on Dee’s mouth, but I was staring at the boy. He leaned over and whispered, “Do you do this often?”
It’s a valid questions, so I told him no and bored my eyes into him while arching my back. I could see he was checking out the merchandise out of the corner of his eye. He turned and leaned over to his mom. I’m not sure what they said, but in a minute, we were outside getting into my car.
(Tomorrow: Poor little boy (Part 2: Klingon Sex)
What did I bring home?
Here’s a hint.
More details to cum… I mean to come after I get him to leave.
A Plan is hatched
Ok, so it’s around 5 and I feel better. I had a beer, Bud Light Lime, and my brain has cleared it’s pain. My heart, on the other hand, has decided to punt.
In other words, I’ve accepted what happened. I have to. There isn’t anything else I can do, and, I guess, if I truly do say I love her, I should be happy she is happy for her. Even without me.
But now, I have a plan. Tonight, Guy is getting laid! I stumbled on this picture and it pretty much sums up what I’m up for.
I’m pretty sure whatever I decide to take home will understand the meaning of angry sex.
Hang over hell
Fuck… me mind is running with a thousand reasons I should get over it and move on, but my body… well, I’m not sure if it is my brain that hurts more than heart. I guess 100 pound chicks shouldn’t drink vodka with nothing else… The burn made the pain go away. Or replaced it.
Anyway, I’m hurting. Maybe if I get a piece of the dog that ate me, I’ll feel better. Or it will just make me puke. That might help too.
