Someone asked me the other day if I've ever had dangerous sex. I wasn't sure how to take this. Several possibilities entered my mind as to what exactly "dangerous sex" was.
Were they wondering if I have ever had sex in the lion cage at a zoo?
Did they mean have I tried autoerotic asphyxiation?
Perhaps they were curious if I enjoyed unprotected sex with groups of prison inmates.
This particular person was talking about dangerous scenarios, and I thought about this for a bit. What makes dangerous sex so appealing to some? Is it the rush of adrenaline that hits you that makes for better fucking? Is it the possibility that it could be the last thing you ever do? Could it be that you love telling stories to people and if you achieve orgasm while surrounded by 50 rattlesnakes, then you've got quite the story to tell? I mean who wouldn't be interested in that story?
So many people say that when they die, they want it to be while having sex. First of all – NO. It should be right after, but certainly not during. I mean come on – the effects that would have on your partner who survives the experience are too great to be so selfish. Unless, of course, it's all about you, in which case, you should consider yourself lucky that you have someone to fuck.
So, I am originally from the Midwest. We have tornadoes there. I've always sought shelter when there were warnings. Isn't that what you do? Apparently not if you're into dangerous sex. In this case, you should climb on top of your house, strip naked and while standing yell to the oncoming twister "come and get me you evil prick!" Hopefully, your man will be right behind you and he'll take you from behind, pounding into your body while the rain (and possibly hail) pounds your flesh. Animalistic! With any luck, the tornado won't hit anywhere near you. If it does, your last words may be "Fuck me like you're…" SPLAT. Your partner is left wondering "like what?" It's just a mess. No one wants to clean up that. The only way this could make for a better news story is if the girl was blowing the guy and the tornado blew him off the roof just as he was about to shoot his load down her throat. If this should happen to you, stand up and yell at the man "I told you I didn't want to swallow it!" It'll make you feel better. Trust me.
How about following fire trucks around? When they go to a fire, you and your partner sneak into the burning building and get to humping! The heat & smoke may be bothersome, but this is all about danger, right? Hopefully, the firemen will find you before you're overcome from smoke or heat but not until AFTER you've been fulfilled. All of the coughing and sputtering from the smoke alone should cause pleasurable sensations for the both of you. What fun! Ladies, should your man not make it out alive, be aware of the firemen around you. Certainly there will be one or two of them who are hot and available to console you. And since they know fire well, you could try this experiment again in a more controlled atmosphere with a real professional.
Gary has mentioned skydiving sex, but what about bungee jumping sex? Of course, if you're not physically tethered to each other, this could be painful if his cord bounces up long before yours does. To get a thrill out of either of these, your man had best be a minute man and be able to complete the task in record time. By the way guys, this is NOT something to be proud of. I'm just saying.
How about banging with the threat of a mass murderer creeping up behind you. This was a very real possibility when the "Son of Sam" murders were taking place. (Incidentally, anyone who believes that Berkowitz acted alone is a nutcase and probably believes that JFK and Elvis are still alive in the Swiss Alps at a rehab home for famous people who need the public to believe that they are dead. I have studied a great deal of information on this subject – that is Son of Sam, not JFK & Elvis – but I digress). So, what you'll have to do is read the papers. Find where the serial killers are hanging out these days and what their victim's profiles are like. He goes after hookers? A little role playing in an alley will either get you arrested (in which case you could have sex with dozens of inmates – that's a plus!) or it just might make the killer come to get you. Now, should the killer actually show up, your best bet is to always save your self. Ladies, offer up the man as a sacrifice. Even though more than likely the killer wants you, perhaps if you act like the killer is a hero who has rescued you, his anger will turn toward the man and you're off the hook. Probably not, but it's worth a shot, right?
Having thought up those scenarios was exhausting. It's probably much easier to just have your partner choke you or sneak into a prison. I, on the other hand, prefer the art of getting off without alerting the 3 year old and 12 year old that inhabit my house. If you want danger, try that one. It is dangerous stuff.
What's the most dangerous thing you've done sexually? I don't care which definition of "dangerous" you care to use – I just want to know how naughty you've been.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Can't work - Just can't do it!
I'm having trouble focusing at work today (big fucking surprise, eh?) I know that I have today and tomorrow and then I'm out of here until January 3, 2007. I love working for the Commonwealth of VA. It's like a vacation, but I don't have to use my leave for it AND I get paid for it. Thanks to those who pay their taxes here – I couldn't do it without you. Well, I could, but that's called masturbation and that's not what I get paid to do. Unfortunately.
I have all of these thoughts in my head and I can't make them go away, so I thought I'd try sharing some of them and see if that will make them go away so that I can get back to ruining the social lives of 20 doctors by doing the faculty on-call schedule.
If you had part of your colon removed, do you tell people you have a semi-colon? And should they (or you) laugh about calling it a semi-colon?
If you need to deliver a stool sample to your doctor's office, would they find it funny if you showed up with a piece of a step-stool?
If I became rich and famous, what would my groupies be called?
When gay people see something that they think looks stupid, do they say "That is so straight looking"?
If they are not visible at all, is it ok to where white cotton athletic socks with dress pants & dress shoes? Or is that gay?
Why do I need to be politically correct? I'm not in politics. I'll never run for office. Therefore, does it really apply to me? If we want the public at large to avoid using certain words & phrases, shouldn't we deem them "publicly incorrect"? Even then, isn't that what freedom of speech is supposed to cover? My right to tell someone that their shoes are gay? If you're offended, don't listen. Easy as pie (not MY pie though).
If you're carrying a large bag, shouldn't you have the presence of mind to know where it is at all times and to ensure that it's not going to touch someone's ass or tits repeatedly? And if you're the person who it keeps touching, shouldn't you have the right to slice a hole in it so that the contents of said bag spill out all over the floor?
Let's say you are on an elevator. Your co-riders are a guy with a giant rack of shelves on wheels and a girl wearing a low-cut blouse. And then I get on it and say out loud "nice rack!" Would you laugh? Would you assume I was talking about the woman, even though there is a guy standing there with a giant rack? Does your answer to that question change if I'm a man?
Can someone explain to me what it means to be an Emo kid and if that's considered cool? I'm a very emotional person. Does that make me Emo? Or do I need to do more? Can you be 35 and be Emo? And if my kid is an Emo and he runs away, can I document my struggles to relocate him in a movie called "Finding Emo" or is that some sort of copyright infringement?
I wonder if right this very minute there is another person at work, writing a blog about their random thoughts and all the while wishing they were at home with their favorite vibrator. If so, does this person have small but perky boobs? Small feet? Naturally curly hair? If so, that's my twin. Hug and kiss her if you see her. Not with tongue though. She doesn't like it when strangers do that.
I have all of these thoughts in my head and I can't make them go away, so I thought I'd try sharing some of them and see if that will make them go away so that I can get back to ruining the social lives of 20 doctors by doing the faculty on-call schedule.
If you had part of your colon removed, do you tell people you have a semi-colon? And should they (or you) laugh about calling it a semi-colon?
If you need to deliver a stool sample to your doctor's office, would they find it funny if you showed up with a piece of a step-stool?
If I became rich and famous, what would my groupies be called?
When gay people see something that they think looks stupid, do they say "That is so straight looking"?
If they are not visible at all, is it ok to where white cotton athletic socks with dress pants & dress shoes? Or is that gay?
Why do I need to be politically correct? I'm not in politics. I'll never run for office. Therefore, does it really apply to me? If we want the public at large to avoid using certain words & phrases, shouldn't we deem them "publicly incorrect"? Even then, isn't that what freedom of speech is supposed to cover? My right to tell someone that their shoes are gay? If you're offended, don't listen. Easy as pie (not MY pie though).
If you're carrying a large bag, shouldn't you have the presence of mind to know where it is at all times and to ensure that it's not going to touch someone's ass or tits repeatedly? And if you're the person who it keeps touching, shouldn't you have the right to slice a hole in it so that the contents of said bag spill out all over the floor?
Let's say you are on an elevator. Your co-riders are a guy with a giant rack of shelves on wheels and a girl wearing a low-cut blouse. And then I get on it and say out loud "nice rack!" Would you laugh? Would you assume I was talking about the woman, even though there is a guy standing there with a giant rack? Does your answer to that question change if I'm a man?
Can someone explain to me what it means to be an Emo kid and if that's considered cool? I'm a very emotional person. Does that make me Emo? Or do I need to do more? Can you be 35 and be Emo? And if my kid is an Emo and he runs away, can I document my struggles to relocate him in a movie called "Finding Emo" or is that some sort of copyright infringement?
I wonder if right this very minute there is another person at work, writing a blog about their random thoughts and all the while wishing they were at home with their favorite vibrator. If so, does this person have small but perky boobs? Small feet? Naturally curly hair? If so, that's my twin. Hug and kiss her if you see her. Not with tongue though. She doesn't like it when strangers do that.
12 Days of seXmas
In the past 24 hours, I have read so many things that have made me laugh, pissed me off and turned me on, but THIS was pure comic genius.
Cranky Ricky delighted me.
Oh wait, there's more to that statement. I should say Cranky Ricky delighted me with a listing of articles you might find in an Iranian version of Playboy. Go read it and have a good laugh.
Cranks, you owe me $50 and you'll need to run up to Grebe's Bakery in Milwaukee and get me a REAL cream puff. Of course, you'll have to overnight it to me wrapped in some insane amount ziplocks and bubble rap, but it'll be worth it for me.
I've been working on the lyrics to the 12 Days of seXmas. I completed it this morning, and now for your pure enjoyment and masturbatory pleasure, here it is. To avoid typing the entire song, I'll just do the final verse.
On the 12th day of seXmas, my true love gave to me
12 hours of pleasure
11 foot massages
10 fingers searching
9 breast caresses
8 hard core pornos
7 crotchless panties
6 dildos pumping
5 ORGASMS!
4 cans of whipped cream
3 muff dives
2 vibrators
And a big dick in my pussy.
On a more serious note, I'd like to share with you what have been called the Top 3 best sexual positions in the history of man:
The Crab, Dok-al-Arz (translated from Arabic as 'pounding the spot'), and the Horse.
The Crab
The woman has her head parallel with the floor (or the bed). She is on all fours, but her head is down, touching the bed, and her arms stretched out in front of her for balance and support. The man enters from the rear, and begins a slow and rhythmical thrusting. You get deep penetration, and his hands are free to explore her body. (Note for inept men: this means finger her clit)
Dok-al-Arz
The man sits on the edge of the bed, with his feet firmly on the floor. The woman sits on him, face to face and wraps her legs around his waist. (Note: where I found this described, it stated she should wrap her legs around his WASTE, which is just disgusting).
There is no thrusting in this position, only some circular motion, as in a belly dance. The woman is in control, and there is maximum clitoral and G-spot stimulation, even T-Zone (no, not that oil-prone section of your face). Supposedly, orgasms in this position are "profound and long-lasting".
The Horse
Here you have deep penetration, and super G-spot stimulation, as well and full T-Zone. The woman lays on her back on a high bed or table. The man must be standing. The woman's legs are spread apart and raised, knees bent towards her chest, exposing her snatch.
The man then sticks it in, and begins thrusting. There is an order: four short thrusts followed by one or two complete and deep thrusts. The motion must be slow and rhythmical and not forced. And here's a quote: "Sooner than you might expect, due to all the stimulation, the woman will arrive at a spectacular orgasm." I'm all for spectacular orgasms - bring on the horse! That just sounded bad, didn't it?
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, try one of these and report back here on how it worked out for you. I think I'm going to try the Horse. It just sounds super cool & groovy!
Cranky Ricky delighted me.
Oh wait, there's more to that statement. I should say Cranky Ricky delighted me with a listing of articles you might find in an Iranian version of Playboy. Go read it and have a good laugh.
Cranks, you owe me $50 and you'll need to run up to Grebe's Bakery in Milwaukee and get me a REAL cream puff. Of course, you'll have to overnight it to me wrapped in some insane amount ziplocks and bubble rap, but it'll be worth it for me.
I've been working on the lyrics to the 12 Days of seXmas. I completed it this morning, and now for your pure enjoyment and masturbatory pleasure, here it is. To avoid typing the entire song, I'll just do the final verse.
On the 12th day of seXmas, my true love gave to me
12 hours of pleasure
11 foot massages
10 fingers searching
9 breast caresses
8 hard core pornos
7 crotchless panties
6 dildos pumping
5 ORGASMS!
4 cans of whipped cream
3 muff dives
2 vibrators
And a big dick in my pussy.
On a more serious note, I'd like to share with you what have been called the Top 3 best sexual positions in the history of man:
The Crab, Dok-al-Arz (translated from Arabic as 'pounding the spot'), and the Horse.
The Crab
The woman has her head parallel with the floor (or the bed). She is on all fours, but her head is down, touching the bed, and her arms stretched out in front of her for balance and support. The man enters from the rear, and begins a slow and rhythmical thrusting. You get deep penetration, and his hands are free to explore her body. (Note for inept men: this means finger her clit)
Dok-al-Arz
The man sits on the edge of the bed, with his feet firmly on the floor. The woman sits on him, face to face and wraps her legs around his waist. (Note: where I found this described, it stated she should wrap her legs around his WASTE, which is just disgusting).
There is no thrusting in this position, only some circular motion, as in a belly dance. The woman is in control, and there is maximum clitoral and G-spot stimulation, even T-Zone (no, not that oil-prone section of your face). Supposedly, orgasms in this position are "profound and long-lasting".
The Horse
Here you have deep penetration, and super G-spot stimulation, as well and full T-Zone. The woman lays on her back on a high bed or table. The man must be standing. The woman's legs are spread apart and raised, knees bent towards her chest, exposing her snatch.
The man then sticks it in, and begins thrusting. There is an order: four short thrusts followed by one or two complete and deep thrusts. The motion must be slow and rhythmical and not forced. And here's a quote: "Sooner than you might expect, due to all the stimulation, the woman will arrive at a spectacular orgasm." I'm all for spectacular orgasms - bring on the horse! That just sounded bad, didn't it?
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, try one of these and report back here on how it worked out for you. I think I'm going to try the Horse. It just sounds super cool & groovy!
Not a sex blog - sorry
I've been in a funk since the beginning of December or more correctly, the end of November. Perhaps it's because since then, not a day has gone by that someone in my house hasn't been sick.
Or maybe it's because the holidays are a brutal reminder that I will not be seeing my mom, my sister, or my niece and nephew in the near future. Nor anyone from my extended family. Just the in-laws. The biggest issue I have with them is the simple fact that they aren't MY family. I think I expanded upon this a bit over Thanksgiving and how I didn't want to go, yadda yadda yadda. Well, we're not going there on Christmas day – HOORAY!
So, I will cook my traditional Christmas morning breakfast, invite everyone in the known universe to come eat (Yes, you too! We start cooking around 8:00 – first round of food is usually done by 9:00 and we're eating until around noon!), a couple of people will show up and I'll have WAY more food than I know what to do with. And then, we'll sit around and play with the kids and their new toys. Why do I do this? Because it was my mom's tradition and I want it so much. She makes a HUGE breakfast on Christmas morning and throughout the morning, everyone we know who lives nearby stops in, grabs a bite to eat, and then moves on with their day. I so want that! Will it ever happen? Probably not. Here, everyone is too spread out. My neighbors who come every year are probably moving to Ohio early in 2007. They were the only ones who ever showed up. However, I think Sheryl is planning on stopping by this year and I'm trying to talk Kris(tin)(sy) into coming, at least for a little bit. And I have a renewed sense of excitement about it.
I think what's making this year even worse is the fact that for the last couple of years I've gone to see my mom in the fall and I haven't been to see her this year since July. And I have no plans in the works to go because I have no extra money for two tickets and, quite frankly, I'm tired & scared of flying. So the "Get Kim home to see her mom" fund is being started. You can send cash, checks, or I take credit cards. Or, if anyone from this area needs to get to the Midwest, we can carpool. I'm up for driving – the trip from here to Wisconsin can be quite entertaining if you know where to look – and I know where to look!
Perhaps another problem is that I'm being a pissy bitch and have refused to fill my Rx for my MS meds. I'm tired of taking shots – really I am. I'm tired of feeling like shit after taking them, I'm tired of the shot itself. I'm tired of the little knots under my skin they produce and the swelling and redness. I've not taken them since some time in September when I just up and stopped getting them refilled. I've since asked my doctor to rewrite the Rx, but I haven't called to set up delivery. I'm probably being a dumb ass about it, but if you've never been in a position where you have to give yourself shots, you wouldn't understand. It's twice as hard with MS because if you stop taking them, you generally don't have a noticeable decrease in functioning right away. And even when you're taking them, you can have exacerbations. So, you think "Why bother?" That, by the way, is a rhetorical question and yes, I know I need to get back on the meds, thank you for your concern.
If I could take my husband and the boys anywhere in the world to live, I would take them right back home to Wisconsin. I'd show them what family was like for me, – when everyone chips in to help everyone, all the time. Where people actually sit together to eat. Where if someone is pissed at you, they just get over it and don't talk about it behind your back. Where no one appears to be out for themselves, but truly out for each other. And everyone in your family is close. And maybe then they could understand why the little things (which I am NOT going in to) upset me. I grew up knowing every one of my 60-some cousins. 10 Aunts and Uncles & their spouses (all of whom live very close to my mom except for 2). I'm sure it looks better to me because I'm not right in it, but I don't remember all of the drama that seems to be in the state of Virginia. I really don't. Are people from Wisconsin just more laid back? I think so. I'd so go back there in a heartbeat if I could. And I'd stay forever. Because it's there that I feel truly at home and truly loved by more people than just my husband and my son. And because I don't much care for Virginia.
I miss the snow and the cold (which is much better for my MS than heat). I miss White Christmases and wondering if there will be snow for Thanksgiving. I miss watching the Packers on TV and being able to see every game – not just one or two a year – without paying extra for it. I miss our State Fair – which was incredible compared to any one I've ever been to anywhere else. I miss the summer festivals at the lakefront, and all of the concerts that were within an hour's drive. And the cheese! Don't get me started on the cheese. And yes (sorry Gary and Bill) I miss the Miller products wherever I went. All prominent and happy – and if I ordered a "Lite" I got Miller Lite instead of blank stares and questions – or worse yet – a Bud. I miss the corner bakeries, the corner taverns. Ham & hard rolls every Sunday. Fish Fry Fridays. I miss the beautiful zoo with the polar bears. I miss being able to buy a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a week's worth of groceries and a Packer baseball hat all in one place. But mostly, I miss my family. With every ounce of my being. There's a hole in my heart, and it will possibly never be filled again because things change. People pass on and my mom won't always be there. And then I'm not sure how much it will feel like home when that happens.
I don't regret moving here. I had to. It was in my heart to do so and without it I wouldn't have my husband, my son or my stepson. I wouldn't change those things for the world. I would just change the location. I've often thought about trying to convince him that moving ½ way between was the way to go. That would put us in Ohio. But, because of his first son that will never happen unless the ex drops off the face of the earth, and then it's possible. Not probable, but possible.
And so, I will make the most of my life here because it's where I am meant to be and I need to make it my home. You'd think after 9 years that should have already been done! I will start my own traditions, and not give a shit who I piss off in the process (with the exception of Jerry & the boys). I want all of the major holidays to be my own, done how I want them and spent in a way that makes me happy. We're starting with Christmas this year. Next year, perhaps I'll include Easter. Eventually, everything will be at my house, just the way I want it. Because I'm selfish like that and I have come to detest most holidays because if I can't spend it at MY Mom's house, I don't want to go to anyone's Mom's house.
All this AND I got laid last night. And it was good! You jealous? I thought so.
Or maybe it's because the holidays are a brutal reminder that I will not be seeing my mom, my sister, or my niece and nephew in the near future. Nor anyone from my extended family. Just the in-laws. The biggest issue I have with them is the simple fact that they aren't MY family. I think I expanded upon this a bit over Thanksgiving and how I didn't want to go, yadda yadda yadda. Well, we're not going there on Christmas day – HOORAY!
So, I will cook my traditional Christmas morning breakfast, invite everyone in the known universe to come eat (Yes, you too! We start cooking around 8:00 – first round of food is usually done by 9:00 and we're eating until around noon!), a couple of people will show up and I'll have WAY more food than I know what to do with. And then, we'll sit around and play with the kids and their new toys. Why do I do this? Because it was my mom's tradition and I want it so much. She makes a HUGE breakfast on Christmas morning and throughout the morning, everyone we know who lives nearby stops in, grabs a bite to eat, and then moves on with their day. I so want that! Will it ever happen? Probably not. Here, everyone is too spread out. My neighbors who come every year are probably moving to Ohio early in 2007. They were the only ones who ever showed up. However, I think Sheryl is planning on stopping by this year and I'm trying to talk Kris(tin)(sy) into coming, at least for a little bit. And I have a renewed sense of excitement about it.
I think what's making this year even worse is the fact that for the last couple of years I've gone to see my mom in the fall and I haven't been to see her this year since July. And I have no plans in the works to go because I have no extra money for two tickets and, quite frankly, I'm tired & scared of flying. So the "Get Kim home to see her mom" fund is being started. You can send cash, checks, or I take credit cards. Or, if anyone from this area needs to get to the Midwest, we can carpool. I'm up for driving – the trip from here to Wisconsin can be quite entertaining if you know where to look – and I know where to look!
Perhaps another problem is that I'm being a pissy bitch and have refused to fill my Rx for my MS meds. I'm tired of taking shots – really I am. I'm tired of feeling like shit after taking them, I'm tired of the shot itself. I'm tired of the little knots under my skin they produce and the swelling and redness. I've not taken them since some time in September when I just up and stopped getting them refilled. I've since asked my doctor to rewrite the Rx, but I haven't called to set up delivery. I'm probably being a dumb ass about it, but if you've never been in a position where you have to give yourself shots, you wouldn't understand. It's twice as hard with MS because if you stop taking them, you generally don't have a noticeable decrease in functioning right away. And even when you're taking them, you can have exacerbations. So, you think "Why bother?" That, by the way, is a rhetorical question and yes, I know I need to get back on the meds, thank you for your concern.
If I could take my husband and the boys anywhere in the world to live, I would take them right back home to Wisconsin. I'd show them what family was like for me, – when everyone chips in to help everyone, all the time. Where people actually sit together to eat. Where if someone is pissed at you, they just get over it and don't talk about it behind your back. Where no one appears to be out for themselves, but truly out for each other. And everyone in your family is close. And maybe then they could understand why the little things (which I am NOT going in to) upset me. I grew up knowing every one of my 60-some cousins. 10 Aunts and Uncles & their spouses (all of whom live very close to my mom except for 2). I'm sure it looks better to me because I'm not right in it, but I don't remember all of the drama that seems to be in the state of Virginia. I really don't. Are people from Wisconsin just more laid back? I think so. I'd so go back there in a heartbeat if I could. And I'd stay forever. Because it's there that I feel truly at home and truly loved by more people than just my husband and my son. And because I don't much care for Virginia.
I miss the snow and the cold (which is much better for my MS than heat). I miss White Christmases and wondering if there will be snow for Thanksgiving. I miss watching the Packers on TV and being able to see every game – not just one or two a year – without paying extra for it. I miss our State Fair – which was incredible compared to any one I've ever been to anywhere else. I miss the summer festivals at the lakefront, and all of the concerts that were within an hour's drive. And the cheese! Don't get me started on the cheese. And yes (sorry Gary and Bill) I miss the Miller products wherever I went. All prominent and happy – and if I ordered a "Lite" I got Miller Lite instead of blank stares and questions – or worse yet – a Bud. I miss the corner bakeries, the corner taverns. Ham & hard rolls every Sunday. Fish Fry Fridays. I miss the beautiful zoo with the polar bears. I miss being able to buy a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a week's worth of groceries and a Packer baseball hat all in one place. But mostly, I miss my family. With every ounce of my being. There's a hole in my heart, and it will possibly never be filled again because things change. People pass on and my mom won't always be there. And then I'm not sure how much it will feel like home when that happens.
I don't regret moving here. I had to. It was in my heart to do so and without it I wouldn't have my husband, my son or my stepson. I wouldn't change those things for the world. I would just change the location. I've often thought about trying to convince him that moving ½ way between was the way to go. That would put us in Ohio. But, because of his first son that will never happen unless the ex drops off the face of the earth, and then it's possible. Not probable, but possible.
And so, I will make the most of my life here because it's where I am meant to be and I need to make it my home. You'd think after 9 years that should have already been done! I will start my own traditions, and not give a shit who I piss off in the process (with the exception of Jerry & the boys). I want all of the major holidays to be my own, done how I want them and spent in a way that makes me happy. We're starting with Christmas this year. Next year, perhaps I'll include Easter. Eventually, everything will be at my house, just the way I want it. Because I'm selfish like that and I have come to detest most holidays because if I can't spend it at MY Mom's house, I don't want to go to anyone's Mom's house.
All this AND I got laid last night. And it was good! You jealous? I thought so.
Not a sex blog - sorry
I've been in a funk since the beginning of December or more correctly, the end of November. Perhaps it's because since then, not a day has gone by that someone in my house hasn't been sick.
Or maybe it's because the holidays are a brutal reminder that I will not be seeing my mom, my sister, or my niece and nephew in the near future. Nor anyone from my extended family. Just the in-laws. The biggest issue I have with them is the simple fact that they aren't MY family. I think I expanded upon this a bit over Thanksgiving and how I didn't want to go, yadda yadda yadda. Well, we're not going there on Christmas day – HOORAY!
So, I will cook my traditional Christmas morning breakfast, invite everyone in the known universe to come eat (Yes, you too! We start cooking around 8:00 – first round of food is usually done by 9:00 and we're eating until around noon!), a couple of people will show up and I'll have WAY more food than I know what to do with. And then, we'll sit around and play with the kids and their new toys. Why do I do this? Because it was my mom's tradition and I want it so much. She makes a HUGE breakfast on Christmas morning and throughout the morning, everyone we know who lives nearby stops in, grabs a bite to eat, and then moves on with their day. I so want that! Will it ever happen? Probably not. Here, everyone is too spread out. My neighbors who come every year are probably moving to Ohio early in 2007. They were the only ones who ever showed up. However, I think Sheryl is planning on stopping by this year and I'm trying to talk Kris(tin)(sy) into coming, at least for a little bit. And I have a renewed sense of excitement about it.
I think what's making this year even worse is the fact that for the last couple of years I've gone to see my mom in the fall and I haven't been to see her this year since July. And I have no plans in the works to go because I have no extra money for two tickets and, quite frankly, I'm tired & scared of flying. So the "Get Kim home to see her mom" fund is being started. You can send cash, checks, or I take credit cards. Or, if anyone from this area needs to get to the Midwest, we can carpool. I'm up for driving – the trip from here to Wisconsin can be quite entertaining if you know where to look – and I know where to look!
Perhaps another problem is that I'm being a pissy bitch and have refused to fill my Rx for my MS meds. I'm tired of taking shots – really I am. I'm tired of feeling like shit after taking them, I'm tired of the shot itself. I'm tired of the little knots under my skin they produce and the swelling and redness. I've not taken them since some time in September when I just up and stopped getting them refilled. I've since asked my doctor to rewrite the Rx, but I haven't called to set up delivery. I'm probably being a dumb ass about it, but if you've never been in a position where you have to give yourself shots, you wouldn't understand. It's twice as hard with MS because if you stop taking them, you generally don't have a noticeable decrease in functioning right away. And even when you're taking them, you can have exacerbations. So, you think "Why bother?" That, by the way, is a rhetorical question and yes, I know I need to get back on the meds, thank you for your concern.
If I could take my husband and the boys anywhere in the world to live, I would take them right back home to Wisconsin. I'd show them what family was like for me, – when everyone chips in to help everyone, all the time. Where people actually sit together to eat. Where if someone is pissed at you, they just get over it and don't talk about it behind your back. Where no one appears to be out for themselves, but truly out for each other. And everyone in your family is close. And maybe then they could understand why the little things (which I am NOT going in to) upset me. I grew up knowing every one of my 60-some cousins. 10 Aunts and Uncles & their spouses (all of whom live very close to my mom except for 2). I'm sure it looks better to me because I'm not right in it, but I don't remember all of the drama that seems to be in the state of Virginia. I really don't. Are people from Wisconsin just more laid back? I think so. I'd so go back there in a heartbeat if I could. And I'd stay forever. Because it's there that I feel truly at home and truly loved by more people than just my husband and my son. And because I don't much care for Virginia.
I miss the snow and the cold (which is much better for my MS than heat). I miss White Christmases and wondering if there will be snow for Thanksgiving. I miss watching the Packers on TV and being able to see every game – not just one or two a year – without paying extra for it. I miss our State Fair – which was incredible compared to any one I've ever been to anywhere else. I miss the summer festivals at the lakefront, and all of the concerts that were within an hour's drive. And the cheese! Don't get me started on the cheese. And yes (sorry Gary and Bill) I miss the Miller products wherever I went. All prominent and happy – and if I ordered a "Lite" I got Miller Lite instead of blank stares and questions – or worse yet – a Bud. I miss the corner bakeries, the corner taverns. Ham & hard rolls every Sunday. Fish Fry Fridays. I miss the beautiful zoo with the polar bears. I miss being able to buy a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a week's worth of groceries and a Packer baseball hat all in one place. But mostly, I miss my family. With every ounce of my being. There's a hole in my heart, and it will possibly never be filled again because things change. People pass on and my mom won't always be there. And then I'm not sure how much it will feel like home when that happens.
I don't regret moving here. I had to. It was in my heart to do so and without it I wouldn't have my husband, my son or my stepson. I wouldn't change those things for the world. I would just change the location. I've often thought about trying to convince him that moving ½ way between was the way to go. That would put us in Ohio. But, because of his first son that will never happen unless the ex drops off the face of the earth, and then it's possible. Not probable, but possible.
And so, I will make the most of my life here because it's where I am meant to be and I need to make it my home. You'd think after 9 years that should have already been done! I will start my own traditions, and not give a shit who I piss off in the process (with the exception of Jerry & the boys). I want all of the major holidays to be my own, done how I want them and spent in a way that makes me happy. We're starting with Christmas this year. Next year, perhaps I'll include Easter. Eventually, everything will be at my house, just the way I want it. Because I'm selfish like that and I have come to detest most holidays because if I can't spend it at MY Mom's house, I don't want to go to anyone's Mom's house.
All this AND I got laid last night. And it was good! You jealous? I thought so.
Or maybe it's because the holidays are a brutal reminder that I will not be seeing my mom, my sister, or my niece and nephew in the near future. Nor anyone from my extended family. Just the in-laws. The biggest issue I have with them is the simple fact that they aren't MY family. I think I expanded upon this a bit over Thanksgiving and how I didn't want to go, yadda yadda yadda. Well, we're not going there on Christmas day – HOORAY!
So, I will cook my traditional Christmas morning breakfast, invite everyone in the known universe to come eat (Yes, you too! We start cooking around 8:00 – first round of food is usually done by 9:00 and we're eating until around noon!), a couple of people will show up and I'll have WAY more food than I know what to do with. And then, we'll sit around and play with the kids and their new toys. Why do I do this? Because it was my mom's tradition and I want it so much. She makes a HUGE breakfast on Christmas morning and throughout the morning, everyone we know who lives nearby stops in, grabs a bite to eat, and then moves on with their day. I so want that! Will it ever happen? Probably not. Here, everyone is too spread out. My neighbors who come every year are probably moving to Ohio early in 2007. They were the only ones who ever showed up. However, I think Sheryl is planning on stopping by this year and I'm trying to talk Kris(tin)(sy) into coming, at least for a little bit. And I have a renewed sense of excitement about it.
I think what's making this year even worse is the fact that for the last couple of years I've gone to see my mom in the fall and I haven't been to see her this year since July. And I have no plans in the works to go because I have no extra money for two tickets and, quite frankly, I'm tired & scared of flying. So the "Get Kim home to see her mom" fund is being started. You can send cash, checks, or I take credit cards. Or, if anyone from this area needs to get to the Midwest, we can carpool. I'm up for driving – the trip from here to Wisconsin can be quite entertaining if you know where to look – and I know where to look!
Perhaps another problem is that I'm being a pissy bitch and have refused to fill my Rx for my MS meds. I'm tired of taking shots – really I am. I'm tired of feeling like shit after taking them, I'm tired of the shot itself. I'm tired of the little knots under my skin they produce and the swelling and redness. I've not taken them since some time in September when I just up and stopped getting them refilled. I've since asked my doctor to rewrite the Rx, but I haven't called to set up delivery. I'm probably being a dumb ass about it, but if you've never been in a position where you have to give yourself shots, you wouldn't understand. It's twice as hard with MS because if you stop taking them, you generally don't have a noticeable decrease in functioning right away. And even when you're taking them, you can have exacerbations. So, you think "Why bother?" That, by the way, is a rhetorical question and yes, I know I need to get back on the meds, thank you for your concern.
If I could take my husband and the boys anywhere in the world to live, I would take them right back home to Wisconsin. I'd show them what family was like for me, – when everyone chips in to help everyone, all the time. Where people actually sit together to eat. Where if someone is pissed at you, they just get over it and don't talk about it behind your back. Where no one appears to be out for themselves, but truly out for each other. And everyone in your family is close. And maybe then they could understand why the little things (which I am NOT going in to) upset me. I grew up knowing every one of my 60-some cousins. 10 Aunts and Uncles & their spouses (all of whom live very close to my mom except for 2). I'm sure it looks better to me because I'm not right in it, but I don't remember all of the drama that seems to be in the state of Virginia. I really don't. Are people from Wisconsin just more laid back? I think so. I'd so go back there in a heartbeat if I could. And I'd stay forever. Because it's there that I feel truly at home and truly loved by more people than just my husband and my son. And because I don't much care for Virginia.
I miss the snow and the cold (which is much better for my MS than heat). I miss White Christmases and wondering if there will be snow for Thanksgiving. I miss watching the Packers on TV and being able to see every game – not just one or two a year – without paying extra for it. I miss our State Fair – which was incredible compared to any one I've ever been to anywhere else. I miss the summer festivals at the lakefront, and all of the concerts that were within an hour's drive. And the cheese! Don't get me started on the cheese. And yes (sorry Gary and Bill) I miss the Miller products wherever I went. All prominent and happy – and if I ordered a "Lite" I got Miller Lite instead of blank stares and questions – or worse yet – a Bud. I miss the corner bakeries, the corner taverns. Ham & hard rolls every Sunday. Fish Fry Fridays. I miss the beautiful zoo with the polar bears. I miss being able to buy a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a week's worth of groceries and a Packer baseball hat all in one place. But mostly, I miss my family. With every ounce of my being. There's a hole in my heart, and it will possibly never be filled again because things change. People pass on and my mom won't always be there. And then I'm not sure how much it will feel like home when that happens.
I don't regret moving here. I had to. It was in my heart to do so and without it I wouldn't have my husband, my son or my stepson. I wouldn't change those things for the world. I would just change the location. I've often thought about trying to convince him that moving ½ way between was the way to go. That would put us in Ohio. But, because of his first son that will never happen unless the ex drops off the face of the earth, and then it's possible. Not probable, but possible.
And so, I will make the most of my life here because it's where I am meant to be and I need to make it my home. You'd think after 9 years that should have already been done! I will start my own traditions, and not give a shit who I piss off in the process (with the exception of Jerry & the boys). I want all of the major holidays to be my own, done how I want them and spent in a way that makes me happy. We're starting with Christmas this year. Next year, perhaps I'll include Easter. Eventually, everything will be at my house, just the way I want it. Because I'm selfish like that and I have come to detest most holidays because if I can't spend it at MY Mom's house, I don't want to go to anyone's Mom's house.
All this AND I got laid last night. And it was good! You jealous? I thought so.
I'm not doing that and you can't make me
There are certain things that I simply have zero interest in trying sexually. As a woman in charge of my own sexuality, it's my right to decide what I will and won't allow to happen. To some, these acts may be highly arousing. Not for this chick. And now, an open discussion about what we just don't want to try.
1. Golden showers. Piss belongs in a toilet (or a diaper). It does not belong pooling in my belly button. It does not belong in my hair, nor on my face. And, it most certainly does not belong filling my mouth! Beer is the only golden liquid I'm interested in drinking.
2. Scat! If you're not talking about the card game, no thanks! Your fecal matter should never EVER touch any part of my body. It's bad enough when you're changing a kid's diaper and they wiggle too much and it touches your hand. I definitely do not want your crap on my boobs, or anywhere else on me for that matter. Leave the Cleveland (or Boston) steamers in Cleveland (or Boston).
3. Multiple partners at one time. This is just not going to happen. I'm a one man kind of gal. Now, I should specify that I mean multiple men. While I'm not really into chicks, I'm completely open to the IDEA of me, the man and a woman. Having said that, I'm not running out to find me some hot bitch to do my bidding. And I also need to clarify that should that ever occur, Big Daddy will not be allowed to lay a hand on the other woman. If I ever did it, it would be all for me.
4. The enjoyment of enemas. Ummmm...no. Having someone force liquid into my rectum is not my idea of a good time. I have no interest in delivering the enema either. I'd do it if it was medically necessary, and that's it. There would be no enjoyment in it, it would be something that HAS to be done.
5. The whole master-slave relationship. I know someone who has done this. She was the slave. There were rules and contracts and all kinds of crap I could never get in to. I remember her telling us about how she used to have to wear a butt plug all day, every day. She was "allowed" to take it out for 2 or 3 hours each day. Even while she was at work, she'd have to have it in, and he called her to check. That's too much control for me. And I wouldn't want to exert that control over another person. Oh, and I won't try a butt plug either. My butt is for exit only - nothing is going in there unless medically necessary AND I'm heavily sedated.
That's certainly only a partial list, but those are some of the biggest ones. What won't you try?
1. Golden showers. Piss belongs in a toilet (or a diaper). It does not belong pooling in my belly button. It does not belong in my hair, nor on my face. And, it most certainly does not belong filling my mouth! Beer is the only golden liquid I'm interested in drinking.
2. Scat! If you're not talking about the card game, no thanks! Your fecal matter should never EVER touch any part of my body. It's bad enough when you're changing a kid's diaper and they wiggle too much and it touches your hand. I definitely do not want your crap on my boobs, or anywhere else on me for that matter. Leave the Cleveland (or Boston) steamers in Cleveland (or Boston).
3. Multiple partners at one time. This is just not going to happen. I'm a one man kind of gal. Now, I should specify that I mean multiple men. While I'm not really into chicks, I'm completely open to the IDEA of me, the man and a woman. Having said that, I'm not running out to find me some hot bitch to do my bidding. And I also need to clarify that should that ever occur, Big Daddy will not be allowed to lay a hand on the other woman. If I ever did it, it would be all for me.
4. The enjoyment of enemas. Ummmm...no. Having someone force liquid into my rectum is not my idea of a good time. I have no interest in delivering the enema either. I'd do it if it was medically necessary, and that's it. There would be no enjoyment in it, it would be something that HAS to be done.
5. The whole master-slave relationship. I know someone who has done this. She was the slave. There were rules and contracts and all kinds of crap I could never get in to. I remember her telling us about how she used to have to wear a butt plug all day, every day. She was "allowed" to take it out for 2 or 3 hours each day. Even while she was at work, she'd have to have it in, and he called her to check. That's too much control for me. And I wouldn't want to exert that control over another person. Oh, and I won't try a butt plug either. My butt is for exit only - nothing is going in there unless medically necessary AND I'm heavily sedated.
That's certainly only a partial list, but those are some of the biggest ones. What won't you try?
What's under there?
Did I just make you say "under where?"
Happy Super Snatch Saturday to everyone. Blah. I had to bail on the Boobie-Palooza gathering, and I'm not happy about it. Long story, but let me just say I can think of no other place I'd rather be then hanging out with Chrissie, Nina, Kelly & SHERYL (and whoever else shows up.) Boo for me.
There are only 9 days until Christmas, and I've barely begun my Christmas shopping. Oh, the humanity! I suppose it could be worse. I could have none of my shopping done AND have no batteries for my toys. Now that would be a travesty.
And one more thing to ponder: Why is it when I pick a "MOOD" for my blog do I get some form of bouncing kitty? Is that MySpace's way of calling me a pussy?
I was sitting here this morning, drinking my coffee, wearing my powder blue bathrobe with the polar bears on it, and my thoughts instantly turned to underwear. Men's underwear. I wondered if I were a man, what kind of underwear would I choose to house my wedding tackle. I suppose it was Wildfire's blog about what she would worry about if she had a penis that set me on this path of personal discovery. The choices are fairly limited. I can tell you that boxer-briefs are probably what I would go with. I think they make the package look like something a woman would want to open. At least this woman. I figured every woman probably has her own preference. Here are the problems I see with some of the other choices:
Tighty Whities: OK, first, they're just not attractive. Similar in appearance to the dreaded "granny panties" women can wear. The biggest problem I see here, because I do laundry for 3 males, is that when a guy pees and then puts his tool away, if there is even the tiniest bit of anything left on the tip, it winds up putting a little yellow dot on the underwear. NICE. I'm not even going to mention the dangers of the ass end. Thankfully, only one person in this house wears those and he's 12. I don't think Jerry has ever worn these since I've met him.
Boxers: while they can be hot when your man's running around the house in nothing but these, they just seem to hang there. And when you shove that into pair of pants, there are inevitable the dreaded VPL (visible panty lines people!). It can make a man look like he's got a diaper on underneath his pants. And no matter how you slice it, that look is not attractive. Plus, all your junk is just dangling free with no support whatsoever. Doesn't that hurt?
Speedo-type bikinis for him. I'm sorry, this is just wrong. If you're not an Olympic swimmer/diver or a stripper, don't wear these. No offense men, but a very few people can pull these off successfully. Even if you have a perfect body, there's no mystery left. I like to imagine what's in there to some degree. I DON'T want to be able to see the shapes your pubic hair makes when it's flattened by spandex. Thanks, but no.
So that leaves me with boxer briefs, which I think are incredible sexy. They hug in all the right places, support the important stuff, smoothes out your ass in pants and yet leave plenty to the imagination.
So now it's time for you to spill it guys! What type of skivvies do you wear and why do you like them?
Ladies: What would YOU prefer to see a man in and why?
Happy Super Snatch Saturday to everyone. Blah. I had to bail on the Boobie-Palooza gathering, and I'm not happy about it. Long story, but let me just say I can think of no other place I'd rather be then hanging out with Chrissie, Nina, Kelly & SHERYL (and whoever else shows up.) Boo for me.
There are only 9 days until Christmas, and I've barely begun my Christmas shopping. Oh, the humanity! I suppose it could be worse. I could have none of my shopping done AND have no batteries for my toys. Now that would be a travesty.
And one more thing to ponder: Why is it when I pick a "MOOD" for my blog do I get some form of bouncing kitty? Is that MySpace's way of calling me a pussy?
I was sitting here this morning, drinking my coffee, wearing my powder blue bathrobe with the polar bears on it, and my thoughts instantly turned to underwear. Men's underwear. I wondered if I were a man, what kind of underwear would I choose to house my wedding tackle. I suppose it was Wildfire's blog about what she would worry about if she had a penis that set me on this path of personal discovery. The choices are fairly limited. I can tell you that boxer-briefs are probably what I would go with. I think they make the package look like something a woman would want to open. At least this woman. I figured every woman probably has her own preference. Here are the problems I see with some of the other choices:
Tighty Whities: OK, first, they're just not attractive. Similar in appearance to the dreaded "granny panties" women can wear. The biggest problem I see here, because I do laundry for 3 males, is that when a guy pees and then puts his tool away, if there is even the tiniest bit of anything left on the tip, it winds up putting a little yellow dot on the underwear. NICE. I'm not even going to mention the dangers of the ass end. Thankfully, only one person in this house wears those and he's 12. I don't think Jerry has ever worn these since I've met him.
Boxers: while they can be hot when your man's running around the house in nothing but these, they just seem to hang there. And when you shove that into pair of pants, there are inevitable the dreaded VPL (visible panty lines people!). It can make a man look like he's got a diaper on underneath his pants. And no matter how you slice it, that look is not attractive. Plus, all your junk is just dangling free with no support whatsoever. Doesn't that hurt?
Speedo-type bikinis for him. I'm sorry, this is just wrong. If you're not an Olympic swimmer/diver or a stripper, don't wear these. No offense men, but a very few people can pull these off successfully. Even if you have a perfect body, there's no mystery left. I like to imagine what's in there to some degree. I DON'T want to be able to see the shapes your pubic hair makes when it's flattened by spandex. Thanks, but no.
So that leaves me with boxer briefs, which I think are incredible sexy. They hug in all the right places, support the important stuff, smoothes out your ass in pants and yet leave plenty to the imagination.
So now it's time for you to spill it guys! What type of skivvies do you wear and why do you like them?
Ladies: What would YOU prefer to see a man in and why?
How I learned to love the jugs
Why do men & women adore breasts?
I had a conversation last night about hooters, boobies, bresticles, ta-tas, titties. Whatever you want to call them, I was talking about them.
Here's the deal: I, a completely heterosexual woman, love and adore women's breasts. I like to look at the different shapes & sizes. I'm fascinated how some women choose to display them while others hide them away, reserving them only for those they deem worthy. I also like to touch them. Not in the way that I'll walk up to a stranger on the street and grab their boobs. No, I must at least sort of know you to touch them and then only if you say it's ok. My husband's main concern is that if I'm touching them, he gets to be there to take pictures.
I don't like to touch them in a sexual way either (except my own). I like to compare and contrast their density, their smooshiness and their warmth. Incidentally, I generally ask afterwards about the bra that is being worn to showcase the ta-tas, just so I know what different ones feel and look like while on, as I am still looking for the perfect shelf to display my wares on. I'm really close, but there is some fine tuning that needs to be done.
I think that the majority of women can see the beauty in a woman's body, and I've written blogs about it. Not all of them will admit it because they are not secure enough in their own sexuality to do so, which is a shame, because women's bodies are much more beautiful than men's. Sorry guys.
It was last night when I came up with my theory about why most men and even heterosexual women adore breasts. It's really our mom's fault. You see, when you are born without serious complications to a willing mother, one of the first places that you are laid down is on your mother's bosom. She holds you and looks at you and smiles that smile that only a mother can understand. And all of that love that she had for you while you were still inside of her is displayed there in her bright smile, the tears in her eyes and the warmth of her breasts. Many babies' first few months of nourishment comes from the mother's breast, it's a source of goodness. Most babies enjoy sleeping snuggled up against a woman's breasts .. they are comfortable AND they can hear the heartbeat of the holder, which reminds them of the comforting sounds they heard in the womb.
When a toddler gets hurt, they go to their mother, and want to be held, burying their faces in her chest. Why? Because it's comforting. As they grow, they begin to turn their heads to the side, but still lay their head down on her natural pillows when they need a hug or need to be comforted.
Somewhere along the line, for boys and some girls, that "comfort" of mom's breasts turns into fascination with other women's hooters. Now, they start getting fun and interesting. As girls get their own set, they start to compare and contrast theirs with others and they become sexual tools. As they find their own breasts being ogled by young boys and young men (and some older ones) they discover that they wield great powers. And we all learn that there's enjoyment to be had in boobs.
So, what I'm saying is that the great majority of us get our start in breast appreciation because of our moms or the mother figures in our lives. It began as a source of comfort and even though we may not recognize the comfort factor as we're older, I think it's still there and a part of what makes them so amazingly beautiful.
My husband disagrees. His rebuttal to my argument last night: "I disagree. When I look at your boobs, I'm not comforted; I just want to fuck you."
While I was very flattered by that statement, I feared he missed my whole point .. that if it wasn't for his mother and her breasts being a source of comfort for him as an infant, he probably wouldn't like them as much. He still disagrees, but I'm sold on my theory.
What do you think?
I had a conversation last night about hooters, boobies, bresticles, ta-tas, titties. Whatever you want to call them, I was talking about them.
Here's the deal: I, a completely heterosexual woman, love and adore women's breasts. I like to look at the different shapes & sizes. I'm fascinated how some women choose to display them while others hide them away, reserving them only for those they deem worthy. I also like to touch them. Not in the way that I'll walk up to a stranger on the street and grab their boobs. No, I must at least sort of know you to touch them and then only if you say it's ok. My husband's main concern is that if I'm touching them, he gets to be there to take pictures.
I don't like to touch them in a sexual way either (except my own). I like to compare and contrast their density, their smooshiness and their warmth. Incidentally, I generally ask afterwards about the bra that is being worn to showcase the ta-tas, just so I know what different ones feel and look like while on, as I am still looking for the perfect shelf to display my wares on. I'm really close, but there is some fine tuning that needs to be done.
I think that the majority of women can see the beauty in a woman's body, and I've written blogs about it. Not all of them will admit it because they are not secure enough in their own sexuality to do so, which is a shame, because women's bodies are much more beautiful than men's. Sorry guys.
It was last night when I came up with my theory about why most men and even heterosexual women adore breasts. It's really our mom's fault. You see, when you are born without serious complications to a willing mother, one of the first places that you are laid down is on your mother's bosom. She holds you and looks at you and smiles that smile that only a mother can understand. And all of that love that she had for you while you were still inside of her is displayed there in her bright smile, the tears in her eyes and the warmth of her breasts. Many babies' first few months of nourishment comes from the mother's breast, it's a source of goodness. Most babies enjoy sleeping snuggled up against a woman's breasts .. they are comfortable AND they can hear the heartbeat of the holder, which reminds them of the comforting sounds they heard in the womb.
When a toddler gets hurt, they go to their mother, and want to be held, burying their faces in her chest. Why? Because it's comforting. As they grow, they begin to turn their heads to the side, but still lay their head down on her natural pillows when they need a hug or need to be comforted.
Somewhere along the line, for boys and some girls, that "comfort" of mom's breasts turns into fascination with other women's hooters. Now, they start getting fun and interesting. As girls get their own set, they start to compare and contrast theirs with others and they become sexual tools. As they find their own breasts being ogled by young boys and young men (and some older ones) they discover that they wield great powers. And we all learn that there's enjoyment to be had in boobs.
So, what I'm saying is that the great majority of us get our start in breast appreciation because of our moms or the mother figures in our lives. It began as a source of comfort and even though we may not recognize the comfort factor as we're older, I think it's still there and a part of what makes them so amazingly beautiful.
My husband disagrees. His rebuttal to my argument last night: "I disagree. When I look at your boobs, I'm not comforted; I just want to fuck you."
While I was very flattered by that statement, I feared he missed my whole point .. that if it wasn't for his mother and her breasts being a source of comfort for him as an infant, he probably wouldn't like them as much. He still disagrees, but I'm sold on my theory.
What do you think?
I'm pissed off
Psycho is not happy. Too many of Psycho's friends are unhappy, and this makes for an unhappy Psycho. Psycho needs to vent. Psycho will try to throw in a little sex for you who require it to make your day complete. However, this will not be a feel-good blog. You can tell when Psycho is mad because she refers to herself in the third person. AND she talks about golden showers, which is a big no-no for Psycho.
Fuckhead #1: Known only to me as some guy named "Thesis". I think I will refer to him from here on out as Dickless. Dickless has taken it upon himself to fill a very good person with the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard in my life. My take on him is that he enjoys making people feel like ass because he himself is an ass and couldn't get laid if his life depended on it. So instead of focusing on making himself a better person, he is focusing on making other people feel like less than they are and not worthy of anything that is good and right. Long story made short: My friend believes in God and Dickless basically told her that she was anti-Christ and a really bad person. I'm not sure what other shit he's filled her with, but it has caused her GREAT unhappiness and that's really not OK with me. In fact, I think should I ever encounter this person in any format, he will know that fucking with Psycho's friends has a price and that price involves public (as well as pubic) humiliation and shame. In reality, it wouldn't matter what I could do to him – he's a kooky cult leader who just needs to be exposed for the charlatan that he is. I would love to know *exactly* who it is, and am hopeful that my friend will share all of the sordid details so that we can take care of our own. After all, that's what psychos do. That's all I'm going to say about that. I'm a firm believer in everyone's right to choose what to believe in and it's not anyone else's business. She doesn't push her beliefs on anyone at all, so for this to happen to her, of all people, is senseless and asinine. This one is not open for comments regarding my friend's religious beliefs. Feel free to zing "Thesis" all you want though! He's dickless you know.
Fuckhead #2: Whoever that woman was who cut me off on the way to work today. Not ONLY did the bitch pull out in front of me causing me to slam on my breaks, but then she drove 30 MPH in a fucking 45 MPH zone. Then, she got on the highway in front of me. I got around her and went about my merry way until the 95 interchange and what does the bitch do? Speeds up, then cuts across 3 lanes, cutting me off once again, to get on the 895 toll bridge. This caused me to tap my breaks, which caused the guy who was following way too closely behind me to slam on his and almost rear-end me. I was cussing quite loudly at her the entire rest of my trip to work. Someone should piss on her today. That would be fitting.
Fuckhead #3: Kanye West for pissing off Evel Knievel. I mean come on – It's the big EK and he's almost 70 for Christ's sake! "That video that Kanye West put out is the most worthless piece of crap I've ever seen in my life, and he uses my image to catapult himself on the public," the 68-year-old daredevil said Tuesday. GO EVEL! You da man! He's suing Mr. West by the way. Apparently, he's not cool with Kanye assuming the persona of "Evel Kanyevel". I wouldn't be either because everyone knows Evel Knievel hates black people.
Fuckheads #4 & #5: The guy in the office next to me who thinks I give a shit about his latest gadget that he spent some obscene amount of money on. I told him that was great and then wondered out loud if I could get the money from my flexible reimbursement account in time to buy my son a matchbox car for Christmas. Of course, I was being sarcastic and he didn't get it, choosing instead to explain to me that they offer direct deposit so you don't have to wait for a check. Whatever. And the guy next to him who had to say the phrase "My 48-inch plasma TV" no less than 6 times in the 2 minute conversation we had. Obviously, it bothered him that I didn't acknowledge his precious TV. I ended the conversation by asking him if he had a big-screen TV. These 2 jokers are doctors and obviously think that their money should impress me, who is obviously of much lower social status than they are, and probably considered poor by their standards. The only good thing is that the one calls me "Princess" because he's giving me my props. That's the only smart thing about him. They should hurry up and have their pissing contest and get it over with.
Just a heads up: for all you British hookers out there, stay off the streets. There's a serial killer on the loose and if you're hooking out in the Ipswitch district, you could be next. And to those of you who wonder if I really have British hookers who read my blogs, I will just shrug my shoulders and say "you never know!"
One other newsflash worthy of mention here: A second Colorado evangelical leader in little over a month has resigned from the pulpit over a scandal involving gay sex, church officials said on Tuesday. He is also guilty of harassing people via emails and personal messages. He goes by the name "Thesis." Hey! Wait a minute...
Have a great fucking day or die trying.
Fuckhead #1: Known only to me as some guy named "Thesis". I think I will refer to him from here on out as Dickless. Dickless has taken it upon himself to fill a very good person with the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard in my life. My take on him is that he enjoys making people feel like ass because he himself is an ass and couldn't get laid if his life depended on it. So instead of focusing on making himself a better person, he is focusing on making other people feel like less than they are and not worthy of anything that is good and right. Long story made short: My friend believes in God and Dickless basically told her that she was anti-Christ and a really bad person. I'm not sure what other shit he's filled her with, but it has caused her GREAT unhappiness and that's really not OK with me. In fact, I think should I ever encounter this person in any format, he will know that fucking with Psycho's friends has a price and that price involves public (as well as pubic) humiliation and shame. In reality, it wouldn't matter what I could do to him – he's a kooky cult leader who just needs to be exposed for the charlatan that he is. I would love to know *exactly* who it is, and am hopeful that my friend will share all of the sordid details so that we can take care of our own. After all, that's what psychos do. That's all I'm going to say about that. I'm a firm believer in everyone's right to choose what to believe in and it's not anyone else's business. She doesn't push her beliefs on anyone at all, so for this to happen to her, of all people, is senseless and asinine. This one is not open for comments regarding my friend's religious beliefs. Feel free to zing "Thesis" all you want though! He's dickless you know.
Fuckhead #2: Whoever that woman was who cut me off on the way to work today. Not ONLY did the bitch pull out in front of me causing me to slam on my breaks, but then she drove 30 MPH in a fucking 45 MPH zone. Then, she got on the highway in front of me. I got around her and went about my merry way until the 95 interchange and what does the bitch do? Speeds up, then cuts across 3 lanes, cutting me off once again, to get on the 895 toll bridge. This caused me to tap my breaks, which caused the guy who was following way too closely behind me to slam on his and almost rear-end me. I was cussing quite loudly at her the entire rest of my trip to work. Someone should piss on her today. That would be fitting.
Fuckhead #3: Kanye West for pissing off Evel Knievel. I mean come on – It's the big EK and he's almost 70 for Christ's sake! "That video that Kanye West put out is the most worthless piece of crap I've ever seen in my life, and he uses my image to catapult himself on the public," the 68-year-old daredevil said Tuesday. GO EVEL! You da man! He's suing Mr. West by the way. Apparently, he's not cool with Kanye assuming the persona of "Evel Kanyevel". I wouldn't be either because everyone knows Evel Knievel hates black people.
Fuckheads #4 & #5: The guy in the office next to me who thinks I give a shit about his latest gadget that he spent some obscene amount of money on. I told him that was great and then wondered out loud if I could get the money from my flexible reimbursement account in time to buy my son a matchbox car for Christmas. Of course, I was being sarcastic and he didn't get it, choosing instead to explain to me that they offer direct deposit so you don't have to wait for a check. Whatever. And the guy next to him who had to say the phrase "My 48-inch plasma TV" no less than 6 times in the 2 minute conversation we had. Obviously, it bothered him that I didn't acknowledge his precious TV. I ended the conversation by asking him if he had a big-screen TV. These 2 jokers are doctors and obviously think that their money should impress me, who is obviously of much lower social status than they are, and probably considered poor by their standards. The only good thing is that the one calls me "Princess" because he's giving me my props. That's the only smart thing about him. They should hurry up and have their pissing contest and get it over with.
Just a heads up: for all you British hookers out there, stay off the streets. There's a serial killer on the loose and if you're hooking out in the Ipswitch district, you could be next. And to those of you who wonder if I really have British hookers who read my blogs, I will just shrug my shoulders and say "you never know!"
One other newsflash worthy of mention here: A second Colorado evangelical leader in little over a month has resigned from the pulpit over a scandal involving gay sex, church officials said on Tuesday. He is also guilty of harassing people via emails and personal messages. He goes by the name "Thesis." Hey! Wait a minute...
Have a great fucking day or die trying.
68 is good too
I think I'm going to go with the 69 position today. Namely, how to make it more comfortable and enjoyable. I've been asked my opinion and am afraid that my distaste (no pun intended) for the position prohibited me from giving sage advice.
First, my thoughts: I'm not wild about that maneuver. I find it bothersome because I'm a mover & a squirmer. I don't like to be "confined" to one position very long. And when you're "doing the Pisces" (think about the astrological symbol for it if you're confused) you could seriously injure the other person if you're moving too much, possibly even kill them.
I have trouble concentrating when I'm being pleasured! I can't seem to make anything move, with the exception of the bottom half of my body. So, for me to try to suck dick while on the verge of an orgasm is a sad little adventure. I'll forget, his dick will just fall out of my mouth and land with a resounding "THUD" against his inner thigh and in the throes of passion, I'd probably wiggle my way into a position that makes it impossible for him to move and I'll suffocate him. He'll be thrashing around trying to get air and I'll be thinking "Awww yeah, he's really getting into it!" Whoops! Explain THAT to the paramedics, would ya? I can see the obit now: "Big Daddy left this world through an unfortunate muff diving accident."
Having said that, I'm looking for some suggestions to make this a more comfortable and therefore satisfying position for all involved. Go on, share! Teach me something new.
First, my thoughts: I'm not wild about that maneuver. I find it bothersome because I'm a mover & a squirmer. I don't like to be "confined" to one position very long. And when you're "doing the Pisces" (think about the astrological symbol for it if you're confused) you could seriously injure the other person if you're moving too much, possibly even kill them.
I have trouble concentrating when I'm being pleasured! I can't seem to make anything move, with the exception of the bottom half of my body. So, for me to try to suck dick while on the verge of an orgasm is a sad little adventure. I'll forget, his dick will just fall out of my mouth and land with a resounding "THUD" against his inner thigh and in the throes of passion, I'd probably wiggle my way into a position that makes it impossible for him to move and I'll suffocate him. He'll be thrashing around trying to get air and I'll be thinking "Awww yeah, he's really getting into it!" Whoops! Explain THAT to the paramedics, would ya? I can see the obit now: "Big Daddy left this world through an unfortunate muff diving accident."
Having said that, I'm looking for some suggestions to make this a more comfortable and therefore satisfying position for all involved. Go on, share! Teach me something new.
Monday, December 11, 2006
There Oughtta be a Law!
I was reading a friend's blog today and something I read really upset me. Let me set the stage for you:
It was her birthday. She did not have a great day, but figured the best way to end a hectic day was for some private time with her favorite vibrator. She goes to get it and...it's gone! Yes, it was kidnapped from her secret hiding place. There was no ransom note, no warning, nothing. It was just gone. Taken by, a jealous man who was more than likely upset that he couldn't compete with the intellectualism or conversational abilities of a purple vibrator.
If that were me, a sudden, unexplained death may be in order. That might sound a bit harsh, but you don't take orgasm material away from a psycho. It just shouldn't happen. I think my friend should call the police and report her joystick as stolen. After all, it's her possession and someone took it without her knowledge or permission. Isn't that what stealing is?
As all things that make me angry have a tendency to do, this one got me thinking about all kinds of other sexual travesties that are perpetrated on women and men, without their knowledge or desire.
Of course there's one big one that, IMHO, should be punishable by immediate death or dismemberment (and I'm not talking about a hand here): rape.
But what of the other things that happen? What about those things that are, apparently, above the law? I know you're all wondering what the hell I could be talking about, and as luck would have it, I'm in the mood to share today. SO, here are some sexual offenses that should be punishable by something equally heinous.
1) Shooting your load in her before she has even had a single orgasm. Guys, this is just pathetic. We've covered it before, many times. It just goes without saying that if we're the ones who are playing hostess for your pecker party, we should get some pleasure out of it. And if you're not certain if we O'd, just ask. Don't assume that because there was screaming, panting, moaning, OH GOD-ing that we came. It just means that whatever you were doing felt good. And because the majority of women do not have vaginal orgasms, if all you're doing is pumping it in and out, she's not coming. She's making YOU feel like you're doing a good job. Don't get me wrong, it feels fantastic when you're screwing us. It's very pleasurable. Just not always orgasm inducing. If all you want is a hole to stick it in, without offering any satisfaction in return for her, buy the flesh light, pussy in a can, or use your hand.
2) Giving your partner an unexpected gift - an STD. Now, of course when you first get into a relationship, you don't always know if you're infected with something. Common sense will tell you if you haven't been wrapping that rascal before inserting it that you should be fully checked out before dipping in someone else's fondue pot. But not everyone thinks like that. That's not really excusable, but it is the ONLY time that there can be and defense for this. If you're in a relationship and one of you suddenly ends up with the clap, someone is not being faithful. What makes this even worse is when the offender tries to blame the victim. There are several ways this happens:
A. They try to say the victim is the one who had an affair. I got news for you people. The person who didn't cheat KNOWS that they didn't cheat. They don't have to prove it to you. And the cheater also KNOWS that they cheated. This is THE single worst argument you can have for giving your partner herpes, genital warts and the like.
B. They say that if their partner was more giving, caring, loving, whatever, that they wouldn't have gone out looking for it elsewhere. And therefore, if they didn't have to look, they wouldn't have found and there would have been no sex, no STD, no problem. Don't blame it on the other person. Things happen, own up to it, deal with it. The bottom line is for whatever reason the unfaithful person was unfaithful. And worse yet, you've now given them an STD that THEY will have to explain to any other relationship partner they may have in the future. Not that you care, but I'm just saying. I had a friend in this situation. She was married for 8 years. She went in for her yearly exam and lo and behold! Chlamydia AND gonorrhea. There's a gift for you. Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary. They're divorced now, by the way.
3) Stealing or otherwise rendering a vibrator (or a any other sex toy) unusable because you're a selfish prick. If you view a sex toy as competition, what does that say about your abilities as a human to provide companionship? Have a little more self esteem. Sex toys = good, clean, safe fun (as long as you're not sharing them). Sex toys do not = replacement for conversation, sharing a life, etc. They fill a need, bridge a gap (fill a gap!).
4) "Whoops! It slipped!" is not an excuse for unauthorized anal entry. It doesn't just "slip" in there. That's a tight little hole, unless it's used often and then this isn't so much of an issue. You've got to work it to get it in there. It doesn't just slip in. Sorry - try again. This time, without lying or sticking your dick up my ass, fucker.
There are probably many more things that should be punishable offenses, but I'm going to stop here. Because I'm at work and getting pissed off.
And to my friend: Steal his credit card. Buy the most exotic, expensive new vibrator you can find. (I have several suggestions if you'd like.) Stick him with the bill. Call it restitution. All's fair in love & war, right? Well, this is war now. He crossed the line by taking Barney. Fuck him. Fuck him right in the ear.
It was her birthday. She did not have a great day, but figured the best way to end a hectic day was for some private time with her favorite vibrator. She goes to get it and...it's gone! Yes, it was kidnapped from her secret hiding place. There was no ransom note, no warning, nothing. It was just gone. Taken by, a jealous man who was more than likely upset that he couldn't compete with the intellectualism or conversational abilities of a purple vibrator.
If that were me, a sudden, unexplained death may be in order. That might sound a bit harsh, but you don't take orgasm material away from a psycho. It just shouldn't happen. I think my friend should call the police and report her joystick as stolen. After all, it's her possession and someone took it without her knowledge or permission. Isn't that what stealing is?
As all things that make me angry have a tendency to do, this one got me thinking about all kinds of other sexual travesties that are perpetrated on women and men, without their knowledge or desire.
Of course there's one big one that, IMHO, should be punishable by immediate death or dismemberment (and I'm not talking about a hand here): rape.
But what of the other things that happen? What about those things that are, apparently, above the law? I know you're all wondering what the hell I could be talking about, and as luck would have it, I'm in the mood to share today. SO, here are some sexual offenses that should be punishable by something equally heinous.
1) Shooting your load in her before she has even had a single orgasm. Guys, this is just pathetic. We've covered it before, many times. It just goes without saying that if we're the ones who are playing hostess for your pecker party, we should get some pleasure out of it. And if you're not certain if we O'd, just ask. Don't assume that because there was screaming, panting, moaning, OH GOD-ing that we came. It just means that whatever you were doing felt good. And because the majority of women do not have vaginal orgasms, if all you're doing is pumping it in and out, she's not coming. She's making YOU feel like you're doing a good job. Don't get me wrong, it feels fantastic when you're screwing us. It's very pleasurable. Just not always orgasm inducing. If all you want is a hole to stick it in, without offering any satisfaction in return for her, buy the flesh light, pussy in a can, or use your hand.
2) Giving your partner an unexpected gift - an STD. Now, of course when you first get into a relationship, you don't always know if you're infected with something. Common sense will tell you if you haven't been wrapping that rascal before inserting it that you should be fully checked out before dipping in someone else's fondue pot. But not everyone thinks like that. That's not really excusable, but it is the ONLY time that there can be and defense for this. If you're in a relationship and one of you suddenly ends up with the clap, someone is not being faithful. What makes this even worse is when the offender tries to blame the victim. There are several ways this happens:
A. They try to say the victim is the one who had an affair. I got news for you people. The person who didn't cheat KNOWS that they didn't cheat. They don't have to prove it to you. And the cheater also KNOWS that they cheated. This is THE single worst argument you can have for giving your partner herpes, genital warts and the like.
B. They say that if their partner was more giving, caring, loving, whatever, that they wouldn't have gone out looking for it elsewhere. And therefore, if they didn't have to look, they wouldn't have found and there would have been no sex, no STD, no problem. Don't blame it on the other person. Things happen, own up to it, deal with it. The bottom line is for whatever reason the unfaithful person was unfaithful. And worse yet, you've now given them an STD that THEY will have to explain to any other relationship partner they may have in the future. Not that you care, but I'm just saying. I had a friend in this situation. She was married for 8 years. She went in for her yearly exam and lo and behold! Chlamydia AND gonorrhea. There's a gift for you. Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary. They're divorced now, by the way.
3) Stealing or otherwise rendering a vibrator (or a any other sex toy) unusable because you're a selfish prick. If you view a sex toy as competition, what does that say about your abilities as a human to provide companionship? Have a little more self esteem. Sex toys = good, clean, safe fun (as long as you're not sharing them). Sex toys do not = replacement for conversation, sharing a life, etc. They fill a need, bridge a gap (fill a gap!).
4) "Whoops! It slipped!" is not an excuse for unauthorized anal entry. It doesn't just "slip" in there. That's a tight little hole, unless it's used often and then this isn't so much of an issue. You've got to work it to get it in there. It doesn't just slip in. Sorry - try again. This time, without lying or sticking your dick up my ass, fucker.
There are probably many more things that should be punishable offenses, but I'm going to stop here. Because I'm at work and getting pissed off.
And to my friend: Steal his credit card. Buy the most exotic, expensive new vibrator you can find. (I have several suggestions if you'd like.) Stick him with the bill. Call it restitution. All's fair in love & war, right? Well, this is war now. He crossed the line by taking Barney. Fuck him. Fuck him right in the ear.
It's all in how you say it
I woke up this morning feeling a bit refreshed after my shit day yesterday. I have to admit that I have a great husband who did my grocery shopping, cooked dinner AND cleaned up afterwards, just to help me out. Ain't love grand?
He hinted around that he'd like some special time and I had to tell him that I was out of commission. (There's no lovin' for the psycho while bleeding from her snatch.) Now, there's never a good way to tell him, because I'm not the type of girl who can just say "it's my time of the month". I have to use creative euphemisms to get my point across. And while I think they're creative, he's not always in agreement with me. Last night's choice:
I rubbed my stomach, lovingly and said "I'm with tampon."
This got me thinking about the silly things we say in life to describe things that people around us may not want to talk about, or don't want to talk about in the technical sense, or it's just not appropriate to say in public. So, we make it funny. Instead of saying "I have to have a bowel movement" we say things like "I have to take a grumpy."
At some point in life, people stopped saying "fart" and turned it into "toot" or "poot". I say "ripped one" because I was brought up by a woman who had 8 brothers - farts were funny. To me, they still are. I can't help it. There's nothing like a game of "Pull my finger" to break the ice at a social event.
"I need to pee" has been changed to "Use the ladies room" or "Tinkle". Not me, I need to "piss like a racehorse".
We don't dine, we eat. We don't get inebriated, we get tanked, drunk, or sloshed. We don't write commentary on MySpace, we blog.
We have little phrases for sexual things too:
Women don't fellate our men, we give them blow jobs (which has absolutely NOTHING to do with blowing). Incidentally, the phrase "blow job" comes from jazz musicians in the 1950's who referred to fellatio as 'playing the skin flute'. It's the act of sucking or licking a man's penis and you "blow" into a flute to play it so hence the name "blow job".
Men don't perform cunnilingus on their women, they eat them out (first coined in 1927!). Again, they aren't really eating, and if they are, there's a problem. "Hey, let's have intercourse!" Is not a common phrase in a household, but "I'm gonna get me some" is.
My vagina is a snatch, a cunt, a pussy, or any one of a wide variety of other terms meant to make it sound more sultry, or perhaps more innocent.
A penis is a dick, cock, prick and the like. Sex is getting laid, fucking, screwing.
Let's face it - correct words are boring, non-descript and a lot less fun. I don't know about you, but if given a choice, I'd rather give my husband a blow job while he eats me out and then we can fuck like rabbits instead of performing fellatio on him while he performs cunnilingus and then we have intercourse.
It's all about what sounds fun and exciting as opposed to boring and technical. See which gets a woman laid quicker:
If she tells a man she wants him to insert his penis into her vagina and have sexual intercourse, or is she suggests that he ram his dick in her pussy and fucks her ALL night long. I'm betting on the second one. That's what I'd prefer.
He hinted around that he'd like some special time and I had to tell him that I was out of commission. (There's no lovin' for the psycho while bleeding from her snatch.) Now, there's never a good way to tell him, because I'm not the type of girl who can just say "it's my time of the month". I have to use creative euphemisms to get my point across. And while I think they're creative, he's not always in agreement with me. Last night's choice:
I rubbed my stomach, lovingly and said "I'm with tampon."
This got me thinking about the silly things we say in life to describe things that people around us may not want to talk about, or don't want to talk about in the technical sense, or it's just not appropriate to say in public. So, we make it funny. Instead of saying "I have to have a bowel movement" we say things like "I have to take a grumpy."
At some point in life, people stopped saying "fart" and turned it into "toot" or "poot". I say "ripped one" because I was brought up by a woman who had 8 brothers - farts were funny. To me, they still are. I can't help it. There's nothing like a game of "Pull my finger" to break the ice at a social event.
"I need to pee" has been changed to "Use the ladies room" or "Tinkle". Not me, I need to "piss like a racehorse".
We don't dine, we eat. We don't get inebriated, we get tanked, drunk, or sloshed. We don't write commentary on MySpace, we blog.
We have little phrases for sexual things too:
Women don't fellate our men, we give them blow jobs (which has absolutely NOTHING to do with blowing). Incidentally, the phrase "blow job" comes from jazz musicians in the 1950's who referred to fellatio as 'playing the skin flute'. It's the act of sucking or licking a man's penis and you "blow" into a flute to play it so hence the name "blow job".
Men don't perform cunnilingus on their women, they eat them out (first coined in 1927!). Again, they aren't really eating, and if they are, there's a problem. "Hey, let's have intercourse!" Is not a common phrase in a household, but "I'm gonna get me some" is.
My vagina is a snatch, a cunt, a pussy, or any one of a wide variety of other terms meant to make it sound more sultry, or perhaps more innocent.
A penis is a dick, cock, prick and the like. Sex is getting laid, fucking, screwing.
Let's face it - correct words are boring, non-descript and a lot less fun. I don't know about you, but if given a choice, I'd rather give my husband a blow job while he eats me out and then we can fuck like rabbits instead of performing fellatio on him while he performs cunnilingus and then we have intercourse.
It's all about what sounds fun and exciting as opposed to boring and technical. See which gets a woman laid quicker:
If she tells a man she wants him to insert his penis into her vagina and have sexual intercourse, or is she suggests that he ram his dick in her pussy and fucks her ALL night long. I'm betting on the second one. That's what I'd prefer.
Lesbians ate my Amish Pancakes & Other Sordid Tales
I'm so fucking sleep deprived. I went to bed shortly before 10 last night because I was tired. I had trouble falling asleep, and when I did finally doze off, I had a couple of freaky dreams, including one about opening up a pancake house that was frequented ONLY by lesbians. My son decided that 3:30 AM was a great time to wake up and nothing I did could make him go back to sleep. So, I finally gave in at 4:45 and got up.
So, in my lesbian pancake dream, I owned an all night pancake house that served nothing but pancakes. Just pancakes - plain ones. No blueberries or chocolate chips. Just plain old pancakes & syrup. No side dishes. The only drinks I served were coffee, water and orange juice. And in my infinite wisdom that I always have in my dreams, I decided that the Amish would make the best fucking pancakes ever. And I hired them as my cooks. I had 5 of them, all women. All of my wait staff were overweight, out of work wanna-be actors who often broke into monologues while serving the lesbians. And then, there were the bus boys. In my dream, they were all children. They provided the comic relief and yelled things like "The lesbians at table 6 need more pancakes - STAT!" And all of the bus-children called me "Mumma", like they were from the back woods of West Virginia. And the place was always packed to capacity - with lesbians. No one else ever came in. Or if they did, they pretended to be lesbians. Nothing really happened in my dream - just the workings of the pancake house. I don't even know what the name of it was. Perhaps it was a sign that this is what I should be doing with my time. Perhaps it was the fact that all I had for dinner was some toast.
And then there was this dream: I was walking down a street carrying a toy shovel and pail. The pail was filled with staples that go in a staple gun. And I was walking past houses where everyone was out on their porch. Those who were sitting, I waved to and smiled. If they were standing, I darted up to their porch, pushed them down into a chair or a swing and then took out a staple and used the shovel to pound the staple through their pants - I was stapling them to the chair or swing so that they couldn't get up. And no, they weren't all lesbians. I woke up from this dream laying on my right side. My right hand was holding my left boob. My left hand was grasping my left ass cheek. I don't know if that is related to my dreams in any way - but I noticed it.
I've often wondered if somewhere there is a church where all of the parishoners are homosexual and they preach that heterosexual people are evil. And if there is, are they struggling with whether or not to finally allow heterosexuals into their churches?
I want to know if the person who came up with the idea of Clifford the Big Red Dog was on drugs when they came up with the idea of a giant fucking RED dog.
I wonder what time is "normal" for a 3 year old kid to go to bed and how long he should be napping for. I don't think this current schedule is working for me.
I wish we could do away with Daylight Savings time and just let whatever happens with the time happen. I hate the changing of the clocks - I'm convinced that is what screws up people's sleep patterns. It starts when you're a kid and it never ends. You just get more and more fucked up because 2 days a year, there are NOT 24 hours in a day.
I think I need to make some more coffee. I also think I need to set aside some time today for the Venus Butterfly II. My little purple butterfly friend needs some love. Maybe I'll take her to the grocery store with me. THAT would be a wildly fun trip. I'd be standing there, picking out vegetables, flip the switch and have an orgasm right there by the broccoli. Then, I'd watch and see how many people who were in the general area at the time go over to get some broccoli because I made it look so appealing. And then, the store would hire me to have orgasms in front of whatever food it is they wanted to sell a lot of that day. I'd be a natural at that. And perhaps it would enable me to make a little extra money to save up for the pancake house and a real staple gun.
So, those are my thoughts on this cold, sleepy, Saturday morning. Here's hoping for a great day - and an opportunity for a nap.
So, in my lesbian pancake dream, I owned an all night pancake house that served nothing but pancakes. Just pancakes - plain ones. No blueberries or chocolate chips. Just plain old pancakes & syrup. No side dishes. The only drinks I served were coffee, water and orange juice. And in my infinite wisdom that I always have in my dreams, I decided that the Amish would make the best fucking pancakes ever. And I hired them as my cooks. I had 5 of them, all women. All of my wait staff were overweight, out of work wanna-be actors who often broke into monologues while serving the lesbians. And then, there were the bus boys. In my dream, they were all children. They provided the comic relief and yelled things like "The lesbians at table 6 need more pancakes - STAT!" And all of the bus-children called me "Mumma", like they were from the back woods of West Virginia. And the place was always packed to capacity - with lesbians. No one else ever came in. Or if they did, they pretended to be lesbians. Nothing really happened in my dream - just the workings of the pancake house. I don't even know what the name of it was. Perhaps it was a sign that this is what I should be doing with my time. Perhaps it was the fact that all I had for dinner was some toast.
And then there was this dream: I was walking down a street carrying a toy shovel and pail. The pail was filled with staples that go in a staple gun. And I was walking past houses where everyone was out on their porch. Those who were sitting, I waved to and smiled. If they were standing, I darted up to their porch, pushed them down into a chair or a swing and then took out a staple and used the shovel to pound the staple through their pants - I was stapling them to the chair or swing so that they couldn't get up. And no, they weren't all lesbians. I woke up from this dream laying on my right side. My right hand was holding my left boob. My left hand was grasping my left ass cheek. I don't know if that is related to my dreams in any way - but I noticed it.
I've often wondered if somewhere there is a church where all of the parishoners are homosexual and they preach that heterosexual people are evil. And if there is, are they struggling with whether or not to finally allow heterosexuals into their churches?
I want to know if the person who came up with the idea of Clifford the Big Red Dog was on drugs when they came up with the idea of a giant fucking RED dog.
I wonder what time is "normal" for a 3 year old kid to go to bed and how long he should be napping for. I don't think this current schedule is working for me.
I wish we could do away with Daylight Savings time and just let whatever happens with the time happen. I hate the changing of the clocks - I'm convinced that is what screws up people's sleep patterns. It starts when you're a kid and it never ends. You just get more and more fucked up because 2 days a year, there are NOT 24 hours in a day.
I think I need to make some more coffee. I also think I need to set aside some time today for the Venus Butterfly II. My little purple butterfly friend needs some love. Maybe I'll take her to the grocery store with me. THAT would be a wildly fun trip. I'd be standing there, picking out vegetables, flip the switch and have an orgasm right there by the broccoli. Then, I'd watch and see how many people who were in the general area at the time go over to get some broccoli because I made it look so appealing. And then, the store would hire me to have orgasms in front of whatever food it is they wanted to sell a lot of that day. I'd be a natural at that. And perhaps it would enable me to make a little extra money to save up for the pancake house and a real staple gun.
So, those are my thoughts on this cold, sleepy, Saturday morning. Here's hoping for a great day - and an opportunity for a nap.
Tagged - like a dead deer
Everyone and their mother tagged me for some crazy shit that I hate doing. Now it's my turn to write a blog about 10 weird things about me or habits I do. Then I have to tag 10 people. Then they do the same, and then their ten do, and soon all of MySpace is one great big sweaty quirky orgy of people talking about what makes them freaky, working themselves into a frenzy and masturbating when all is said and done.
Okay, I'm not really up for it and I refuse to tag anyone, but I'll play along because I'm at home, yet again, with a sick child who looks more like Rocky after a big fight than a 3 year old who likes Thomas.
So here are 10 freaky things about me:
1. I like to have my hair pulled. Not just during sex either. I think it feels good and stimulates my scalp. There are few things better than having someone take a handful of your hair and pull it. I'm freaky like that.
2. When I take a bath, I have to take a shower first. I cannot stand the thought of soaking in dirty water. Most of the time, after I take a bath, I take a shower again. You never know when some dirt might escape the first shower and invade your bath water.
3. I like mayo on my fries. I like ranch dressing on my onion rings. When I make a tuna sandwich, I mix mayo, dill, lemon juice and garlic into the tuna, spread it on bread and then put potato chips on my sandwich, so that it crunches. I like cheese & pickle sandwiches, on white bread only - with butter. Incidentally, I have a cholesterol problem. Go figure!
4. I think its funny when my kid farts, especially in the tub. He laughs every time too, which makes me laugh even harder. Jerry does not share this sense of humor.
5. I'm constantly miserable. My body hates the heat, but my mind adores and craves it. My body loves the cold but it makes my mind sad. If I could ever find a way to bring the two together at the same time, I may not need to masturbate any more. WHAT?!?!?!
6. I hate when people can't read my mind. I hate it even more when they don't even try. I am incapable of asking for help until I'm so flustered that I am in tears, and even then, I can't ask. I just bitch about how no one helps me. I think most people have a problem with sitting on their ass too much.
7. I have made up my own religion. It's based on Christianity, yet it's different. Agnostics and the like have a very difficult time trying to argue their views with me because the majority of what they dislike about Christianity, I hate as well. My religion's name is "Kimism" and I make the rules up as I go. It's based on the belief that our job here on earth is just to be the best person we can be. I refuse to believe that a God exists that would damn children for not being baptized. I also refuse to believe in a God that would allow any person who hurts a child into "heaven" if they are truly sorry afterwards. That, to me, is giving the thumbs up OK for people to be shitty to each other, even killing each other, as long as you're sorry before you croak.
8. I think it would be swell if there was a national holiday celebrating the orgasm. It should be on a Monday (because they suck) and all businesses (including the postal service and banks) should be closed. It should be celebrated and enjoyed and experienced fully. There should be cards and gifts and public displays of affection.
9. I believe in ghosts and spirits. I'm not sure I believe in the whole "they're stuck here" scenario, but it's possible. I think that they are wherever you go when you die and they have things that they want us to know. I think mostly they just comfort us. And I think we all have contact with them. Like when you're in a bad situation and suddenly for no reason at all, you feel comforted, or you have a great memory of something that makes you smile, even if for a second. I think that's them trying to help you get through whatever it was.
10. There are certain phrases people use that I cannot STAND! Kristin has asked me to make her a list of them so that she knows not to use them. Here's a short list:
"I can't live without you". Ummm, I beg to differ. You cannot live without food, water and oxygen. I'm none of those things.
"I'd be nothing without you." Geez, have some self respect and get a life. You'd still be human. And alive. And probably still an asshole.
"Mutha-Fucka" (or any other words for that matter) when said like you have a mouth full of food.
"Twenty-five cent" - put the fucking s on the end of that you uneducated hick. It's ONE CENT. Anything more than that is plural. And you don't AX someone a question - you ASK it. And you don't go to the LIE-BARRY - you go to the LIBRARY.
That's all I've got. Nothing else about me is freaky, quirky or odd. Except my boobs. And my stunning labia.
If you really want to do this, you can say I tagged you if you like. I'm good with that.
Okay, I'm not really up for it and I refuse to tag anyone, but I'll play along because I'm at home, yet again, with a sick child who looks more like Rocky after a big fight than a 3 year old who likes Thomas.
So here are 10 freaky things about me:
1. I like to have my hair pulled. Not just during sex either. I think it feels good and stimulates my scalp. There are few things better than having someone take a handful of your hair and pull it. I'm freaky like that.
2. When I take a bath, I have to take a shower first. I cannot stand the thought of soaking in dirty water. Most of the time, after I take a bath, I take a shower again. You never know when some dirt might escape the first shower and invade your bath water.
3. I like mayo on my fries. I like ranch dressing on my onion rings. When I make a tuna sandwich, I mix mayo, dill, lemon juice and garlic into the tuna, spread it on bread and then put potato chips on my sandwich, so that it crunches. I like cheese & pickle sandwiches, on white bread only - with butter. Incidentally, I have a cholesterol problem. Go figure!
4. I think its funny when my kid farts, especially in the tub. He laughs every time too, which makes me laugh even harder. Jerry does not share this sense of humor.
5. I'm constantly miserable. My body hates the heat, but my mind adores and craves it. My body loves the cold but it makes my mind sad. If I could ever find a way to bring the two together at the same time, I may not need to masturbate any more. WHAT?!?!?!
6. I hate when people can't read my mind. I hate it even more when they don't even try. I am incapable of asking for help until I'm so flustered that I am in tears, and even then, I can't ask. I just bitch about how no one helps me. I think most people have a problem with sitting on their ass too much.
7. I have made up my own religion. It's based on Christianity, yet it's different. Agnostics and the like have a very difficult time trying to argue their views with me because the majority of what they dislike about Christianity, I hate as well. My religion's name is "Kimism" and I make the rules up as I go. It's based on the belief that our job here on earth is just to be the best person we can be. I refuse to believe that a God exists that would damn children for not being baptized. I also refuse to believe in a God that would allow any person who hurts a child into "heaven" if they are truly sorry afterwards. That, to me, is giving the thumbs up OK for people to be shitty to each other, even killing each other, as long as you're sorry before you croak.
8. I think it would be swell if there was a national holiday celebrating the orgasm. It should be on a Monday (because they suck) and all businesses (including the postal service and banks) should be closed. It should be celebrated and enjoyed and experienced fully. There should be cards and gifts and public displays of affection.
9. I believe in ghosts and spirits. I'm not sure I believe in the whole "they're stuck here" scenario, but it's possible. I think that they are wherever you go when you die and they have things that they want us to know. I think mostly they just comfort us. And I think we all have contact with them. Like when you're in a bad situation and suddenly for no reason at all, you feel comforted, or you have a great memory of something that makes you smile, even if for a second. I think that's them trying to help you get through whatever it was.
10. There are certain phrases people use that I cannot STAND! Kristin has asked me to make her a list of them so that she knows not to use them. Here's a short list:
"I can't live without you". Ummm, I beg to differ. You cannot live without food, water and oxygen. I'm none of those things.
"I'd be nothing without you." Geez, have some self respect and get a life. You'd still be human. And alive. And probably still an asshole.
"Mutha-Fucka" (or any other words for that matter) when said like you have a mouth full of food.
"Twenty-five cent" - put the fucking s on the end of that you uneducated hick. It's ONE CENT. Anything more than that is plural. And you don't AX someone a question - you ASK it. And you don't go to the LIE-BARRY - you go to the LIBRARY.
That's all I've got. Nothing else about me is freaky, quirky or odd. Except my boobs. And my stunning labia.
If you really want to do this, you can say I tagged you if you like. I'm good with that.
Do it for your CUNTry
There comes a time in every woman's life when she has to take stock of her life and ask herself some very important questions. Possibly, the most important question she can ask is: Do I have orgasms often enough?
The answer: probably not!
How much is enough? Well, I'm a firm believer that every woman should have a minimum of three orgasms per day, more if opportunities present themselves.
Now men, as has been discussed many times over, the majority of women do not have vaginal orgasms. What does this mean for you? Be sure you fully pleasure your woman during foreplay to the point of multiple orgasms. It's really not that tough. Use the 1-2-3 method. It goes like this:
1. Bring her to orgasm with your hands first. The right combination of finger movements can get a woman squirming like a snake in the grass. And, as good as is feels to have you rubbing on her bean, know that you should prolong the pleasure. Bring her to the edge several times, ease up, perhaps dipping the fingers inside her treasure trove a few times before going back to her clit. She'll let you know when she's ready.
2. Next, use your mouth. Eat that pussy! Get in there and enjoy yourself. Again, a good combination is necessary here. Use whatever technique you may use that has good results. And ladies - speak up if something is just not working for you. Guide him gently in the direction you want his tongue (and hands) to go.
3. Bust out her favorite toy and use it on her. Experiment with it - find out what she likes and doesn't like. Find that right combination of buttons and movement that will both stimulate her clit and fill her twat with her own juices & overall goodness.
Guys, we like this kind of shit. TAKE YOUR TIME, enjoy it and ravage our entire body before sticking your dick in. Your needs are much more simple than ours. You need to have a warm, wet hole to stick your cock in. We need more than that. Make it worth our while and we'll be more likely to make it worth yours.
Now, it's your turn. We're much more likely to enjoy doing it when we're properly juiced up and have had the motor turned over a few times. Why? Because at that point, we've already had 3 delicious orgasms (Of course, if you're one of those bitches who enjoy vaginal orgasms on a regular basis, I am totally jealous (Jen Now with Wings) because you will get to have 4 or more following this method, that is if he's doing it right) and we're good and are finally interested in YOUR pleasure. We can give it our full attention and do our best to ensure that you enjoy yourself as much as we enjoyed ours.
And good god people - TALK TO EACH OTHER! Don't like it when he sticks his tongue in your ear? Suggest a better place for him to stick it! Want her to play with her own nipples? Tell her to! Want him to go faster? Slower? Yell it out! Want her to stimulate her own clit while you're screwing the shit out of her? Guide her hand there. Sex is as good as you make it, not only for each other, but for yourself.
Not sure what you like? Experiment on your own. Buy a good vibrator and see if you like it hard & fast, slow & steady, angled, deep thrusts, whatever. Perhaps you'll enjoy the sensation of having a rod (real or fake) slowly being pulled out of you, so that it almost slips out then thrust in hard, so you REALLY know it's there. Guys, they make items out there for you too - flesh lights, pussy in a can, etc. Get one. Practice. See what YOU like so you can try it out on a real live woman sometime.
And one last word of advice, best told from the viewpoint of the genius rockers, Tenacious D in their lyrics to "Fuck Her Gently":
You don't always have to fuck her hard, in fact sometimes that's not right to do
Sometimes you've got to make some love and fuckin' give her some smoochies too
Sometimes ya got to squeeze; Sometimes you've got to say please
Sometime you've got to say hey -
I'm gonna Fuck you softly
I'm gonna screw you gently
I'm gonna hump you sweetly
I'm gonna ball you discreetly
And then you say hey I bought you flowers
And then you say wait a minute, sorry
I think I got somethin' in my teeth, could you get it out for me?
That's fuckin' teamwork
What's your favorite posish?
That's cool with me, it's not my favorite but I'll do it for you
What's your favorite dish?
I'm not gonna cook it, but I'll order it from Zanzibar
And then I'm gonna love you completely
And then I'll fuckin' fuck you discreetly
And then I'll fucking bone you completely
But then I'm gonna fuck you hard
The answer: probably not!
How much is enough? Well, I'm a firm believer that every woman should have a minimum of three orgasms per day, more if opportunities present themselves.
Now men, as has been discussed many times over, the majority of women do not have vaginal orgasms. What does this mean for you? Be sure you fully pleasure your woman during foreplay to the point of multiple orgasms. It's really not that tough. Use the 1-2-3 method. It goes like this:
1. Bring her to orgasm with your hands first. The right combination of finger movements can get a woman squirming like a snake in the grass. And, as good as is feels to have you rubbing on her bean, know that you should prolong the pleasure. Bring her to the edge several times, ease up, perhaps dipping the fingers inside her treasure trove a few times before going back to her clit. She'll let you know when she's ready.
2. Next, use your mouth. Eat that pussy! Get in there and enjoy yourself. Again, a good combination is necessary here. Use whatever technique you may use that has good results. And ladies - speak up if something is just not working for you. Guide him gently in the direction you want his tongue (and hands) to go.
3. Bust out her favorite toy and use it on her. Experiment with it - find out what she likes and doesn't like. Find that right combination of buttons and movement that will both stimulate her clit and fill her twat with her own juices & overall goodness.
Guys, we like this kind of shit. TAKE YOUR TIME, enjoy it and ravage our entire body before sticking your dick in. Your needs are much more simple than ours. You need to have a warm, wet hole to stick your cock in. We need more than that. Make it worth our while and we'll be more likely to make it worth yours.
Now, it's your turn. We're much more likely to enjoy doing it when we're properly juiced up and have had the motor turned over a few times. Why? Because at that point, we've already had 3 delicious orgasms (Of course, if you're one of those bitches who enjoy vaginal orgasms on a regular basis, I am totally jealous (Jen Now with Wings) because you will get to have 4 or more following this method, that is if he's doing it right) and we're good and are finally interested in YOUR pleasure. We can give it our full attention and do our best to ensure that you enjoy yourself as much as we enjoyed ours.
And good god people - TALK TO EACH OTHER! Don't like it when he sticks his tongue in your ear? Suggest a better place for him to stick it! Want her to play with her own nipples? Tell her to! Want him to go faster? Slower? Yell it out! Want her to stimulate her own clit while you're screwing the shit out of her? Guide her hand there. Sex is as good as you make it, not only for each other, but for yourself.
Not sure what you like? Experiment on your own. Buy a good vibrator and see if you like it hard & fast, slow & steady, angled, deep thrusts, whatever. Perhaps you'll enjoy the sensation of having a rod (real or fake) slowly being pulled out of you, so that it almost slips out then thrust in hard, so you REALLY know it's there. Guys, they make items out there for you too - flesh lights, pussy in a can, etc. Get one. Practice. See what YOU like so you can try it out on a real live woman sometime.
And one last word of advice, best told from the viewpoint of the genius rockers, Tenacious D in their lyrics to "Fuck Her Gently":
You don't always have to fuck her hard, in fact sometimes that's not right to do
Sometimes you've got to make some love and fuckin' give her some smoochies too
Sometimes ya got to squeeze; Sometimes you've got to say please
Sometime you've got to say hey -
I'm gonna Fuck you softly
I'm gonna screw you gently
I'm gonna hump you sweetly
I'm gonna ball you discreetly
And then you say hey I bought you flowers
And then you say wait a minute, sorry
I think I got somethin' in my teeth, could you get it out for me?
That's fuckin' teamwork
What's your favorite posish?
That's cool with me, it's not my favorite but I'll do it for you
What's your favorite dish?
I'm not gonna cook it, but I'll order it from Zanzibar
And then I'm gonna love you completely
And then I'll fuckin' fuck you discreetly
And then I'll fucking bone you completely
But then I'm gonna fuck you hard
My Blog of Firsts
I got up this morning and just knew it was going to be a spectacular day. For some reason, I woke up with a clear memory in my head of something that happened nearly 10 years ago.
When I was about 16, my friend and I were out at a movie. As girls, we ALWAYS went to the bathroom together. So, we walk in and there is a woman standing in front of the mirror, feeling her hooters. We didn't say anything, but she turned to look at us and said, rather matter-of-factly "I'm checking for cancer." I instinctively reached for my crotch, gave it a rub and said "Yeah, so am I!" My friend and I cracked up laughing and the lady left disgusted. I think that was the first time I ever touched anything considered private in a public place. That's where my public displays of self-affection got their start - at a Marcus Theater.
This all got me thinking of other "firsts" I've had, that I can remember. I don't remember my first actual kiss with tongue with a man. I do, however, remember the first time I kissed another woman. We were at a bar and these guys wouldn't leave us alone. We were pretty drunk and stupid and thought "if they think we're lesbians, they'll leave us alone." So we told them that. And they didn't believe us. So, as natural as anything, we kissed. I remember thinking "huh - she's a good kisser, much better than any guy I've kissed thus far!". That was the night I realized that most men have fantasies about being involved with girl on girl on guy action and this behavior only encouraged them.
I remember the first time I tried a vibrator. Big Daddy bought it for me. It was The Beaver. I was afraid of it at first, but after about a minute, I was convinced it was the greatest thing in the world and every girl should have one. We referred to it as "The Beav" from that point on. I recommended it to everyone I came in contact with - that was the beginning of my toy obsession. The rest, as they say, is history.
I remember the first time I ever gave oral sex. It was hideous and I was mortified. I wasn't even interested in doing that. He just kind of shoved it right in my mouth and I didn't know what to do. I remember gagging, and I may have actually bit down. There was no orgasm, and I left very angry and pissed off because that did NOT occur on my terms. Then, my friend dated him and wanted to know if I thought he was the greatest guy in the world. Ummm...no! That was when I realized that I would never do anything I didn't totally want to do ever again. I also learned that teeth can bring any unwanted blow jobs to a screeching halt and will just about guarantee that the guy will never talk to you again.
Sad, but I don't remember the first time my snatch ever received a tongue lashing. Obviously, it didn't leave a lasting impression. Although I do remember the first time Big Daddy gave it to me. That was when I realized "I have to marry this man!" Incidentally, it was about the same time I decided that he had THE most talented fingers in the entire world.
I remember the dreaded day I lost my virginity. I don't think that the guy even realized he just popped my cherry. Prick. I told my friend about it and she said he didn't know because "he's got such a huge dick - it hurts everyone. It made me bleed and I've been around the block a few times." And I suddenly was no longer ticked that my flower had been picked by a guy who thought he was just pulling weeds. I was pissed that apparently EVERYONE else had him first. Fucker. I thought I was special. That was the day I realized that you really needed to reserve your twat for the special ones and make sure those who get a ride are truly deserving.
And because I know you care, there is one other day that I can recall with great fondness. I was in college and my roommate came running in from the shower with a look of panic on her face. She said "Kim! I need to ask you a favor - it's kind of gross." I, being the good person I was said "sure, what do you need?" She went on telling me this story about being in the shower, shaving the beaver when she cut herself. So, she did what she knows guys do when they cut themselves shaving - she wadded up some toilet paper and stuck it on her crotch. The problem was, when she tried to pull it off, she thinks it ripped her skin. Not only will the paper not come off, but she's bleeding a lot now. So, she laid on the bed and bared it all to me with her only request being "Get the toilet paper off of me." As she's laying there, I just started laughing. I remember saying "get your ass up, there's no toilet paper - your lips are just sagging." It was freaky looking. "Where is all the blood coming from?" she asked. I said, "I don't see any blood, and I'm not feeling around for it." She went back to the bathroom, embarrassed as can be. Later on, she told me how mortifying it was for her to have to show someone her goods like that. As for the blood - she got her period. As for me, that was the day I realized I had stunning labia.
And that completes my trip down memory lane. Now, you should share one of your firsts with me. It's only fair.
When I was about 16, my friend and I were out at a movie. As girls, we ALWAYS went to the bathroom together. So, we walk in and there is a woman standing in front of the mirror, feeling her hooters. We didn't say anything, but she turned to look at us and said, rather matter-of-factly "I'm checking for cancer." I instinctively reached for my crotch, gave it a rub and said "Yeah, so am I!" My friend and I cracked up laughing and the lady left disgusted. I think that was the first time I ever touched anything considered private in a public place. That's where my public displays of self-affection got their start - at a Marcus Theater.
This all got me thinking of other "firsts" I've had, that I can remember. I don't remember my first actual kiss with tongue with a man. I do, however, remember the first time I kissed another woman. We were at a bar and these guys wouldn't leave us alone. We were pretty drunk and stupid and thought "if they think we're lesbians, they'll leave us alone." So we told them that. And they didn't believe us. So, as natural as anything, we kissed. I remember thinking "huh - she's a good kisser, much better than any guy I've kissed thus far!". That was the night I realized that most men have fantasies about being involved with girl on girl on guy action and this behavior only encouraged them.
I remember the first time I tried a vibrator. Big Daddy bought it for me. It was The Beaver. I was afraid of it at first, but after about a minute, I was convinced it was the greatest thing in the world and every girl should have one. We referred to it as "The Beav" from that point on. I recommended it to everyone I came in contact with - that was the beginning of my toy obsession. The rest, as they say, is history.
I remember the first time I ever gave oral sex. It was hideous and I was mortified. I wasn't even interested in doing that. He just kind of shoved it right in my mouth and I didn't know what to do. I remember gagging, and I may have actually bit down. There was no orgasm, and I left very angry and pissed off because that did NOT occur on my terms. Then, my friend dated him and wanted to know if I thought he was the greatest guy in the world. Ummm...no! That was when I realized that I would never do anything I didn't totally want to do ever again. I also learned that teeth can bring any unwanted blow jobs to a screeching halt and will just about guarantee that the guy will never talk to you again.
Sad, but I don't remember the first time my snatch ever received a tongue lashing. Obviously, it didn't leave a lasting impression. Although I do remember the first time Big Daddy gave it to me. That was when I realized "I have to marry this man!" Incidentally, it was about the same time I decided that he had THE most talented fingers in the entire world.
I remember the dreaded day I lost my virginity. I don't think that the guy even realized he just popped my cherry. Prick. I told my friend about it and she said he didn't know because "he's got such a huge dick - it hurts everyone. It made me bleed and I've been around the block a few times." And I suddenly was no longer ticked that my flower had been picked by a guy who thought he was just pulling weeds. I was pissed that apparently EVERYONE else had him first. Fucker. I thought I was special. That was the day I realized that you really needed to reserve your twat for the special ones and make sure those who get a ride are truly deserving.
And because I know you care, there is one other day that I can recall with great fondness. I was in college and my roommate came running in from the shower with a look of panic on her face. She said "Kim! I need to ask you a favor - it's kind of gross." I, being the good person I was said "sure, what do you need?" She went on telling me this story about being in the shower, shaving the beaver when she cut herself. So, she did what she knows guys do when they cut themselves shaving - she wadded up some toilet paper and stuck it on her crotch. The problem was, when she tried to pull it off, she thinks it ripped her skin. Not only will the paper not come off, but she's bleeding a lot now. So, she laid on the bed and bared it all to me with her only request being "Get the toilet paper off of me." As she's laying there, I just started laughing. I remember saying "get your ass up, there's no toilet paper - your lips are just sagging." It was freaky looking. "Where is all the blood coming from?" she asked. I said, "I don't see any blood, and I'm not feeling around for it." She went back to the bathroom, embarrassed as can be. Later on, she told me how mortifying it was for her to have to show someone her goods like that. As for the blood - she got her period. As for me, that was the day I realized I had stunning labia.
And that completes my trip down memory lane. Now, you should share one of your firsts with me. It's only fair.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Day out with Thomas!!
I'm back! We had a marvelous time in Lancaster Co, PA for the Day Out With Thomas. First a HUGE thank you to Lori for letting me in on this little secret. And now, a photo journey of a sweet boy's present for his 3rd birthday. (And a little sompin' for mommy too...)
So, I may have mentioned we did this all for Josh's 3rd Birthday (it's tomorrow). His most favorite toys and shows on earth are Thomas the Tank Engine. At 3, that boy knows more about how trains work than I ever did. Anyhow, enough about that - bring on the photos!
So, before we even got to the railroad station, one of Josh's "must do's" happened. We parked in satellite parking and he got to ride on a real school bus to get there. He was so excited!
He was announcing, very excitedly, to everyone that he was going to meet Thomas. As we're pulling up to the station, out the window you could see - you guessed it - Thomas! Josh was standing on my lap to see out the window and when he saw Thomas let out this squeal that would rival any girl. We get off the bus and were greeted by this:
The excitement is building now. Josh notices all of the trains in the yard, not just Thomas. And even though they didn't have faces, he claimed they were characters from the show. "There's Toby! And Diesel! That's Skarloey!" It was priceless I tell ya!
Made our way to our first stop - riding on the train pulled by Thomas.
First, there were lines, but we could see the train. Josh and big brother, Dakota were waiting so patiently.
Even though these were NOT the coaches from the show, Josh informed us all that we were riding on one of Thomas' coaches, "Annie."
So we got on and found our seats.
Then, they began playing the Thomas theme song...
And we sang along.
And we were off on our 20 minute train ride. When we got off of the train, we finally got to see Thomas up close, and even stopped for a picture, Grammy included.
And yes, Daddy was there - I have proof!
There were lots of opportunities to view Thomas - and we did!
We made our way into the Thomas store to buy presents from both grandmas - it was a madhouse, but we got everything we wanted and headed out.
Josh really didn't want to leave, but we had to be getting on the road. He said goodbye to the railroad station & trains and then we headed home.
I must say, we were not able to view Sir Topham Hatt, as it was getting late and I couldn't find him. When someone told me where he was, it was too late to go and we had to head home. However, I was able to get me a little Hatt, dry humping and all:
Overall, I enjoyed the trip and would do it again in a heartbeat. I would do several things differently (get there earlier so we could see and do more. OR take Monday off of work so we could stay longer. OR go on a Saturday instead of a Sunday.
I can honestly say, the sheer joy I felt being able to take my son to do something like this was incredible. It never mattered that the drive was 4 1/2 hours without stops for a 20 minute ride on a train. It didn't matter that I was tired and worn out from the driving. It didn't matter that the hotel beds were hard as a rock, or that we didn't get a chance to go swimming, or go to any of the Amish stores. Nothing mattered but seeing this:
There is nothing better in the world than knowing that you were able to give a child that kind of facial expression for an entire day.
When all was said and done, we were happy to be home, even Josh who went straight to his favorite toy
and played with it until it was time to go to bed.
Hope you all had a fantastic weekend.
Let's play dress up!
I was going to write about men's rectal health today, but decided I will hold off on it until next week sometime. (Sorry Jerry, I know you were looking forward to it.) Instead, I feel the overwhelming urge to pour my heart into something much more feel-good (not that a hand up your ass doesn't feel good to some people). An exercise in self-exploration & fantasy. This will be best illustrated with my own personal examples, and I encourage you to share yours, openly and freely with every person who may happen across this particular blog. Don't be shy. It's not like there are thousands of people peering into your life. It's just me and a couple of friends. That's all.
I think everyone should don a costume, at least once, for the sole purpose of getting laid. It would be even more fun if both of you dressed up and did a little role playing. Here are some examples to get you rolling (roleing?):
Her: a princess
Him: an auto mechanic
Why: What girl hasn't wanted to get taken by a really hot, auto mechanic right after he's just giving her a lube job and keeps making references to "what's under your hood." Ah yes, she in the beautiful satin gown, him in the coveralls with grease and oil all over his hands. As he grabs her hips to pull her closer and leaves a giant grease stain on the side of the dress. When the dress is crumpled on the floor, it'll look SO HOT with the giant black grease smudges all over it.
Her: a soccer mom
Him: a biker
Why: These two are polar opposities. Basing this one solely on stereo types, soccer moms would be more repressed, quiet and proper while a biker would be more laid back, loud and just enough naughty to get her started. This is especially cool if you have access to a motorcycle to fuck on. Maybe biker dude can tear her clothes off of her, liberate her and make her feel like a real woman.
Her: A rich bitch in fuzzy slippers and satin robe
Him: A pool boy or a gardner
Why: Again, a very common fantasy for the ladies - not only to have someone doing work for you, but then when no one is around, he just has to have her. Forbidden love at it's finest!
Her: a young paper boy
Him: a Catholic priest
Sorry, just had to get that in there.
Of course, the list goes on and on:
Nurse/Accident victim
School girl/Head Master
Native American girl/Pilgrim or Cowboy
I think if everyone dressed up as someone else and had wild, raucous sex once a week, you would find that your sex life improved & there would be a lot less anger in the world. You might even try some new moves. Who knows! You might enjoy have a thumb rammed up your ass while having a fantastical orgasm of mystical proportions. You might find that you relish a good spanking every now and again. You may find that it's not such a bad idea to get taken from behind when you bend over to unload the dishwasher.
And if you think your partner won't go for it, here's the sure-fire way to get him/her to play along. Get home before your partner. Make arrangements to be child free. Get into your costume and lay on the bed. When he/she comes in, beckon them to the bedroom. Use whatever ploy necessary to get them to play along.
In my house, it'd go like this: I'd be masturbating when he walks in and sees me, suddenly stop, put my finger in my mouth, and tell him if he wants any more, he best change into the clothes laid out for him in the bathroom.
Men, it's much easier for you - just tell her you want to eat her out but won't do it until she changes. We don't need to see anything to get in the mood - we need the thoughts of a good tongue lashing from you. Every girl likes to squirm a bit from the tongue-in-cooch scenario.
So come on now, share with me! Tell me what you or your partner have dressed up as in the past for some raunchy sex. If you've never dressed up for it, what would be your ideal scene?
I think everyone should don a costume, at least once, for the sole purpose of getting laid. It would be even more fun if both of you dressed up and did a little role playing. Here are some examples to get you rolling (roleing?):
Her: a princess
Him: an auto mechanic
Why: What girl hasn't wanted to get taken by a really hot, auto mechanic right after he's just giving her a lube job and keeps making references to "what's under your hood." Ah yes, she in the beautiful satin gown, him in the coveralls with grease and oil all over his hands. As he grabs her hips to pull her closer and leaves a giant grease stain on the side of the dress. When the dress is crumpled on the floor, it'll look SO HOT with the giant black grease smudges all over it.
Her: a soccer mom
Him: a biker
Why: These two are polar opposities. Basing this one solely on stereo types, soccer moms would be more repressed, quiet and proper while a biker would be more laid back, loud and just enough naughty to get her started. This is especially cool if you have access to a motorcycle to fuck on. Maybe biker dude can tear her clothes off of her, liberate her and make her feel like a real woman.
Her: A rich bitch in fuzzy slippers and satin robe
Him: A pool boy or a gardner
Why: Again, a very common fantasy for the ladies - not only to have someone doing work for you, but then when no one is around, he just has to have her. Forbidden love at it's finest!
Her: a young paper boy
Him: a Catholic priest
Sorry, just had to get that in there.
Of course, the list goes on and on:
Nurse/Accident victim
School girl/Head Master
Native American girl/Pilgrim or Cowboy
I think if everyone dressed up as someone else and had wild, raucous sex once a week, you would find that your sex life improved & there would be a lot less anger in the world. You might even try some new moves. Who knows! You might enjoy have a thumb rammed up your ass while having a fantastical orgasm of mystical proportions. You might find that you relish a good spanking every now and again. You may find that it's not such a bad idea to get taken from behind when you bend over to unload the dishwasher.
And if you think your partner won't go for it, here's the sure-fire way to get him/her to play along. Get home before your partner. Make arrangements to be child free. Get into your costume and lay on the bed. When he/she comes in, beckon them to the bedroom. Use whatever ploy necessary to get them to play along.
In my house, it'd go like this: I'd be masturbating when he walks in and sees me, suddenly stop, put my finger in my mouth, and tell him if he wants any more, he best change into the clothes laid out for him in the bathroom.
Men, it's much easier for you - just tell her you want to eat her out but won't do it until she changes. We don't need to see anything to get in the mood - we need the thoughts of a good tongue lashing from you. Every girl likes to squirm a bit from the tongue-in-cooch scenario.
So come on now, share with me! Tell me what you or your partner have dressed up as in the past for some raunchy sex. If you've never dressed up for it, what would be your ideal scene?
Get that prickly thing outta my face.
I woke up this morning with an overwhelming desire to champion a new cause. No, I'm not giving up the masturbation movement, so don't yank the egg out just yet!
What I'm about to tell you may shock you (well, not this group, but it might shock an innocent passer-by). You may read this and decide that you're never going to read anything I write again. You may read it and think I'm a total lunatic. But maybe, just maybe, you'll read this and say "Fuckin' A!" I think you'll be "Fuckin' A-ing". I really do. It's a dirty little secret and no one wants to talk about it, but I just have to. Allow me to set the mood:
Yes, we're really going to talk about ass hair. Here's the thing - EVERYONE has ass hair. Some people leave it, some remove it. No one shapes it.
If you're going to shave your ass - be sure that it's smooth the next time I touch it or I'm not touching it anymore & I certainly don't want to see that shit naked. (and NO, this is not a problem with my husband - I'm just saying, that's all).
I, personally, think that unless you're traipsing around in a thong bathing suit, you should just leave it alone. I, personally, don't give a shit what you've got on your ass, as long as it's clean & doesn't hurt me. In the same respect if you're sleeping next to me, and we're both nude, and I roll over and my ass brushes up against yours, I better not get fucking razor burn.
So, guys, not only does it not feel good, it doesn't look good either. I remember when one of my cousins turned 21, we got a male stripper for her. He comes in and does his dance and shakes his hot little ass right in my face. At first I'm thinking *nice!* But then - oh, what the fuck is that?? WHAT IS ALL OVER HIS ASS?? Upon closer inspection - razor burn. Yes, he shaved his ass and irritated the skin so badly (girls, like when you shave your snatch without proper pre-treatment of some type) that there were little red bumps all over the place. I thought maybe he wore diapers. However, after speaking to my cousin she noticed while he was bumping and grinding his pimply butt up against her that it was "pokey & prickly" as she put it.
I don't know about you, but if there's any chance that I'm going to be shakin' my money maker all up in someone's face, that bitch is going to be smooth as a baby's ass. Did he not care? Was it just an unfortunate accident? While I understand the need to have a smooth ass when you're stripping, does it make sense to try new products or a new hair removal technique right before you're scheduled to bare it? Do that shit on your week off. Don't stick your pokey rash-laden ass in my face. Thanks - I'll pass on the ham.
Guys, before you get all offended, picture this. You're really into this chick who happens to have fantastic legs (like me). You've been eyeing them up all evening, just waiting to run your hands all over them. So, you're sitting next to her and you reach down and lightly touch her ankle. You begin running your hand up the outside of her calf - mmmm smooth, soft, gorgeous. You make it up to her knee. Will she allow your advance? God, you hope so! Amazingly, she parts her legs just a little bit so that if you keep on going, you'll reach her snatch in all it's glory. As you move up past her knee, you trail your finger tips across her inner thigh. As you snake your fingers up to get a feel in on the honey pot, OUCH! Did she just poke your finger? Try again - SHIT. That was like being stabbed by a needle. Damn, she shaved her cooch and she's not been good about upkeep. It is no longer a shaved beaver, but a porcupine. Would you rub on or go down on a porcupine? Of course not. I don't want to touch one either.
SO, my question for you today is this:
Ass hair: What should men do with it? What should women do with it? What do YOU do with it?
What I'm about to tell you may shock you (well, not this group, but it might shock an innocent passer-by). You may read this and decide that you're never going to read anything I write again. You may read it and think I'm a total lunatic. But maybe, just maybe, you'll read this and say "Fuckin' A!" I think you'll be "Fuckin' A-ing". I really do. It's a dirty little secret and no one wants to talk about it, but I just have to. Allow me to set the mood:
Ladies, you're with a man and things are going well. You move to the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, whatever and the clothes start dropping. You feel his muscular chest, he grabs your ass. You go to return the favor and move your hand over his ass, only to recoil in horror because...
are you ready for it?
Yes, we're really going to talk about ass hair. Here's the thing - EVERYONE has ass hair. Some people leave it, some remove it. No one shapes it.
If you're going to shave your ass - be sure that it's smooth the next time I touch it or I'm not touching it anymore & I certainly don't want to see that shit naked. (and NO, this is not a problem with my husband - I'm just saying, that's all).
I, personally, think that unless you're traipsing around in a thong bathing suit, you should just leave it alone. I, personally, don't give a shit what you've got on your ass, as long as it's clean & doesn't hurt me. In the same respect if you're sleeping next to me, and we're both nude, and I roll over and my ass brushes up against yours, I better not get fucking razor burn.
So, guys, not only does it not feel good, it doesn't look good either. I remember when one of my cousins turned 21, we got a male stripper for her. He comes in and does his dance and shakes his hot little ass right in my face. At first I'm thinking *nice!* But then - oh, what the fuck is that?? WHAT IS ALL OVER HIS ASS?? Upon closer inspection - razor burn. Yes, he shaved his ass and irritated the skin so badly (girls, like when you shave your snatch without proper pre-treatment of some type) that there were little red bumps all over the place. I thought maybe he wore diapers. However, after speaking to my cousin she noticed while he was bumping and grinding his pimply butt up against her that it was "pokey & prickly" as she put it.
I don't know about you, but if there's any chance that I'm going to be shakin' my money maker all up in someone's face, that bitch is going to be smooth as a baby's ass. Did he not care? Was it just an unfortunate accident? While I understand the need to have a smooth ass when you're stripping, does it make sense to try new products or a new hair removal technique right before you're scheduled to bare it? Do that shit on your week off. Don't stick your pokey rash-laden ass in my face. Thanks - I'll pass on the ham.
Guys, before you get all offended, picture this. You're really into this chick who happens to have fantastic legs (like me). You've been eyeing them up all evening, just waiting to run your hands all over them. So, you're sitting next to her and you reach down and lightly touch her ankle. You begin running your hand up the outside of her calf - mmmm smooth, soft, gorgeous. You make it up to her knee. Will she allow your advance? God, you hope so! Amazingly, she parts her legs just a little bit so that if you keep on going, you'll reach her snatch in all it's glory. As you move up past her knee, you trail your finger tips across her inner thigh. As you snake your fingers up to get a feel in on the honey pot, OUCH! Did she just poke your finger? Try again - SHIT. That was like being stabbed by a needle. Damn, she shaved her cooch and she's not been good about upkeep. It is no longer a shaved beaver, but a porcupine. Would you rub on or go down on a porcupine? Of course not. I don't want to touch one either.
SO, my question for you today is this:
Ass hair: What should men do with it? What should women do with it? What do YOU do with it?
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Overheard in an Elevator
First and foremost, *HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISSIE!*
My son calls police cars "The Po-Po". I'm so proud. He's got a black & white mini cooper toy that he calls Po-Po. I'm teaching him such wholesome, good things, aren't I?
As I was coming to work today, I overheard a conversation in the elevator. I generally tune out people in the elevator (sometimes even those I'm traveling with). However, this conversation held my interest. When these two ladies (Let's call them Alice & Flo) got on the elevator, they were already mid-conversation. So, I have NO idea what they were talking about. Here's what I can tell you:
Alice's sister (we'll call her Rhoda) lives in California, but was in town for Thanksgiving. She brought along a friend (we'll call her "Beth"). Now, here's how the conversation played out:
Alice: "So then, we're all sitting there around the dinner table and she decides to tell the whole story so everyone could hear it."
Flo: (sounding mortified) "She told it at the dinner table?"
Alice: "Yes, can you believe it? So she's talking about how Beth didn't just stick her hand inside, but her entire arm. And they thought it was gettin' stuck."
Flo: "I still can't believe she told you all that at dinner!"
Alice: "Well you know Rhoda. Ever since she moved in with that friend of hers, she's been trying all kinds of new things. I asked her if it hurt."
Flo: "If what hurt?"
Alice: "Having her whole arm in there."
Flo: "I'll bet it did. It had to."
And then, the doors opened on my floor. I thought about ignoring it and riding up a bit higher to get some more info, but I was already running late. So, my mind being what it is, I have decided that Beth and Rhoda are not only room mates, but lesbian lovers. And that Beth stuck not just her hand but her entire arm up Rhoda's cooch.
This has left a lasting impression in my brain and I can't get rid of it. I've tried everything I could think of to clense myself from this image, and I just can't do it. So, I thought I'd write about it. And see if that could wash the mental picture away. It hasn't helped thus far. So, what I need from you is this. PLEASE describe to me something else they may have been talking about to help erase this from my mind. Thanks. I owe you one.
My son calls police cars "The Po-Po". I'm so proud. He's got a black & white mini cooper toy that he calls Po-Po. I'm teaching him such wholesome, good things, aren't I?
As I was coming to work today, I overheard a conversation in the elevator. I generally tune out people in the elevator (sometimes even those I'm traveling with). However, this conversation held my interest. When these two ladies (Let's call them Alice & Flo) got on the elevator, they were already mid-conversation. So, I have NO idea what they were talking about. Here's what I can tell you:
Alice's sister (we'll call her Rhoda) lives in California, but was in town for Thanksgiving. She brought along a friend (we'll call her "Beth"). Now, here's how the conversation played out:
Alice: "So then, we're all sitting there around the dinner table and she decides to tell the whole story so everyone could hear it."
Flo: (sounding mortified) "She told it at the dinner table?"
Alice: "Yes, can you believe it? So she's talking about how Beth didn't just stick her hand inside, but her entire arm. And they thought it was gettin' stuck."
Flo: "I still can't believe she told you all that at dinner!"
Alice: "Well you know Rhoda. Ever since she moved in with that friend of hers, she's been trying all kinds of new things. I asked her if it hurt."
Flo: "If what hurt?"
Alice: "Having her whole arm in there."
Flo: "I'll bet it did. It had to."
And then, the doors opened on my floor. I thought about ignoring it and riding up a bit higher to get some more info, but I was already running late. So, my mind being what it is, I have decided that Beth and Rhoda are not only room mates, but lesbian lovers. And that Beth stuck not just her hand but her entire arm up Rhoda's cooch.
This has left a lasting impression in my brain and I can't get rid of it. I've tried everything I could think of to clense myself from this image, and I just can't do it. So, I thought I'd write about it. And see if that could wash the mental picture away. It hasn't helped thus far. So, what I need from you is this. PLEASE describe to me something else they may have been talking about to help erase this from my mind. Thanks. I owe you one.
Clean up your snACTch
Going for your yearly pap smear doesn't have to be a drag. I don't mind it at all. It gives me a chance to banter with my favorite doctor of all time, and he makes the whole uncomfortable situation much more enjoyable. Perhaps that's because I gussy up the beaver before going in. I figure the poor guy has to look at these things all day, the majority of which are probably unkempt and maybe not smelling so fresh. My theory is if there is any way to make his job more appealing, then he will do his best to ensure that my mind isn't focused on the fact that he'll be sticking a metal duckbill in my crotch and opening me up for everyone to view my cervix. As a result, he's very kind and not impersonal with me, and we tell jokes and laugh and I giggle. It's sort of like having your old college roommate performing your yearly exam and pap smear. Here are some tips to make it more pleasant for your GYN, which in turn make it more pleasant for you.
Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder
When you're gearing up to head for your yearly, do your GYN a favor: don't let a man drop his load in you within 24 hours of your appointment. No one likes sticking their hand in a box of donuts only to find that one of the cream filled varieties has exploded inside, leaving creamy goodness all over everything in the box. Show your GYN the same courtesy you'd show breakfast guests. Keep the box free of cream.
A little snip will do ya.
Trim it up! Don't make him/her trample through the bush to get at what (s)he needs to. It's not a scavenger hunt for your GYN. It's their job. Make it easy on 'em. Whether you trim it, shave it, wax it, shape it, whatever, do it before you go. It not only makes the job easier, it makes it more interesting. Look at it this way: when you go to a museum, do you want every exhibit to look exactly the same with the exception of color? I think not! You'd get bored after 10 or 15 minutes and wouldn't really pay that much attention anymore. If your doc isn't paying attention to your cha-cha, it's going to be even more uncomfortable for you, I guarantee it!
Clean up your act
So, you've abstained from sex, you've gotten a haircut, now you need to wash it up. This is best done via a hot bath with some yummy scented bubbles or bath salts. Let it soak for awhile. After all, it's cooped up in your pants most of the time.
The scent of a woman
You shouldn't need any perfumes or scented lotions, unless you normally stank. In which case, find a light fragrance. Don't make your GYN think that his/her grandmother just walked in the room. And PLEASE remember that perfume does not smell the same to everyone. Just because you like it, doesn't mean other people will. Also realize that the act of being on your kitty alters the smell. Because it mixes with your natural aroma and in the end, it may smell like Grandma bathed in Cody Wild Musk or Jean Nate. Ewwww.
Let it breathe
After you've done all of the above, don't smother it in your panties. Go without. Wear loose fitting clothes - a simple flirty skirt would work perfectly. You don't want all your hard work to be wasted because you crammed your stuff into panties and got sweaty walking from the parking lot to the office. You know the drill - an ounce of prevention, blah blah blah.
Make it shine!
Be sure to convey that your twat is well loved and likes to look pretty. You can give it some help in that area. Put some glitter in your body powder. Use a giant makeup brush (or powder puff) to dab the special mixture on your cooch. This way, you will be remembered as "the patient with the sparkly snatch." Fair warning: they may put it in your chart. Besides, sparkles always make people smile.
And that is how one should go about making the experience of a yearly pap smear a more enjoyable one for all involved. If it's good for the GYN, it's going to be better for you! Try it next time. See what happens. It may just be the most enjoyable doctor visit ever.
Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder
When you're gearing up to head for your yearly, do your GYN a favor: don't let a man drop his load in you within 24 hours of your appointment. No one likes sticking their hand in a box of donuts only to find that one of the cream filled varieties has exploded inside, leaving creamy goodness all over everything in the box. Show your GYN the same courtesy you'd show breakfast guests. Keep the box free of cream.
A little snip will do ya.
Trim it up! Don't make him/her trample through the bush to get at what (s)he needs to. It's not a scavenger hunt for your GYN. It's their job. Make it easy on 'em. Whether you trim it, shave it, wax it, shape it, whatever, do it before you go. It not only makes the job easier, it makes it more interesting. Look at it this way: when you go to a museum, do you want every exhibit to look exactly the same with the exception of color? I think not! You'd get bored after 10 or 15 minutes and wouldn't really pay that much attention anymore. If your doc isn't paying attention to your cha-cha, it's going to be even more uncomfortable for you, I guarantee it!
Clean up your act
So, you've abstained from sex, you've gotten a haircut, now you need to wash it up. This is best done via a hot bath with some yummy scented bubbles or bath salts. Let it soak for awhile. After all, it's cooped up in your pants most of the time.
The scent of a woman
You shouldn't need any perfumes or scented lotions, unless you normally stank. In which case, find a light fragrance. Don't make your GYN think that his/her grandmother just walked in the room. And PLEASE remember that perfume does not smell the same to everyone. Just because you like it, doesn't mean other people will. Also realize that the act of being on your kitty alters the smell. Because it mixes with your natural aroma and in the end, it may smell like Grandma bathed in Cody Wild Musk or Jean Nate. Ewwww.
Let it breathe
After you've done all of the above, don't smother it in your panties. Go without. Wear loose fitting clothes - a simple flirty skirt would work perfectly. You don't want all your hard work to be wasted because you crammed your stuff into panties and got sweaty walking from the parking lot to the office. You know the drill - an ounce of prevention, blah blah blah.
Make it shine!
Be sure to convey that your twat is well loved and likes to look pretty. You can give it some help in that area. Put some glitter in your body powder. Use a giant makeup brush (or powder puff) to dab the special mixture on your cooch. This way, you will be remembered as "the patient with the sparkly snatch." Fair warning: they may put it in your chart. Besides, sparkles always make people smile.
And that is how one should go about making the experience of a yearly pap smear a more enjoyable one for all involved. If it's good for the GYN, it's going to be better for you! Try it next time. See what happens. It may just be the most enjoyable doctor visit ever.
Giving Spanks
Well, I'm back from my Mother-In-Law's Thanksgiving Day bonanza. We made it through unscathed. Just a couple of interesting notes to share. Assuming that most people are gone, I'm not writing an overly detailed blog, just to have it lost in cyberspace. SO, here's the highlights:
1) Lemon Meringue pie is like sex. If you've never made it before, and you want it to be good, make sure to do it the first time with someone who knows what the fuck it is they are doing, or it will just make you cry. I could have saved myself a couple of hours and just poured a pitcher of lemonaid into a pie crust, then had Jerry splooge all over the top of it. It may have tasted better. It may have looked better. It may have made a more interesting story.
2) My specialty cheesecake - don't try the whole baking/cooling thing when a toddler is still running amok. He opened the oven while it was cooling and it wound up being flatter than my chest (sans gel bra). It tasted ok, but it was fugly.
3) Can someone please explain to me why you would put chopped up hard boiled eggs in gravy? I didn't realize this was an approved way to put some zing in your gravy. I assumed someone dropped some deviled eggs in it. They were sitting next to each other on the counter. Apparently, the eggs were supposed to be in there. Someone explain that to me. Please.
4) I kissed Trish. On the lips. In front of my Mother-in-Law, who thought it was "gross". When we were leaving, I rubbed my face in between her hooters. I heard that's good luck on Thanksgiving. No, I didn't. I just thought it would be fun, and I was right - it was fun.
5) 2 male foreign exchange students (one from Germany, one from Prague) joined us this year. I've never seen anyone eat so much food. They seemed nice, though I really didn't get to talk to them.
6) SOMEONE spanked me. I was cleaning up some of the food, and someone walked by and smacked my ass. I think it was Trish, but there were several other people within smacking distance. It kind of turned me on.
7) For about 15 seconds, I had my Mother-In-Law believing that her niece used to be involved in making porno movies. She actually believed me.
8) Someone asked the other Kim (who is housing the exchange students) if there's anything they aren't allowed to do while here. Basically, no smoking, no drinking, no drugs. Everything else is OK. I suggested for some real excitement they rent some porn. This was the opening act to ..7 up there.
I think that's it. I'm beat, I'm not at all hungry, and I just want to curl up under a blanket (preferably one not infected with small pox) and do things. I'm not telling you what things. Just things.
Hope you all ate too much and feel like crap. That's what today is all about, after all. That and giving spanks to those you love. I mean giving THANKS FOR those you love.
1) Lemon Meringue pie is like sex. If you've never made it before, and you want it to be good, make sure to do it the first time with someone who knows what the fuck it is they are doing, or it will just make you cry. I could have saved myself a couple of hours and just poured a pitcher of lemonaid into a pie crust, then had Jerry splooge all over the top of it. It may have tasted better. It may have looked better. It may have made a more interesting story.
2) My specialty cheesecake - don't try the whole baking/cooling thing when a toddler is still running amok. He opened the oven while it was cooling and it wound up being flatter than my chest (sans gel bra). It tasted ok, but it was fugly.
3) Can someone please explain to me why you would put chopped up hard boiled eggs in gravy? I didn't realize this was an approved way to put some zing in your gravy. I assumed someone dropped some deviled eggs in it. They were sitting next to each other on the counter. Apparently, the eggs were supposed to be in there. Someone explain that to me. Please.
4) I kissed Trish. On the lips. In front of my Mother-in-Law, who thought it was "gross". When we were leaving, I rubbed my face in between her hooters. I heard that's good luck on Thanksgiving. No, I didn't. I just thought it would be fun, and I was right - it was fun.
5) 2 male foreign exchange students (one from Germany, one from Prague) joined us this year. I've never seen anyone eat so much food. They seemed nice, though I really didn't get to talk to them.
6) SOMEONE spanked me. I was cleaning up some of the food, and someone walked by and smacked my ass. I think it was Trish, but there were several other people within smacking distance. It kind of turned me on.
7) For about 15 seconds, I had my Mother-In-Law believing that her niece used to be involved in making porno movies. She actually believed me.
8) Someone asked the other Kim (who is housing the exchange students) if there's anything they aren't allowed to do while here. Basically, no smoking, no drinking, no drugs. Everything else is OK. I suggested for some real excitement they rent some porn. This was the opening act to ..7 up there.
I think that's it. I'm beat, I'm not at all hungry, and I just want to curl up under a blanket (preferably one not infected with small pox) and do things. I'm not telling you what things. Just things.
Hope you all ate too much and feel like crap. That's what today is all about, after all. That and giving spanks to those you love. I mean giving THANKS FOR those you love.
State of My Coochie Address - for MySpace Crowd
Thank you all. Tom, writers of the blogs I read, readers of the blog I write, distinguished guests, and fellow MySpacers:
Every time I write my blog, I'm humbled by the privilege, and mindful of the history we've seen together. We have gathered on this site in moments of happiness, sorrow and flat out exhaustion from massive amounts of masturbating.
In a system of two kudos, there will always be differences and debate. But even tough debates can be conducted in a civil tone, and our differences cannot be allowed to harden into anger. To confront the great issues before us, we must act in a spirit of goodwill and respect for one another - and I will do my part. Tonight the state of my coochie is strong - and together we will make it stronger.
In the coming year, you and I will make choices that determine both the future and the character of our genital regions. We will choose to act confidently in pursuing the ultimate sex toy, or retreat from our duties in the hope that what we already have will be enough to satisfy our sexual desires. The only way to protect our nether regions, the only way to secure a piece of ass, the only way to cum whenever you damn well feel like it is to rely on some type of leadership, so the Stunning Labia Monologues will continue to lead.
Far from being a hopeless dream, the search for vaginal orgasms for all women is the great story of our time. And we're writing a new chapter in the story of self-pleasure, with women lining up to touch each other's hooters, buy clitoral stimulators and try out wonders such as the Cone or the Jack Rabbit. At the start of 2006, slightly less than half the adults of our world have orgasms daily. And we do not forget the other half, in places like Syria and Burma, Zimbabwe, North Korea, and Iran, because let's face it, the peace of this world, require that they too achieve sexual release.
No one can deny the joys of self pleasure, but some men rage and fight against it. And one of the main sources of reaction and opposition is erectile dysfunction, the perversion by a few who just can't get it up or keep it up into an ideology of "If I can't cum, neither should you". They seek to impose a heartless system of totalitarian control throughout your pelvic region and that my friends must not be allowed.
Their aim is to seize power of your snatch and use it as a safe haven for their useless dick to laze around in or near. Lacking the strength to satisfy us directly, these limp dicks have chosen the weapon of fear. When they discard of all the batteries in our homes, or give our vibrators to the dog to chew on, or throw away all of our astroglide, the terrorists hope these horrors will break our will. But they have miscalculated: We love our sex toys, and we will fight to keep them.
MySpacers reject the false comfort of the untouched pubic hair. We are the group that encouraged others to trim it, shape it, shave it or even wax it. Because if you're not willing to touch it, how can you expect someone else to? Once again, we accept the call of history to deliver the oppressed and move this world toward neat & tidy hair down there for all.
Our work in sexual liberation is difficult because our enemy is brutal. But that brutality has not stopped the dramatic progress of a new brand of MySpacer. In less than three months, we have gone from talking about the creepy hot dog guy to talking openly about our bushes, our sex toys, our likes and dislikes in the bedroom. At the same time, our coalition has been relentless in encouraging oral sex for all, comparing techniques and talking about what works for each of us. I am confident in our plan for victory; I am confident in the will of those who really want to have mind blowing orgasms; I am confident in the skill and spirit of those who use a jack rabbit or other motorized dong. Fellow MySpacers, we are in this fight to win, and we are winning.
The road of victory is the road that will make us scream "OH MY FUCKING GOD" at the top of our lungs as we're getting nailed by our spouses, partners or for some of us, complete strangers.
Our coalition has learned from sharing our experiences. We've adjusted the settings on our vibrators and changed our approach to sculpting the snatch or scrotum hair. Along the way, we have benefited from responsible criticism and counsel offered by people who actually comment on this blog when they read it. In the coming year, I will continue to reach out and seek your good advice.
Our offensive against boring sex involves more than vibrators. It also involves talking dirty at just the right moment, women acting like complete whores for their men, and men learning what women really want. Ultimately, the only way to defeat the oppressors is to defeat their dark vision of hatred and fear by offering the hopeful alternative of wide spread acceptance and conversations about self-pleasuring, sexual positions and whether or not you like to swallow.
Tonight, let me speak directly to the citizens who don't want to talk about sex: We respect you, and we respect your inability to fully enjoy yourself as a sexual being. We respect your right to choose to not enjoy sex. And if you can't stand all of the sex talk, read a different blog. We don't give a shit.
In recent weeks, I have taken action to educate others about the wonders of women touching other women's breasts, expand the education of those who have never touched a woman's breast, and rewarded curious onlookers with pictures of these types of events. Those who frequent the Stunning Labia Monologues are partners for a better sex life. Short-changing these efforts would increase the sexual frustration of our world and undercut our ability to cum in 30 seconds flat. I urge anyone who reads this to serve the interests of others by sharing your ideas openly and honestly.
In all these areas - from sex toys, to kinky sex, to the way you upkeep your wedding tackle - we need the support of our friends and allies. To draw that support, we must always be clear in our principles and willing to act. Together, let us protect our community, share ideas and experiences to make sex and everything related to it more enjoyable for all.
MySpace is a great force for freedom and prosperity. Yet our greatness is not measured in power of our vibrators, but by who we are and how we communicate with one another. Whether it be via pictures of Meagan's breasts, stories from Siranda about the game "Rainbow", Nancy Drew's obsession with Cox, or countless other good times & stories we've shared.
Fellow MySpacers, we see great changes in willingness of people to talk about how they like getting fucked and that could influence all our lives. Sometimes it can seem that history is turning in a wide arc, toward an unknown shore. Yet the destination of history is determined by human action, and every great movement of history comes to a point of choosing - do you want it in the ass, or not?
Today, having come far in our own journey, we must decide: Will we be frustrated, or be rode hard and put away wet?
We will lead sexual freedom's advance. We will compete and excel in talking nasty solely for sexual gain. We will redefine conventional morals to ensure that we can be as freaky as we want in the sack, as long as our partner is willing. And so we move forward - optimistic about our twats and dicks, faithful to the cause, and confident of the orgasms to come.
May God bless MySpace.
Every time I write my blog, I'm humbled by the privilege, and mindful of the history we've seen together. We have gathered on this site in moments of happiness, sorrow and flat out exhaustion from massive amounts of masturbating.
In a system of two kudos, there will always be differences and debate. But even tough debates can be conducted in a civil tone, and our differences cannot be allowed to harden into anger. To confront the great issues before us, we must act in a spirit of goodwill and respect for one another - and I will do my part. Tonight the state of my coochie is strong - and together we will make it stronger.
In the coming year, you and I will make choices that determine both the future and the character of our genital regions. We will choose to act confidently in pursuing the ultimate sex toy, or retreat from our duties in the hope that what we already have will be enough to satisfy our sexual desires. The only way to protect our nether regions, the only way to secure a piece of ass, the only way to cum whenever you damn well feel like it is to rely on some type of leadership, so the Stunning Labia Monologues will continue to lead.
Far from being a hopeless dream, the search for vaginal orgasms for all women is the great story of our time. And we're writing a new chapter in the story of self-pleasure, with women lining up to touch each other's hooters, buy clitoral stimulators and try out wonders such as the Cone or the Jack Rabbit. At the start of 2006, slightly less than half the adults of our world have orgasms daily. And we do not forget the other half, in places like Syria and Burma, Zimbabwe, North Korea, and Iran, because let's face it, the peace of this world, require that they too achieve sexual release.
No one can deny the joys of self pleasure, but some men rage and fight against it. And one of the main sources of reaction and opposition is erectile dysfunction, the perversion by a few who just can't get it up or keep it up into an ideology of "If I can't cum, neither should you". They seek to impose a heartless system of totalitarian control throughout your pelvic region and that my friends must not be allowed.
Their aim is to seize power of your snatch and use it as a safe haven for their useless dick to laze around in or near. Lacking the strength to satisfy us directly, these limp dicks have chosen the weapon of fear. When they discard of all the batteries in our homes, or give our vibrators to the dog to chew on, or throw away all of our astroglide, the terrorists hope these horrors will break our will. But they have miscalculated: We love our sex toys, and we will fight to keep them.
MySpacers reject the false comfort of the untouched pubic hair. We are the group that encouraged others to trim it, shape it, shave it or even wax it. Because if you're not willing to touch it, how can you expect someone else to? Once again, we accept the call of history to deliver the oppressed and move this world toward neat & tidy hair down there for all.
Our work in sexual liberation is difficult because our enemy is brutal. But that brutality has not stopped the dramatic progress of a new brand of MySpacer. In less than three months, we have gone from talking about the creepy hot dog guy to talking openly about our bushes, our sex toys, our likes and dislikes in the bedroom. At the same time, our coalition has been relentless in encouraging oral sex for all, comparing techniques and talking about what works for each of us. I am confident in our plan for victory; I am confident in the will of those who really want to have mind blowing orgasms; I am confident in the skill and spirit of those who use a jack rabbit or other motorized dong. Fellow MySpacers, we are in this fight to win, and we are winning.
The road of victory is the road that will make us scream "OH MY FUCKING GOD" at the top of our lungs as we're getting nailed by our spouses, partners or for some of us, complete strangers.
Our coalition has learned from sharing our experiences. We've adjusted the settings on our vibrators and changed our approach to sculpting the snatch or scrotum hair. Along the way, we have benefited from responsible criticism and counsel offered by people who actually comment on this blog when they read it. In the coming year, I will continue to reach out and seek your good advice.
Our offensive against boring sex involves more than vibrators. It also involves talking dirty at just the right moment, women acting like complete whores for their men, and men learning what women really want. Ultimately, the only way to defeat the oppressors is to defeat their dark vision of hatred and fear by offering the hopeful alternative of wide spread acceptance and conversations about self-pleasuring, sexual positions and whether or not you like to swallow.
Tonight, let me speak directly to the citizens who don't want to talk about sex: We respect you, and we respect your inability to fully enjoy yourself as a sexual being. We respect your right to choose to not enjoy sex. And if you can't stand all of the sex talk, read a different blog. We don't give a shit.
In recent weeks, I have taken action to educate others about the wonders of women touching other women's breasts, expand the education of those who have never touched a woman's breast, and rewarded curious onlookers with pictures of these types of events. Those who frequent the Stunning Labia Monologues are partners for a better sex life. Short-changing these efforts would increase the sexual frustration of our world and undercut our ability to cum in 30 seconds flat. I urge anyone who reads this to serve the interests of others by sharing your ideas openly and honestly.
In all these areas - from sex toys, to kinky sex, to the way you upkeep your wedding tackle - we need the support of our friends and allies. To draw that support, we must always be clear in our principles and willing to act. Together, let us protect our community, share ideas and experiences to make sex and everything related to it more enjoyable for all.
MySpace is a great force for freedom and prosperity. Yet our greatness is not measured in power of our vibrators, but by who we are and how we communicate with one another. Whether it be via pictures of Meagan's breasts, stories from Siranda about the game "Rainbow", Nancy Drew's obsession with Cox, or countless other good times & stories we've shared.
Fellow MySpacers, we see great changes in willingness of people to talk about how they like getting fucked and that could influence all our lives. Sometimes it can seem that history is turning in a wide arc, toward an unknown shore. Yet the destination of history is determined by human action, and every great movement of history comes to a point of choosing - do you want it in the ass, or not?
Today, having come far in our own journey, we must decide: Will we be frustrated, or be rode hard and put away wet?
We will lead sexual freedom's advance. We will compete and excel in talking nasty solely for sexual gain. We will redefine conventional morals to ensure that we can be as freaky as we want in the sack, as long as our partner is willing. And so we move forward - optimistic about our twats and dicks, faithful to the cause, and confident of the orgasms to come.
May God bless MySpace.
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