My Life: The Porno

I've always said that my life story is best suited to a cartoon, silly and full of colorful characters. The truth is, it's probably best suited to a porno. Silliness and colorful characters translate to porno...but all this sex would just be creepy as a cartoon.

Some of the highlights...think of it as a teaser trailer for the movie.

• I had an affair with a married man. One night he called and detoured me while I was en route to a first date. I met him at his office, where he fucked me and then sent me off to meet my date. I spent the entire dinner making idle chit-chat about who-knows-what with proof of his "love" making a pool in my panties.
• One gorgeous winter evening, a date and I were bar-hopping through downtown, wandering in and out of dark, hidden areas designed for kissing and groping. We went to the roof of a parking garage for a better vantage point of the city and to enjoy the beautiful weather. We ended up having sex out in the open, standing up in one of the parking spaces. Twice.
• I went out with a friend and his girlfriend one evening. We got home late, a little tipsy...and at least two of us were very horny. If you guessed that I was one of the two, you are correct. I climbed into bed next to him, and we had anal sex in front of his girlfriend, who simply watched from the other side of the bed.

My mind is all over the place. Current events, cooking, work, school, a vacation that's still 9 month away, it never ends. My brain never shuts off...but it has one constant: sex. Sometimes I joke that I should be a teenaged boy, I think about sex so much. If we have ever met, I have given at least a moment's thought to how you kiss or what you'd be like in bed.

Having sex always on my mind does have its benefits, such as the ability to go from 0-60 in about three seconds. Maybe this is the reason that life as part of a committed couple is just as hot, if not hotter sometimes, than single life. We live together, we trust one another...there is no more wooing necessary. We don't have to be on our best behavior for the kids anymore. And if I am almost always ready to go, imagine the possibilities.

It's not at all uncommon to find myself bent over the washing machine while the kids play outside for a few minutes. I was up at 4:45 am and started planning this blog post in my mind, by 5:10 I had to wake him up for sex. More than once, I have been rudely interrupted by a cock pressing against me while I was washing the dishes. I commented to a friend that I have had sex more times this month than I did in 2005...and we're closing in on 2005 and 2006 combined.

My porno would definitely not be an AVN award-winning porno, it would be underappreciated in its time. Most likely, it would be just campy enough to become a cult classic. There have been some amazingly hot experiences in my life, but there have been just as many goofy experiences. What makes it porno-worthy is my ability to own my sexuality. I don't hide from my sexuality. I pepper my conversations with innuendo, I relate sexual anecdotes as easily as anecdotes about my daughter and I probably make a lot of people uncomfortable. Some people would call me brazen, but it's just honesty...I believe it's natural, normal and healthy to feel this way.

Sex Drought

We haven't had sex since 6:30 yesterday morning.

That's almost 36 hours...I'm finding it hard to carry on.

Eliminating Mr. Right-Now

Recently, while chatting with Sexy Bitch about men and sex and relationships, I realized something...I didn't go on a lot of third dates. Hell, I barely went on second dates. Perhaps this portion of our exchange might offer some clues:

Her: I had the rebound

the awkward tryst

time for the confidence booster

Me: Oh, I miss those

not awkward trysts

the first time things

that split second, right before someone new penetrates you for the first time

before you realize he's a disappointment, too

*sigh*

I have never believed in wasting my time on anything. I don't subscribe to the idea of Mr. Right-Now. If you're not a potential Mr. Right, why should I waste my time with you? That's what fuckbuddies are for, to take care of those needs without wasting time or interfering in the hunt for Mr. Right.

First dates are easy; you meet somewhere, it's awkward and you make a snap decision about the second date right then and there. I walked into my date with 23 prepared to bail as early as possible, but it went well. There was a second date, a real date, with dinner and everything. But once we started having sex, there were only hookups.

That is what usually happened. They either fell into the hookup category or the friends with bennies category. There were no more dates, there was no more pretense. My motto: You want to fuck me, I want to fuck you...let's not waste my valuable time.

My first date with The Traveling Jew went very well. The next time he came to town, I went to his hotel to pick him up and ended up putting out as well. To his credit, he took me out for a nice dinner afterward. But then he made a tragic mistake, he held my hand as we walked back to the car and then wanted to cuddle after sex we had sex again. Aaaand, the nice guy has been eliminated from the competition. Thank you for playing, sir.

So what set some men apart?

Wow, I'd love to have some amazingly cool answer that makes you blush, but I don't. Who survived the longest? The only ones that made it to third dates were Brady Bunch, Clothespin and PSD. Brady Bunch and I had gone to the same school, knew the same people and had daughters the same age. Clothespin and I had a ton of similar interests, ranging from photography to Battlestar Galactica. PSD and I were just about the same person and had too many things in common to count. So, even in my quest to broaden my sexual horizons and conquer the male race, I ended up with the people who had the most in common with me.

At my ball-busting best, the idea of cuddling or holding hands horrified me. It's not that I stopped believing in love, but my tough-girl persona scorned the idea of mushiness with just "some guy." But maybe, it wasn't me, it was them...they were just the wrong guys.

When Clothespin grabbed my hand on our way into the restaurant on our first date, I didn't punch him, I didn't even think about it. And looking back, PSD held my hand on our first date...and we snuggled a little after we had sex...and I even contemplated spending the night...all that first night. I had no clue he was Mr. Right, but I knew he had Mr. Right potential.

And after I met him, there were some more first dates; but that's all they were.

I set up our second date, via text, while I was on a first date with someone else.

Tacky? Maybe.

Worth it? Definitely.

Don't Judge Me

I might be in love, but I haven't gone soft.

Last night we went out. This involved much eyeliner and red lipstick. While I was washing my make-up off in the bathroom, PSD walked in wearing only a pastel-colored fishing hat, a cock ring and carrying a leather paddle.

I love this man.

Guest Post: Rebound and Lust

Hi there. Let me begin by first introducing myself – I’m Sexy Bitch. This moniker was given to me by your fearless queen bee-in-residence and I feel honored to wear it. Mostly because I know it’s my ringtone when I call her.

I’ve known Queen Bee for almost a year, and we have become quite close, sharing stories and advice…but not men, yet. I consider myself a Queen-Bee In Training, as I have yet to conquer many of love’s little obstacles.

But let’s be honest here, readers. Queen Bee disseminates some wonderful information, but she’s gone, how shall I say it?…soft. She fell in love. Poor thing.

I’m not in a ‘love’ kind of place.

To re-phrase: I’m all about the lust these days. The good, old fashioned, throw-me-against-the-wall-and-make-me-bruise kind of lust.

I recently broke up with my boyfriend and have since been on the warpath to heal my heart, one penis at a time. Since the break-up, I’ve enjoyed the freedom. I’ve enjoyed the men. I’ve enjoyed not giving a damn about the men and going after my own orgasmic nirvana.

So I thought I would step in with some fun stories of a 20-something on the rebound.

So let’s go through them:

The Asshole Ex

I should have saved him for last. He’s the hardest to write. I could say I loved him, possibly. I think the majority of my pain is not from what was lost, but rather the knowledge that we had so much potential to be unbelievable.

Alas, it was not meant to me. I’ll miss his cock. OH. MY. GOD. Beautiful, veiny, big and highly sensitive. It was meant to fuck. But he had a mental block that kept him from his ability to give me what I needed and we had a few very frustrating nights which began with his inability to keep it up (read: mental block) and my ending in tears. We slowly disintegrated from there.

Cue my big black binder

(come on…I’m in the prime of my life, gorgeous and sexually uninhibited… you really think it would only be a little black book?)

The Rebound

Ah, the rebound. He’s a sweetie – he’s kind, funny and good-hearted. He genuinely likes me. Bad idea.

Rebound attended the reception of a close friend’s wedding, coincidentally the same one Asshole Ex was supposed to attend. Coupled with copious amounts of vodka sodas and emotional instability, I slept with Rebound against my better (and more sober) nature. Disaster.

Two words: tiny dick. Could have been whiskey dick syndrome, could have been that Asshole Ex’s dick was a fucking ARM, could have been that he really does have a tiny dick. Either way, it left me frustrated and going home to my toys. Not a good first impr-sex-sion.

I may have to give it the good ol’ college try one more time. For shits and giggles.

If it really is as tiny as I remember, I’ll ask Queen Bee to post a photo.

The Firefighter

This boy and I have had a sexual flirtation on and off for about two years. Even when he had a girlfriend, I would get calls. Once we fucked, he calls…All. The. Time.

So let me introduce you to the man who puts out your fires:

South Florida Firefighter’s Calendar model

Beautiful man

More gorgeous dick

AND NO STAMINA

I mean, I know I’m beautiful. I know I’m sexy. I know he gets hard just hearing my voice. But just once I would love him to NOT come within seconds of entering me. Thank you.

The Dipshit…er, stick.

Dipstick and I have had our fair share of history. Having known him for the better part of a decade, we have much in common and know each other well-ish. Dipstick went through a nasty divorce about 4 years ago rendering him with the emotional capacity of a gerbil. He’s the perfect anger bang.

I hadn’t spoken to him in a couple years, but true to form, we picked up right where we left off having spent some time over drinks and skinny dipping in the ocean (if you haven’t had the pleasure of buoyancy and nekkidness, I highly recommend it for your sexy quotient).

After a missed opportunity to hang out due to a finicky A/C, we finally had the chance to get together on a Saturday. Add beer, good music and more skinny dipping (this time in his pool) to a healthy level of sexual tension and BANG! Fucking magic…pun intended. We began in the pool, oral on the chaise lounge and sex in the bed/floor. Just as I remembered: frantic, intense and goooooooooooooood.

It’s nice to have him back in my rotation.

So, I promise to post more as I navigate the waters of singledom after heartbreak and give you all the gory details of every victim…er, partner. More to come!

Sexy Bitch

Weight A Minute!

There are things I enjoy in life: sex, good friends, having sex with good friends, booze, sharing booze with good friends, having sex after drinking booze, having sex with good friends after drinking booze...eh, you get the idea. Something else I love is food. To me, one of the biggest pleasures in life is good food, and I am no more likely to quit indulging in food than I am in any of the above.

Why am I telling you this? Because the American obsession with "weight" has been driving me crazy lately. Weight is just a number. More specifically, it is a measure of the force of gravitational pull on your mass. If Americans are so obsessed with this number, why don't more of them live at the top of Pikes Peak? At 14,115 feet you weight considerably less than you do at sea level. This obsession with the actual number seems to be generational. My mother's generation relied on one thing: the scale. I don't even OWN a scale, nor have I ever.

Where the fuck am I going with all this? Hang on, we're getting there.

When we were preparing to move into our new house, PSD's mother (genetically petite) said that she would like to see us each lose twenty pounds (random arbitrary number).

Now let me fill in some background for you.

I am by no means petite; I am 5'8" tall and curvy from head to toe. I have been working out since I was 19 years old. Until I had my daughter, I was in the habit of regularly attending 5:45 am spinning classes and after I had her, I would still make it to the gym at least 3 times a week. In the past year and a half, I have been lazy as hell (new relationship, please read previous posts) about working out plus I have a thyroid condition that wreaked havoc on my body until they got it regulated. I have put on quite a few pounds, but I am still in reasonably good shape.

PSD is a cyclist. When I met him, he was riding 100 miles at a time; the only thing he rides these days is me. But despite being lazy the past year and a half (new relationship, use common sense), he is still in reasonably good shape, too.

PSD's mom has an unhealthy obsession with weight. She is one of those naturally petite people who feels the need to eat tiny portions of food and count every morsel she ingests. If she wants a piece of cake, she can't just eat the cake, she has to give us a speech justifying WHY she can eat the cake.

I know his mother meant nothing by her comment, but it got me thinking. What would a number -20 actually do for me?

Would it help me earn more money? No.
Would it make my daughter listen to me at bedtime? No.
Would it remember to take out the garbage for me? No.

So why do I need this number -20 at all?

Now I enjoy fitting into my clothes, who doesn't? I don't weigh myself, I prefer to judge by which jeans I can squeeze into and how they look. I know that many outfits that didn't fit at the height of the thyroid debacle now fit again, so I am pleased. I see how I look in photos now, compared to last year, and I am pleased. But last year, at the height of it all, I didn't feel badly about myself. I just simply got some new clothes that fit and looked good and moved on.

So why should I chase this -20?

I have never counted calories. Life is too short for me to worry about how many M&M'S® I am stuffing in my face during a PMS attack. I believe in living with no regrets, this rule applies to food, as well. Who wants to be on their death bed and worrying about all the delicious food they never tried? I have always been a healthy eater (with a healthy dose of sweets here and there) and I just stay active. Exercising is for staying fit, not for furthering your unhealthy body image or masking your eating disorder.

I spent a good portion of my life as a Barbie Girl. I am tall, I was always thin and I am very pretty.

In high school I did a lot of local modeling, a good portion of it for swimsuit stores. I was a size 5 with a gravity defying C cup.
Was I any happier? No.
In my twenties I maintained my figure and added a fantastic wardrobe and a knack for accessorizing to the whole package.
Was I any happier? No.
Four months after giving birth to a ten pound child, I was two sizes smaller than the day I got pregnant.
Was I any happier? No.

Facts:
I can shop in normal clothing stores, I do not have to resort to stores that have the word BARN in the name.
My ass does not yet have its own zip code.
No one has ever run away screaming upon seeing me naked.
I am more confident now than at any other time of my life.

So what does -20 do for me?
NOTHING.

I make no apologies for who I am.
I am comfortable in my skin.
I am happy.
I refuse to sacrifice that feeling for a number.

Do Unto Others and Other Trite Advice (but good advice, too)

I apologize in advance for the extremely unsexxxy post, but it's as much a part of my process as telling PSD I was wearing my "lucky bra" on our first date so he'd know I was going to put out.

As I sit on the precipice of the next stage of my life (more about that later), it seems prudent to reflect upon what I have learned since the last stage of my life

Never Settle

Silent resentment is the #1 killer of relationships; also, 42% of statistics are made up on-the-spot. But seriously, why would you settle? If you don't chase your dreams, who will?

Don't Break For Someone Who Isn't Willing to Bend For You
Nothing in the world is as valuable as your own sanity and your own security. Never sacrifice that for anyone; that's not love, that's not even friendship. You deserve better, I don't care what who you are or what you've done...you deserve better.

Put Yourself Out There
This isn't really something new, but it always bears repeating. I have never been a "sit back and wait for life" kind of girl, but this has never been more important than in the last two years. Your life fell apart...boo-fucking-hoo. Now are you going to sit on the couch eating Cheetos and waiting for something good to meander by, or are you going to go out, seize life by the studded collar and make something good come to you? That's a no-brainer for me, because I would never eat Cheetos (the artificial color horrifies me). Meeting PSD was certainly a wonderful gift from the Universe, but would that have ever happened if I wasn't out there, seeking something?

Newsflash, folks. No one is just naturally lucky at life. All good things are the result of positive thinking, meeting people, networking and a lot of hard work.

Embrace Change
In the past year, I have been fortunate enough to have fallen into a circle of friends; one of them, a witty intelligent woman who has also had life-altering changes in her life within the past couple of years. I like to think this was no accident as we have much in common (aside from all being beautiful and Jewish) and can borrow so much from one another. Some would call it fate, but I like to call it Universal Design.

When we stop fighting and just sit down and shut the fuck up, the Universe has an amazingly uncanny ability to deliver just what we need. I like to think the evolution of my relationship with Clothespin was no accident, it was exactly how it was supposed to happen. The transition from sleazy hookup to genuine friendship to quasi-relationship opened my heart back up. This allowed me to make the small leap from quasi-relationship to what PSD and I share today.

In the past two years, I have let a vast variety of people into my life and have been rewarded in ways I could never have before imagined.

The Karma of “Do Unto Others”
This is the biggie. I am sure PSD had his doubts about me, at some point...and I don’t blame him. My Unapologetically Me strategy involves blunt honesty, so he knows my past. We even had a talk when we became exclusive, about my fears of monotony, errr...monogamy, and why I can’t imagine myself sleeping with just one man for the rest of my life. And this is where Irony kicks in (we’ll talk about her cousin, Karma, in just a bit)...because since that talk, since he told me he understood and was willing to explore options together, I haven’t even thought about another man like that. Crazy, right? What my single gal explorations had taught me (go back and read the entries, people...stop being lazy) was that I did not cheat on my husband because I needed sex that badly, it was affection and understanding I needed. Zoom back to PSD, and I have the whole package: love, understanding, more affection than I know what to do with and an amazingly fulfilling sex life. Does that mean we can’t spend the rest of our lives exploring sexual avenues together? NO! It does mean that I won’t need to look elsewhere for what I need, because I have it all.

What does this have to do with Karma and “Do Unto Others?” Recently, a former lover asked why my morals had shifted so far, I replied, “PSD is a great guy, he doesn’t deserve that.” It hadn’t even hit me until that moment; in the back of my head, every time I cheated on my ex, I knew in the back of my head, he DID deserve it...and each time it was a giant passive-aggressive FUCK YOU. It took me eight long years to get to that point. Eight years of him fooling around with other girls and then “coming clean” to me. Eight years of forgetting to come home because he was high somewhere with God-knows-who doing God-knows-what. Eight years of him making me feel like shit for having the humanity to find other men attractive, even though I never let another man even kiss me [Untrue; once, someone did kiss me. I laid him out with one punch right after.] while he openly stared at and commented upon women he saw. The first time I cheated on him, it was revenge, plain and simple. Then it just became a drug after that; he would make me feel bad, I would get my high. I never felt bad because I knew, in my heart, he would do it to me, too. I was just evening the score. Karma isn’t a bitch, friends...she is a nasty cunt who is PMSing and has no chocolate. That’s the reason my ex is still alone and stalking me like the rancid psycho he is, while I have been lucky enough to find someone who loves me, adores me and most importantly, understands me.

"Why the somber, yet enlightening reflection? Are you dying, Fyre?"

No, even better! PSD and I are moving in together at the end of the month. We have found our own house to begin our life together.

Imagine the possibilities!