...the making of a slut.

flying too close to the sun on wings of pastrami

I hate that I’m waiting for him for him to message me. I hate that I allowed him into my heart; just a smidge, the tiniest bit that couldn’t be avoided. But it’s kind of like opening your front door a tiny bit while in a hurricane; not a good idea and very possibly a disastrous one.

We matched on Tinder and from the moment we began chatting, it was rapid-fire, sparkling repartee. I am at my best in an online conversation. That extra few seconds between responses allows me to draft the perfect comments, the cleverest comebacks. Without the heavy cloak of my own physical self-consciousness, I am breezy, confident and downright scintillating. It’s not often that I find someone who can keep up.

Aaron kept up. He too, was quick, clever, and sexy. He got my references. We flirted outrageously. He liked me too much way too quickly. I liked him but I am constantly on guard against letting myself get emotionally invested in my FWB’s. Deep down I’m a hopeless romantic, albeit a non-practicing one. I’m careful to keep my emotions in check but it’s like that old Don’t-Think-About-Elephants thing. One ends up with rampant herds of elephants on the brain. Pink, polka dotted, tutu-wearing, dancing elephants.

A few days into our online relationship, I went back to look at his Tinder profile and a cold chill ran down my spine. According to the Tinder app, he was 6,400 miles away. I’ve been targeted by several scammers over the past few years. They are all “looking for a long term relationship” and are “ready to settle down”. Often their story depicts them as widowed with a child (usually a son. I guess boys appeal more to a potential stepmother…?). These scamsters are often “in the military” and “overseas”. They go from zero to 60 in record speed and in a matter of days, they’ve fallen in love with you. With one of my earliest scammers, I played along just to see how far he would take his little charade. It didn’t take long for him to spin some cockamamie story about how his military pay was inaccessible to him due to government red tape but if I wired him X amount of dollars, he’d pay me back plus interest and then he could fly home to meet me and we could start our new life together. I played dumb and asked a zillion annoying questions about our future plans. Finally, I’d had enough. The whole thing was beginning to leave a bad taste in my mouth. I told him, “enough is enough. I have no money and even if I did, I wouldn’t ever send it to someone I’d never met.”

Many many scammers later, I can pick them out more easily. I avoid guys in the military or even ones who are out-of-state. I ignore anyone who claims to be looking to settle down. The syntax and grammar are often wrong and punctuation is inconsistent or missing. So when it seemed to me that Aaron had to be a scammer, it confused me. His writing was quick and flawless (not counting stupid typos). His knowledge of being American and more specifically of our mutual city, was completely legit. But he had mentioned that he’d recently been living overseas. After he ignored my text asking if he wanted to meet up, then texting me hours later, seemingly confused that my plans had changed, I decided to call his bluff. It was around 4:00am and I’d gotten home from a club a couple hours earlier. I invited myself over to his neck of the woods then sat back to see what he’d do. I was basically offering to drive 40 minutes just to blow him in the car. What guy turns that down? He did, more or less. Hemmed and hawed that he couldn’t think of a place we could be private and blah blah blah. I was convinced. He was thousands of miles away and thus there was no way we could meet and he was just jerking me around to ensnare me in his web. I texted him:

Look Aaron (if that’s even your name). I’ve enjoyed chatting with you more than I have with anyone in a long time. Will u please just tell me what u want? Is that even u in the pics? Where r u really?

He kind of shrugged off my questions and concerns, almost like he was humoring me. I mentally shook him off, disappointed that one of the few guys for whom I felt a connection was only playing me.

A couple days later he texts:

him: the day felt a bit empty without messaging back and forth with you.

I’d been feeling the exact same thing. We started chatting again but in the back of my mind, I took everything he said with a grain of salt. I wasn't sure what to believe. When I asked him about Tinder showing him as 6,000+ miles away he explained that sometimes he used a phone from the time he was living abroad, hence the different distances. But why did he almost always text at odd times; in the wee hours? Was he functioning in a different time zone? He was twisting my mind into a pretzel!

After much more flirting and sexual tension, one night at 12:43am he texts: “well come show me some action”

[12:44] me: ok

[1:33] him: ok as in you'll come?

[2:27am] me: as in 45 mins ago i coulda. Actually 2 hours ago. Then i fell asleep waiting for a response

(3 days later after no reply) me: wellll?

Nothing until 6 days later. By this time I'm even more convinced he is scamming me. But I can’t figure out how he sounds so normal. What is he after for fucks sake?! After nearly a week with no messages I figure this is one for the ages and I’ll never know what was what. It's frustrating and disappointing.

Then, out of nowhere…

Him: I feel you have too many guys lined up

That text is like a slap in the face and I feel that chill start up again.

Him: I was looking for more and you are settling for less.

Me: Ah, slu I was trying to write Ah, slut shaming. But my finger went haywire and I pressed Send prematurely.

Him: you're awake

Me: obviously (calling me a slut brings out the bitch in me; go figure)

Him: Ah slu isn't english is it

Me: yeah well

Him: well what chick

Me: the universe efited me. Edited.

Him: failed you

Me: that too

Him: you're trying for something, but leaving behind things at the same time

Me: aren't we all

Him: not me

Me: well bully for u

Him: I’m honest as i said. I’m true as i said

Me: how would i know?

Him: how dare i expect the same. That's fine. Treat me with low circumstance. I deserve it right.

Me: I’m open and honest

Him: right. If only

Me: and what does it get me? Slut shaming from u

Him: i aint speaking of anything u chose in your life. I would be number one in line to lick you dry.

Me: actions baby

Him: nah. You chose. And left me hanging. So goodbye

Me: stop saying that i chose

Him: you did. You had chances. You chose otherwise. prove me wrong

Me: fine, u obviously don't know me at all. But why would u. Have a nice life.

Him: I know you too well. I wish i knew you less. I wish i could live the dream. But you're playing fool. and i ain't one of them. I'm not your number 2. So fuck off. I'm number 1 or nothing.

His short sentences are actually sent as 8 separate texts which I find mildly annoying. So that's that, I think to myself. I feel strangely bereft. We are over and we never even began. I was condemned for choices I didn’t know I was making. And shamed for living my life in the only way I know in order to keep myself safe. I couldn't stop thinking about him. I missed our banter. I missed feeling special to someone. Three days later I caved. I decided, who cares if he isn't who he says he is. I enjoy him. I like him. And if he tries to scam me, I am on high alert.

Me: so i guess ur not even interested in being friends...Is it just me or didn't we get on like a house on fire?

And we start up again. And it feels really good.


Age-old question: what is it with guys and their dicks? They’re oh-so-eager to whip it out at any opportunity. Super glad to send unsolicited dick pics. Confident that all that come into contact with IT are forever changed (and yet the Do You Like It questions posed in eight different ways). They want their penis to be worshipped and revered yet when I do so, obnoxious cockiness inevitably ensues.

I’m an extremely oral and tactile person. I was in Barnes and Noble today and became aware of how I tend to caress the books. I love the feel of them. The weight. The smoothness of the covers. I was vaguely reminding myself to keep my hands to myself as to not pick up nasty flu germs. But touching, holding, leafing through books sparks the pleasure centers in my brain. Those are books. You can imagine my senses-fest when I’ve got a beautiful, hard cock at the mercy of my hands and mouth. For a plain girl, I can be very shallow. I love a lean, tight body and I’m a sucker for a pretty face. Not model/actor pretty. Edgy, with puppydoggish eyes, a strong Roman nose, and a crooked smile that crinkles the corners of the eyes. Yummy yum yum. I show my appreciation for this lovely package by exploring with my hands, mouth, and tongue. I’m a giver by nature and get pleasure by giving pleasure. A guy’s moans send shivers down my spine. The tightening of thighs against my shoulders, encourage. Trembling and shaking legs spur me on. A rough, gravelly voice murmuring, “I’m close”...or “I’m gonna cum” makes me smile around your cock. As you cum, I try to remember to take-in all the myriad sensations: the groans of pleasure, the hot jets of semen filling my mouth, each spurt causing your penis to pulse against my tongue. I swallow as the pulses slow and then I gently slide my mouth from you, leaving you clean and spent. There really must be something to the mood-boosting properties in ejaculate because I’m pretty peppy afterwards and more than a bit smug.

Good stuff, right? Here’s what invariably happens. All this worship seems to make a guy feel (more than) a bit full of himself. He confuses Penile Worship with Ego Worship. He seems to think his is the only penis that can inspire worship. He believes he is doing me a favor by allowing me to suck his cock. So tiresome. His requests begin to turn into royal commands (Come over now... Come suck this dick... You know you love it...). He turns into a bratty little bitch. I want to tell him Hey, I might not be beautiful or have a hot bod but I am female and thus can't swing a dead cat without hitting a multitude of guys I can blow at any given moment. Next comes the litany of selfish requests (You can blow me in the car! Oh gee, can I?) that elicits the mental raising of one eyebrow as I try to tell you in a nice way to climb down off your high horse if you ever want to be in my mouth again. The smart guys snap back to reality enough to quit getting on my last nerve and we progress happily. I have blow job buddies that have been ongoing for some time. One has been over three years. I see him perhaps once a month. Respectful guy with good manners. I don’t know his last name, what he does for a living or his exact age. I know all I need to know: he has a smokin’ hot body and he likes what I do to him.

So what’s my point here? Guys: CHECK YOURSELF. Yes, I like your cock. Yes, I like to have it in my mouth. Yes, I’m orally gifted. No, it doesn’t mean you can treat me like a hooker. Get a fucking grip. Or that’s literally what you’ll be doing tomorrow night while watching Pornhub...

#my best hook-up ever

Steve and I flirted online for about a year before we finally met up. We had logistical issues keeping us apart (distance, work schedules, hosting difficulties) and perhaps a bit of a lackadaisical attitude from us both. He wasn't quite my physical type but he seemed like a cool guy; sexual and sexy without being cocky, attracted to me in all my hot mess glory...

Generally, if you've been messaging someone for too long without managing to take it to the next level, your window of opportunity will slam shut. I'm not sure why that is. Perhaps too much texting, even with naughty pics, isn't enough to sustain the motivation for a New Meet (or is that New Meat. lol). At least for a hook up. It can be different, I think, if emotions and gut-spilling are involved. That's what Catfish the TV show would have us believe, anyway.

Apparently, Steve was an exception. We touched base maybe every couple of months, flirted, agreed we needed to hook up soon, then nothing until six to eight weeks later (I rarely message first so my timeline was in his hands). Finally, finally! about a year ago we managed to be on the same page. He got a nice hotel room about halfway between us, and we had the hook up to end all hook ups.

I was pleasantly surprised to find him taller and thinner than I thought he'd be with a wiry, tight little body that I adore. And physical type or not, I felt immediate chemistry. I was also attracted to his manner; a bit of a low-talker, rather laconic but with a quiet confidence and a dash of introversion and mystery.

We had a drink, smoked a joint, then I proceeded to show him all the toys in my bag of tricks. Vibrators, butt plugs, lube, condoms... I started with my trusty super-turbo massage wand while he began to explore my body. Soon I had to have him in my mouth and I nestled between his open legs to devour and worship his hard, slender cock. Soon, he grabbed a condom and was fucking me from behind. I don't usually cum without clitoral stimulation but I did with him. He asked if he could fuck my ass and I was so super turned-on, (btw, this is a good way to make me amenable to many things...) I said yes. He had the perfect cock for anal: slim, small head, long but not too long. It barely hurt going in and then it was all naughty, sensual bliss and anal orgasms. At one point he thoughtfully tried to get my vibrator on my clit but the lube we used got everywhere and made it impossible to get a grip on it. Afterwards, in the bathroom to clean up, I went to take a whiz and almost flew off the toilet I was so slippery.

This was one of the few times that sex almost hijacked my brain by tempting me to feel too much for a guy just because he was spectacular in bed. I had to mentally shake myself for a few days afterward. I was hoping Steve and I would manage to hook up semi-regularly, but alas, we more or less repeated our previous pattern: every couple months we flirt, agree to hook up, then don't follow through for various reasons. Until last night.

Next time: candy corn in the ointment... we covered Bullshit Pics in part one. Our next sub-category of the Candy Corn Hookup is: Unfulfilled Promises.

I don't remember his name (or perhaps I've blocked it out), so let's call him Roy. Roy was in town for business and staying at a motel about 45 minutes drive from me. I wasn't overwhelmed by his Ok Cupid photos. While presentable enough, he just wasn't really my type. It was too far to drive for a not-my-type guy. However, he lured me in with his promises of pleasure. “I'm gonna eat that pussy for an hour.....I know how to make u cum....I can go for a long time...” blah blah blah. I can't usually cum from oral and I was intrigued. This guy was older than I normally go (he was 44) but I thought perhaps an older guy might have skills not yet acquired by my usual Cubs.

When I saw him for the first time I realized that his pics had to be at least 7-10 years old. The blonde, athletic guy in the pics bore little resemblance to the chunky, balding, pasty-faced dude before me. And he had that very specific, married I've-let-it-all-go-to-pot look. “Ah, well”, I thought, “who knows, maybe he really does have skills.” EN OH. Or if he did, he certainly didn't trot them out for me.

I started off by sucking his cock and about five minutes into this he says, “You're gonna make me cum. I want to get inside you.” Okayy. Apparently, Extended Foreplay and I are not to ever be in the same place at the same time. He rubbers up, fucks me doggy for about a minute, and cums. He pulls out, gets rid of the condom then sits on the bed and pulls out his phone. I'm still on all fours and I couldn't help blurting out, “That's it??”. “Yeah,” he answers pleasantly, “I have to get up at 5”. Perhaps his lack of manners made me forget mine. “Well, I'm glad I had a contingency plan to go dancing after this”, I mentioned as I got dressed. “Yeah, go dance,” he said absently, like he was talking to a pesky child, “have fun”. Blink. I almost expected him to pat me on the head. The only good thing about Roy was his taste in music. Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon was playing during our encounter. I arrived during 'Breathe” and was out the door before 'Money' had ended.

(coming soon: candy corn hookups part 3: Bad Manners)

It had been a long night: danced up a storm, blew a virgin, and finally got home around 5:00 in the morning. I was wide awake so changed into my pj's and started playing some computer games. I'd left my phone in my purse but went to fetch it when I vaguely recalled getting a Tinder message sometime during or after blowing said virgin. The message was a couple of hours old by now but I responded anyway, thinking he'd probably not see it for awhile; most people would be asleep at this hour. He surprised me by responding right away. We chitchatted for a bit and had a good rapport. He had to drive out to the desert that afternoon but wanted some company before then. He was willing to get a motel room for just a few hours.

      It was tempting although completely ludicrous. He was a good 25 miles away, it was 6:am, and I hadn't slept. While I might drive 25 miles for a good fuck, he was pretty honest about just wanting a blow job. I'd told him of my earlier (mis)adventure and I think it intrigued him into wanting to experience my skills. I truly had no intention of meeting up with him but he was relentlessly persistent. Now, I've been implored, cajoled, nagged, and straight up begged by some serious Masters of Please (MoPs). When Jay needed a drink or a crack rock, the begging ripped my soul to shreds and against my better judgement, I'd capitulate. Jeremy's bratty cacophony of Pleases invariably led to his getting his way. Lately, Greg's repeated requests for a threesome were driving me bananas and tempted me to cut him loose altogether.

As for Drew, he was quite gifted in the MoP department. He wasn't aggressive. He wasn't annoying. He was like a smooth, persuasive car salesman. What can I do to put you in this car today....Around 7:am, it reached the tipping point and just like that, I knew I was going. I threw on my clothes and hit the road, updating Drew along the way. Halfway into my drive he mentioned that I might have my work cut out for me because he'd been up for 24 hours, was high (he used a snowflake emoji so I assumed he meant crystal meth) and might have a hard time climaxing. Screech....brakes. Wtf? Goddammit, no wonder he was so determined, horny and talkative. He's fucking tweaking. When Jay was high on meth, he said all he wanted to do was jack off all day. It also turned him into a rage-filled asshole, but that's another story. But I was already halfway to the motel so what the hell...

The door was unlocked when I arrived and I greeted Drew, who was lying on the bed, with a “mobile bj...” and he really enjoyed that. I told him he should have told me he was tweaking and he set me straight. He was no meth head. He was doing some very high-quality cocaine. Ohh, okay. I was vaguely surprised that he wasn't quite as cute as his Tinder pics. But that's not uncommon; of course people will post their most flattering pictures. I got to work right away. We'd discussed via text how it would be hot if I just came in and started sucking his cock right away. I made short work of his belt, pants, and boxers then proceeded to try to make short work of him. Everything was going as it should. I was working my magic with my mouth, he was moaning softly. I was thinking the cumslut in me was close to getting her reward when, boom. He wanted to take a break and do more coke. What an unprecedented turn of events.

As he did more lines, we started talking. He was very easy to talk to and had an unnerving way of looking right into my eyes as he spoke. Looking right into me. It made me uneasy and I had to force myself to not let my eyes dart around the room as he spoke. He commanded my complete attention just by giving me his. I sat on the edge of the bed and he folded his 6'2” into the rickety motel chair. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, lifted his head to look at me and I was struck by how different he looked in this particular position and patch of lighting.

“Are you a shapeshifter?,” I blurted out, only semi-kidding. He seemed a bit taken aback; apparently someone had just recently made a similar observation. Over the course of the next few hours, he went from boy-next-door, to average cute guy, to breathtakingly beautiful depending on where he stood and which position he was in. I really wanted to take his picture, but he vetoed that idea. He was a bit paranoid about the texts and pics we'd already exchanged and asked if I would delete them. He eventually asked if he could do it himself and I let him. When he asked in bafflement, “why do you want to take my picture?”, I told him about my hobby of styling and photographing my friends and family and that in this particular position, he was quite beautiful. And then finally, simply told him, “because I'll never see you again”. Although this is par for the course with hook-ups, it had never bothered me as much as it did now. Looking at him I realized he would shut down his Tinder account and I wouldn't even have those pictures to remember him by. When I said that to him he responded rather gently, “I already have.”

(To be continued...)   

#the weer-jin

I love to dance. I need to dance. I'm way too old to go clubbing but I don't give a shit. Sometimes the night goes swimmingly: great music, good crowd, cool venue. Sometimes it doesn't: self indulgent DJ, douchebag patrons, and bad sound systems.

Friday night was a good one. I danced like a mf until nearly 2am. Before I'd even gotten into my car, I was mentally compiling a list of guys I could hit up. It would have to be a blow job as I was on the last couple days of my period. I couldn't really get excited at the prospect of any of my usual dudes, quite frankly. I was resigned to going straight home but then found myself exiting the freeway and heading toward the ocean. The weather had been brutally hot and sometimes the only place with a cool breeze is the beach.

As I smoked a couple of cigarettes, I thought I'd see if there were any possibilities on Craigslist's Casual Encounters. In the past, CL has been a bonanza of opportunity for me. I've met guys with whom I regularly hooked up for years. I met my longtime FWB there. Without CL, a huge chunk of sexual experience would most likely never have happened for me.

On this night, there wasn't much happening on CL besides the usual. I refreshed the page one last time before planning to take my leave of the beach and a new ad appeared at the second from the top of the list. A 20 year old virgin who'd never done anything sexual, wanted ANY female for whatever. He didn't care about age, looks, or body type. And oh, look, he's right in my area. It's around 3:00a.m. at this point so I send a response via e-mail:

“Any girl,huh? My, we r horny. If ur a skinny white or Latino guy, text a pic. I dont have Snapchat”

He responded within ten minutes. He was understandably wary about sending pics but while the physical attributes might not matter to him, they do to me. Here are the texts:

Him: hey so you don't have a snapchat?

Me: I disabled it. Hated it. Got pics? Dont b paranoid lol

Him: lol well I wouldn't wanna send one if it's not thru there😂trust me I am paranoid

Me: Describe urself then

Him: 6'2 skinny and white just like you described oddly enough. do you have any pics?

Me: Yes, but u said it didnt matter. Is that bullshit?

Him: no like it actually doesn't matter, I'd actually rather not have someone that's hot or anything because then I'd probably be nervous lmao

Me: I'm a bbw cougar older than your mother... so what are you into?

Him: I'm down for anything

(I text him a few pics)

Him: you're just what I wanted

Me: Not sure if i should b insulted. Lol. Face pic?

Him: no that's a compliment, I just won't be nervous because I'm not talking to a super model

Me: True. At the risk of TMI, im on my period but would b down to blow u

Him: I'm not comfortable sending pictures, I know it sounds fishy but I'm just a regular 20 year old who's horny 24/7

Him: yes I'm so down. I've never gotten a bj or anything so this will be the best experience so far

Me: Maybe u shouldnt then, not all bj's will b able to measure up haha. Where r u. Wanna meet in a dark spot or i could pick u up

So he suggested a spot (funnily enough, about a mile and a half from where I live), I finally got a look at him (adorable), and we parked on a nearby side street where I proceeded to make his skinny legs shake. I wonder if he'd jerked-off right before our rendezvous because he lasted a surprisingly long time under my expert tongue. After my inner cumslut was sated, we hugged and off he loped into the night. Mission accomplished.

#it aint easy being a slut

Last night I hit up seven different guys for a hook up. Most of them from my BJ-only list. It's always tricky, timing wise, to send multiple homing pigeons to multiple recipients. Just how long should I wait after texting #1 (let's just refer to them by number, shall we) before texting #2, 3, 4.... I decided to let distance be my guide.

I'd had a dreary night at a special Chester Bennington tribute at an eastside dance club. I thought it would be a cool way to pay respects whilst dancing to the awesome music of Linkin Park, their contemporaries, and musical influences. Instead it was a gathering of (dude-heavy) enthusiastic fans who, instead of dancing, watched and reacted to the huge video screen as though they were attending a live concert. It felt like a wake being held at a frat party. Don't get me wrong. It was a touching tribute by fans, but it also felt extra sad to watch a larger-than-life Chester in performance videos. I wanted to dance. I wanted to FEEL the music, not SEE it.

So I left early, around 12:30am, feeling restless, horny, and need of a mood boost. I hit up #1 although I knew he had moved across town that day so most likely went to bed already. After ten minutes and no response, I hit up #2, a long-time though infrequent BJ-only pal. Crickets. As I headed West, I emailed a Craigslist connection I'd been flirting with on and off for years. Around this time, #2 texted that he was out of town but let's do it at the end of the month. I was now on the Westside and texted #4, who lived a bit north, but totally worth the drive. So far I'd only heard back from #2. I decided to head home but hit-up the guys who lived along my route. #4 messaged me; he was out of town but returning the next day. We flirted via text for the next hour as I drove home. Messages to #5, 6, and 7 went out in the order of their locations. #5 got back to me right away. He was out and wouldn't be home for several hours. Scratch. #6 texted 3 hours later with a 'Yes” answer to my “bj anyone?” text. I told him I believed the offer expired about two and a half hours ago. I told him we'd do it soon and would he like to be my Guinea pig so I could practice my handjob skills. Yes? No? Maybe? Hello?! No answer. GRRR! When he wants a blow job he's all please-and-thank you but now can't be bothered to answer a simple question. #6 will be jerking off from here on in.

Numbers 1, 3, and 7 got back to me in the morning. Respectively, “wiped out from moving went to bed early”, “was that offer only for last night can we do it tonight”, and “was asleep already when u texted”.

So I never did get any. I ended up watching porn and giving myself a better orgasm that any guy ever has. But there's something to be said for Cock. There are reasonable facsimiles, sure, but sometimes you just need the real thing.

I'm convinced that Jay, along with being a recovering alcoholic crackhead, has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). How I wish I'd realized this two and a half years ago. It might've saved me thousands of dollars, a lot of drama, and my heart. When I first stumbled upon articles about NPD, it was definitely a EUREKA! moment. I won't go into particulars but the site Quora has tons of info on the subject and although they can be a bit Narcissist-happy, it's been enlightening.

I'm attempting the No Contact solution with Jay, but I know that as long as he wants something from me, he won't hesitate to call. Yes, I've blocked him several times; it never takes. I want to ask this question to Quorans: Why do I miss him so much? Intellectually I know it's all about the NPD formula of How to Reel 'Em In...How to Get Them Addicted to You...etc., but my heart and soul don't give a shit about NPD. My heart and soul want the exciting, gorgeous, brilliant man who is never boring. Jay can be emotionally, verbally, and physically abusive. But he's never boring.

I try to ignore his occasional calls, but if he catches me at a 'bad' time (lonely, bored and nostalgic), I'll pick up. Today was such a day. The call was simultaneously satisfying and a slap in the face reminder of why I need to let him go. In the space of 5 minutes he manages to tell me he needs a favor, then proceeds to more or less call me a dumb slut. This unprovoked and unwarranted insult leads me to say, “Goodbye Jay. Go fuck yourself”, and hang up. For a smart guy, he's pretty stupid as to how to get things from me. Sober Jay, anyway. Cracky Jay knows exactly how to get anything he wants from me. Sober Jay lacks the humility and addiction-driven need of Cracky Jay. He's an unstoppable force with everything going for him, and he knows it. He's quite the arrogant prick.

I long to shove NPD down his throat, but reading about the horrific childhoods (that lead to the disorder, and his qualifies), deep-down loathing, and the poor prognosis for treatment would accomplish little besides making me feel a moment of vindictive spite. As much as I can't deal with the Jay of today, I couldn't endanger his sobriety with unwelcome revelations into his psyche. I will also never warn him of the relapse a psychic foresees around Halloween. I pray she's wrong. Before I learned that there's little chance of “fixing” someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, I thought I could save him. When he was using, I enabled him way too much, I admit. But I also attempted to get him into rehab, into therapy, and out of the crack-den of his own making. During the sporadic periods of sobriety, I drove him to job interviews, 'loaned' him money for his legal troubles, and was basically on-call 24/7. I always had his back. Always.

To be reminded that he thinks I'm not very bright and to have him throw my sluttiness in my breaks my heart for the zillionth time. I might know what he is, but believe me, I know what I am as well: a gullible weakling who stupidly fell in love with a man who doesn't even exist. Is it any wonder I eschew emotional attachments and keep a distance from men who might be more than a penis with a guy attached?

I held on to my virginity for a ridiculously long time. At first I was convinced that I couldn't have sex with someone I didn't love. It just seemed inconceivable. All those romance novels taught me that my body must only be shared within the context of “love”. I never dreamed of the big wedding or what my wedding dress might look like or any of that nonsense. There just had to be love, even if it was one sided (on my part). After I finally realized that I couldn't wait for love any longer, I began my slutty adventures. I worried that I wouldn't be able to separate sex and love; that I wouldn't be able to fuck 'like a man' (sorry not sorry for the sweeping generalization). I needn't have worried. As long as I'm not emotionally vested, sex for me is 'just fucking'.

However, I'm not above getting my brain scrambled from great sex. And maybe it's all that oxytocin, but I've found myself entertaining some idiotic notions after a particularly great hookup. Luckily, those stellar hookups are few and far between (see my Candy Corn entry). Because I am a total Girlzilla (google it), and particularly susceptible to a pretty face and sweet words, I must be super vigilant as to not fall arse-over-teakettle for guys that know all the right things to say and do.

I wish I could be like those women who manage to fall for the men who fall for them. I have an FWB who has fallen in love with me (or so he says). As much as I would like to feel more for him, I can't. I can fake an orgasm but not a love connection.

He's 6'3” with a big cock. I'm 5'3” with a big butt. I'm truly amazed that he managed to fuck me in the front seat of his car. He booty-called me at 3:am and since neither of us could host, we decided to meet in a dark parking lot for some vehicular shenanigans. This was our second encounter; the first time was him hosting at his place whilst the family (parents, not wife and kids) was away. We were ensconced in shabby chic, complete with cabbage roses, Victorian knick-knacks, and family photos in tarnished silver frames. We fucked on comfy white chaise longue upon which I would've loved to nap. He's such a nice, personable dude, that I was surprised at his sexual dominance. He's a head pusher. Normally I hate that and don't allow it, but for some reason I let him. He pushed my head down as he thrust his cock up, nearly choking me. I know I was scraping him with my teeth but hey, if you're gonna be a head pusher, you might be getting teeth. He didn't seem to mind. I would've been happy to let him cum then and there, but he wanted to make sure I was feeling good too. I directed him to my nipples and he suckled them nicely while his hand burrowed between my legs and he found my clit straightaway. I was getting wetter and wetter and he asked me what I wanted. “Put your fingers in me”, I whispered. He finger fucked me to a small climax then asked if I wanted his cock. I really wasn't thinking we could fuck in a car but I needed that cock. I told him, “If you can pull this off, I'll be very impressed”. Well, he pulled it off and I was very impressed. His dominant side reemerged when I became a bit too vocal (we were in a public place, after all) and he put his hand over my mouth and kept it there for the duration. It was a bruising force but my submissive side found it rather exciting. If someone had come upon us at that moment, he probably would've been ordered to exit the vehicle with his hands in the air. Luckily, no one happened upon us. “Do you want me to cum?”, he panted. “Mmuhm”, I responded beneath the hand over my mouth. As he came, I had a fleeting moment to wonder if he'd used a condom. Earlier, he'd said he would but in the heat of the moment sometimes those promises fly out the window. I was relieved to see that indeed, he had used a condom. “That was my first time getting fucked in a car”, I mused, “I don't count the time I was half in, half out of my truck”. And I guess that time I was reclined in the backseat and that guy did me from the open cardoor doesn't count either. Oops, and then I remembered Arthur and David. Ok, so I had been fucked in a car before. But this one was the best. When I got home, he'd sent a thank-you text. I so love a guy who was raised right.