I am not a huge nature fan. Don't get me wrong, I love feeling rays of sunshine on my face and raindrops falling on my head. I am always in awe of giant trees standing tall and am speechless at some of the amazing sunsets I have seen across the wheatfields.
But...I am deathly afraid of serpents and they usually go hand in hand with nature. This is why I am not an avid hiker. Also why I did not pursue my kindergartner dream of growing up to be Ranger Rick. (How bad ass was that magazine, by the way?)
You may ask why I am talking about the great outdoors. What does this have to do with my misadventures in love? It just so happens one of my hottest, steamiest, salacious scandals happened in a backyard, the not-so-great-outdoors.
It also just so happens that this great victory in my quest to achieve non self-critical sexual encounters turned about to be a highly self-critical sexual encounter.
It happened one night. At a huge house party some friends were throwing for a combined birthday celebration. It, to date, is the most outrageous house party I have ever been to and probably the best one I have ever been to. It was a theme party, so everyone was encouraged to dress in Goodwill clothes. I threw together a Goodwill ensemble best described as white trash chic.
Before the party, I was hanging out with a friend and we were talking about how we both wanted to just make out with a random guy, not feel guilty about it, and never have to see this person again. We both had just had some disappointing boy endeavors, so this sounded perfect. Right before we went to the party we made a vow to seek out that fun and fancy free hook up.
Well, luck was on my side. Because when we arrived to the party there was a fair share of people I had never met, people who were just visiting some friends. Even better, some of them were uber cute. One even happened to be blue eyed and tall, my weakness.
So of course I proceeded to talk this individual up, with assistance from drinking a fair amount of alcohol.
Now, I would like to state something before this goes on. You may notice that in a lot of my sexual endeavors discussed on here, I note I was intoxicated. This may make you think, wow, what an booze hound. Which I guess in part my be correct, but there is more. I have a brain that is CONSTANTLY running. It yells extremely self-deprecating things at me. It makes me super cautious, extremely anxious, and highly critical. Sober me has a hard time being vulnerable, and I would say that doing sexual things is a highly vulnerable time. Not to mention, as previous posts have shown, I haven't had the best of luck when vulnerable between the sheets. It is horrible to admit this, but I do like to drink to let myself live a little. Be more daring. More confident.
Okay...so...I was feeling more daring, more confident with this guy. We were sitting on the porch together and we were turned toward each other, inches away. I leaned in and kissed him. He responded by kissing back. There were others on the porch, so I whispered, "Do you want to go out back?" He took my hand and led me out back.
Oh, was a I ever so glad he led me out back....
We started hardcore making out. Like, ravenous, hungry making out. He shoved me up against a fence and we kept making out. There might have been some other hanky panky, too, but I do not care to share details. Well, one of his friends came back to tell him he had to leave. So we kissed some more and we parted ways. I went back inside, sure that I looked composed and innocent. Not so much. One of my friends quickly asked me what I had been doing. I responded, nothing, but then she laughed and asked if that was why I had a huge hickey and my hair was super messed up. Well, after laughing at me, the boy walks back in the house. He states, I don't have to leave after all. He looks at me, walks back out, and I follow him for round 2.
Round 2 is too graphic for sharing. We did not have sex, but let it be known that I did wake up the next morning in a friend's bed alone with twigs in my hair and clothes, scratches all over my back from said twigs, and I looked like a hobo from the dirt found on my person. Let it also be known that I was fully satisfied.
This had been exactly what I wanted. I did not know him, would not see him again. It was hot and sexy and just...yum. I did not feel guilty or anything. I was a happy girl.
Until I got the Facebook message. Later that day I received a Facebook message from this guy. It basically said this: I am so sorry about last night. I am a Christian Man and I should not have done that to you, taken advantage of you in that way. I was drunk, too, but that is no excuse. I should have been protecting you from guys like me instead of doing that, putting you in a position where you compromised yourself. I NEVER do stuff like that and I hope you do not hate me or think ill of me. I am sorry that it happened and hope you forgive me.
So much for not feeling guilty.....
I just like this moment in my history because it is too funny. I want to hook up with a guy looking for no-strings fun only to find the ONE guy who is morally opposed to such a thing and obviously looks down on it. It is cliche, but it was just my luck.
That does not ruin this story for me though. It still ranks in my Top 5 Hottest Moments. I may blush about it, but I swear to Pikachu it was amazing.
Which brings me to this point. I think this serves to teach me a lesson. One, you never get something you really want if you go out and pursue it. Don't get me wrong, in some instances that is what is needed, but I think when it comes to love and sex, letting things come to you naturally and not forcing it is best. At least, for me it would appear that way. A great message being sent from "the universe" through irony and humor.
Also, I think Ranger Rick would have been proud of me, exploring and embracing nature that way. :)
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Saturday, January 09, 2010
Ice Woman Cometh
I like to consider myself as a warm person. I smile and I am personable. I am loving and caring. I am also literally a warm person. My normal temperature runs more at about 99.1 than a 98.6. This is the precious perspective I have constructed for myself.
But, men seem to feel the need to crush this warm persona and replace it with a cold, Arctic one.
Ice Queen. Cold-Hearted Bitch. Miss Freeze.
All lovely nicknames I have been called or referred to as. This is the story of my Arctic freeze.
My freshman year of high school I went to Winter Formal with this guy I liked a lot. I knew he liked me, too, so I was super excited. I was 15 and had yet to have my first kiss. But, I was thinking that just maybe when he brought me home he would kiss me and I would finally have my first kiss.
Well, like most of my hopes and dreams, this hope died. After the dance, he brought me home, walked me to the door, gave me a hug, and then got back into his truck. I was so confused...why did he not even try????
The next Monday I was talking to my best guy friend about this. He informed me of the following: I guess the guys in my class were talking about me and how "lucky" this guy was to take me to Winter Formal. He was being cocky about it, saying how yeah...he was. Then they asked him about "trying something" and I guess he replied that he was going to try, but he doubted anything would happen because I am an Ice Queen. Well, Monday he told them he tried to kiss me, but I would not let him. So...I was an Ice Queen.
Umm....well, no. I wasn't going to fuck his brains out, but I would have kissed him. IF HE WOULD HAVE EVEN TRIED!!!
Throughout the rest of high school the boys in my class would cat call. They would walk behind me when we got out of class commenting on how nice my ass was. They would comment on my rack. They would ask me to their trucks (which is basically asking a girl to bed). They had debates on whether or not I was wearing underwear under my skirt (for the record, I ALWAYS wore underwear. ALWAYS). My senior year I was told I was #1 on the list of Girls I'd Like to Fuck they guys made for our high school. I put that on my resume. Shining moment, right there.
My senior year was also the year of Jablonski. As discussed before, he asked me to Prom. I had by now had my first kiss, but I had yet to kiss him. Again, I was thinking I could have a kiss on a dance night. Well, honestly I was thinking I would do more than just kiss him, but we do not need to go into my XXX teenage daydreams.
The week before Prom I was reading a book in American Government when I overheard a conversation between Jablonski and some other guys in my class. It was basically the same conversation four years earlier that Winter Formal guy had. But, Jablonski would not answer their questions and he just said, "I don't know." I asked him about it later, and he told me that yes, he would like to kiss me, but was not just going to Prom with me to try to sleep with me, but because I was smart, pretty and he liked me a lot. I was pacified and hopeful.
Well....I got another after dance hug. Not even a try for a kiss.
I just never really understood why I got those nicknames. I did not tell those boys not to kiss me. I did not wear clothing that covered up all my body. I did kiss other boys, and they all knew about it. They obviously all had an urge to do more than just kiss me. Yet, they did not. None of them even asked me out on a date.
Yes, I did not get in their trucks to go parking. I am sorry I was not willing to give it up in a Diesel Chevy on a dirt road listening to country music. Or that I was not willing to blow you behind a hay bale in the dirt in a wheatfield.
Those facts do not make me an Ice Queen. That makes me not a whore.
More importantly that means I have some standards. I was a teenager. I had urges and temptations, too. I just was not willing to get naked just because you told me you liked me ass and rack and you voted me the most fuckable girl at our school. Maybe if you would have added diner and a movie, but that never happened.
To bring this to an end, a couple of years ago I talked to my best friend from high school about this. I was telling her how this still seems to happen to me. She told me it was because I am Chelsea. It is my Chelsea-ness.
A guy friend also told me it was because I put it out there.
I am still struggling to find out what exactly being me means and what I am putting out there when it comes to men and relationships.
But, men seem to feel the need to crush this warm persona and replace it with a cold, Arctic one.
Ice Queen. Cold-Hearted Bitch. Miss Freeze.
All lovely nicknames I have been called or referred to as. This is the story of my Arctic freeze.
My freshman year of high school I went to Winter Formal with this guy I liked a lot. I knew he liked me, too, so I was super excited. I was 15 and had yet to have my first kiss. But, I was thinking that just maybe when he brought me home he would kiss me and I would finally have my first kiss.
Well, like most of my hopes and dreams, this hope died. After the dance, he brought me home, walked me to the door, gave me a hug, and then got back into his truck. I was so confused...why did he not even try????
The next Monday I was talking to my best guy friend about this. He informed me of the following: I guess the guys in my class were talking about me and how "lucky" this guy was to take me to Winter Formal. He was being cocky about it, saying how yeah...he was. Then they asked him about "trying something" and I guess he replied that he was going to try, but he doubted anything would happen because I am an Ice Queen. Well, Monday he told them he tried to kiss me, but I would not let him. So...I was an Ice Queen.
Umm....well, no. I wasn't going to fuck his brains out, but I would have kissed him. IF HE WOULD HAVE EVEN TRIED!!!
Throughout the rest of high school the boys in my class would cat call. They would walk behind me when we got out of class commenting on how nice my ass was. They would comment on my rack. They would ask me to their trucks (which is basically asking a girl to bed). They had debates on whether or not I was wearing underwear under my skirt (for the record, I ALWAYS wore underwear. ALWAYS). My senior year I was told I was #1 on the list of Girls I'd Like to Fuck they guys made for our high school. I put that on my resume. Shining moment, right there.
My senior year was also the year of Jablonski. As discussed before, he asked me to Prom. I had by now had my first kiss, but I had yet to kiss him. Again, I was thinking I could have a kiss on a dance night. Well, honestly I was thinking I would do more than just kiss him, but we do not need to go into my XXX teenage daydreams.
The week before Prom I was reading a book in American Government when I overheard a conversation between Jablonski and some other guys in my class. It was basically the same conversation four years earlier that Winter Formal guy had. But, Jablonski would not answer their questions and he just said, "I don't know." I asked him about it later, and he told me that yes, he would like to kiss me, but was not just going to Prom with me to try to sleep with me, but because I was smart, pretty and he liked me a lot. I was pacified and hopeful.
Well....I got another after dance hug. Not even a try for a kiss.
I just never really understood why I got those nicknames. I did not tell those boys not to kiss me. I did not wear clothing that covered up all my body. I did kiss other boys, and they all knew about it. They obviously all had an urge to do more than just kiss me. Yet, they did not. None of them even asked me out on a date.
Yes, I did not get in their trucks to go parking. I am sorry I was not willing to give it up in a Diesel Chevy on a dirt road listening to country music. Or that I was not willing to blow you behind a hay bale in the dirt in a wheatfield.
Those facts do not make me an Ice Queen. That makes me not a whore.
More importantly that means I have some standards. I was a teenager. I had urges and temptations, too. I just was not willing to get naked just because you told me you liked me ass and rack and you voted me the most fuckable girl at our school. Maybe if you would have added diner and a movie, but that never happened.
To bring this to an end, a couple of years ago I talked to my best friend from high school about this. I was telling her how this still seems to happen to me. She told me it was because I am Chelsea. It is my Chelsea-ness.
A guy friend also told me it was because I put it out there.
I am still struggling to find out what exactly being me means and what I am putting out there when it comes to men and relationships.
Friday, January 01, 2010
Prophetic Utterances
I never called Cleo so she could read some Tarot cards for me. I truly doubt that the promises my fortune cookie makes that the future holds pleasant surprises (in bed) will come true. I think "signs" are usually nothing more than one looking for meaning when they desperately want to believe in something.
I do not take much stock in fortune telling or psychics. Not because I dismiss the possibility of such ability, but because how can you tell the future when each moment we all make a million choices that can alter our reality?
I digress. What I mean to say is I am skeptical of prophetic messages from any one person, Pikachu, or "the universe."
Yet, being the skeptic I am, over my decade or so of romantic relations with males, I have come to fear that two men sealed my fate with statements regarding the future of my (lack of a) love life.
Prophecy #1: Die Alone, Bitch.
This first occurrence was during my sophomore year of high school. This junior guy decided he liked me. I went to Winter Formal with him. I liked him, thought he was cute, funny and he had great taste in music. He was smart, too, which was a big plus for me. He wanted to date me. For awhile I was really excited about the idea of dating him. I thought it would be fun and we both liked each other, so it made sense.
But my sixteen year old psyche was not quite ready for that. The exact moment I decided I could not actually date him was when we where in the back of a friend's car and he had his arm around me and was cuddling with me. I felt really uncomfortable and just weirded out (this issue with space and trust is a can of worms best not opened yet).
So, I was truly torn. First of all I did like the guy and I knew he liked me. Secondly, I felt bad because I knew if I said no, I would seem like a tease and it would appear that I had led him on. Lastly, I did not want to hurt his feelings. He was a sweet, nice, caring person. But, I knew that for myself, I could not date him because dating him meant letting him in not only to my emotional space and life, but more important to me, my personal space.
I said no. Hurt his feelings. And this sweet, nice, caring person turned into a grade-A jerk.
Not saying his anger was unwarranted. It was. warranted. But I feel he was a bit harsh.
He said a lot of things about me. Some of what he said was true. Most of it was exaggerated. Most I have forgotten. Yet, two lines stick out in mind: "I hope someday that stick from your ass falls out so you can fall in love. I hope you're happy dying alone."
It was high school, so of course it was dramatic and blown out of proportion, but even though I know that he probably did not really mean what he said, I cannot erase those two sentences from my mind. After seven years, they stick with me.
I feel like his words were not only a prophecy of me dying alone and unhappy and a confirmation that there is something wrong with me, something that makes it impossible for me to enter a relationship, but also a curse. Like this guy was cursing me to a life of failed relationships, loneliness and heartache.
Prophecy #2: Never Ever
Prophet #2 has already been mentioned in this blog. He happens to be the same guy who made Magic Minute Promise #2. A couple of years after his chivalric offer, we were at another party. We started talking and talking led to touching. And then came more talking about why we should or should not hook up. Ultimately he said we should not because he did not want to ruin our friendship and he did not want to be an ass. I backed off and went back to the party.
An hour or so after this interaction with him, an hour in which I ruined a phone and slept for what I had thought was 30 minutes but was an actual five, I was looking for a friend. I ran into Prophet #2 on my quest. We were in the middle of a parking lot. We both stopped walking and he looks straight at me and states: "Chelsea, it will never happen."
He then walked off to eat some pizza without saying another word.
I cannot help but think this guy was foretelling my future love life. It will never happen. I will never find a guy who loves me. I will never be in love. It will never happen.
I know that is crazy to say, and I do not truly believe that, but sometimes I wonder. I mean, as you can tell from this blog, a lot of things are not working out for me on the love front. It is easy for me to believe him. Easy to agree that for me, it will never happen.
For years I have believed in these prophecies for my love life. I gave these words power, looking for truth in them, blaming them for failed attempts in love, and finding solace in them when I mess up or things go wrong. I gave these men power over how I felt and thought about myself.
But no more. With 2010 comes my new outlook on love. I will no longer look to these statements as truths. My goal for 2010 is to learn from past mistakes and to get back the power I have let past men have over me.
Because I ultimately know that love for me is a possible reality. There is someone to love me. Someone I will love, too. There is not a literal or figurative stick up my ass keeping me from falling in love. I am the only person or thing in the way of falling in love. I will not die alone, because even if I never get married, I have people who love me to surround myself with.
It will happen.
I do not take much stock in fortune telling or psychics. Not because I dismiss the possibility of such ability, but because how can you tell the future when each moment we all make a million choices that can alter our reality?
I digress. What I mean to say is I am skeptical of prophetic messages from any one person, Pikachu, or "the universe."
Yet, being the skeptic I am, over my decade or so of romantic relations with males, I have come to fear that two men sealed my fate with statements regarding the future of my (lack of a) love life.
Prophecy #1: Die Alone, Bitch.
This first occurrence was during my sophomore year of high school. This junior guy decided he liked me. I went to Winter Formal with him. I liked him, thought he was cute, funny and he had great taste in music. He was smart, too, which was a big plus for me. He wanted to date me. For awhile I was really excited about the idea of dating him. I thought it would be fun and we both liked each other, so it made sense.
But my sixteen year old psyche was not quite ready for that. The exact moment I decided I could not actually date him was when we where in the back of a friend's car and he had his arm around me and was cuddling with me. I felt really uncomfortable and just weirded out (this issue with space and trust is a can of worms best not opened yet).
So, I was truly torn. First of all I did like the guy and I knew he liked me. Secondly, I felt bad because I knew if I said no, I would seem like a tease and it would appear that I had led him on. Lastly, I did not want to hurt his feelings. He was a sweet, nice, caring person. But, I knew that for myself, I could not date him because dating him meant letting him in not only to my emotional space and life, but more important to me, my personal space.
I said no. Hurt his feelings. And this sweet, nice, caring person turned into a grade-A jerk.
Not saying his anger was unwarranted. It was. warranted. But I feel he was a bit harsh.
He said a lot of things about me. Some of what he said was true. Most of it was exaggerated. Most I have forgotten. Yet, two lines stick out in mind: "I hope someday that stick from your ass falls out so you can fall in love. I hope you're happy dying alone."
It was high school, so of course it was dramatic and blown out of proportion, but even though I know that he probably did not really mean what he said, I cannot erase those two sentences from my mind. After seven years, they stick with me.
I feel like his words were not only a prophecy of me dying alone and unhappy and a confirmation that there is something wrong with me, something that makes it impossible for me to enter a relationship, but also a curse. Like this guy was cursing me to a life of failed relationships, loneliness and heartache.
Prophecy #2: Never Ever
Prophet #2 has already been mentioned in this blog. He happens to be the same guy who made Magic Minute Promise #2. A couple of years after his chivalric offer, we were at another party. We started talking and talking led to touching. And then came more talking about why we should or should not hook up. Ultimately he said we should not because he did not want to ruin our friendship and he did not want to be an ass. I backed off and went back to the party.
An hour or so after this interaction with him, an hour in which I ruined a phone and slept for what I had thought was 30 minutes but was an actual five, I was looking for a friend. I ran into Prophet #2 on my quest. We were in the middle of a parking lot. We both stopped walking and he looks straight at me and states: "Chelsea, it will never happen."
He then walked off to eat some pizza without saying another word.
I cannot help but think this guy was foretelling my future love life. It will never happen. I will never find a guy who loves me. I will never be in love. It will never happen.
I know that is crazy to say, and I do not truly believe that, but sometimes I wonder. I mean, as you can tell from this blog, a lot of things are not working out for me on the love front. It is easy for me to believe him. Easy to agree that for me, it will never happen.
For years I have believed in these prophecies for my love life. I gave these words power, looking for truth in them, blaming them for failed attempts in love, and finding solace in them when I mess up or things go wrong. I gave these men power over how I felt and thought about myself.
But no more. With 2010 comes my new outlook on love. I will no longer look to these statements as truths. My goal for 2010 is to learn from past mistakes and to get back the power I have let past men have over me.
Because I ultimately know that love for me is a possible reality. There is someone to love me. Someone I will love, too. There is not a literal or figurative stick up my ass keeping me from falling in love. I am the only person or thing in the way of falling in love. I will not die alone, because even if I never get married, I have people who love me to surround myself with.
It will happen.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Unclean Conversing
I am posting this in an effort to put a stop to an important epidemic affecting our sexual dalliances: dirty talk while having sex.
I am sure that in some instances dirty talk is effective in arousal and stimulation between the sheets, but as the following event illustrates, effective dirty talk is an art and should only be used by professionals.
One fateful night, I decided to have a one night stand. Now, I am usually not this type of spur of the moment, impulsive girl. I like plans. I like boundaries. I like limits.
The guy I picked to have this adventure with, Tony Stewart we refer to him as, was not anything special. Just a regular guy. Kind of on the douche side if I am being honest. And short. Yet I knew I would never run into him again and he was not a complete stranger, so I was willing to give it a shot.
I also have to admit to two heavy influences that played a role in this night: booze and revenge. I had been drinking copious amounts of alcohol and I wanted to fuck a guy so I could prove I was able to "move on."
Well, this night of reckless fun turned out to be, well, not a disaster, but more of a clusterfuck of happenings that are almost too good to be true.
I will skip preliminaries and just cut to the bedroom.
To start my sexual liberation of no strings attached romping, I started moving back toward the bed, walking backwards. I was somewhat familiar with the layout of the room, so I felt confident in my movements. I felt what I thought was the bed, so I started to lean back to sit down.
It was not the bed. It was actually a vast abyss of nothingness. Which means I fell on my ass on the floor.
He did not seem to care though. I laughed. But he just quickly resumed making out and shedding clothing.
I am not going to go into details. But I will say that I just did not feel like we fit together right, if that makes sense. Plus, he told me I was too big...which I am not sure I really want to know what that meant.
Anyway, it was pretty lousy sex, a huge let down, and during this the following things were said to me:
1) "Oh yeah baby....just like that. Give it to me..."
2) "Oh, god. You're so wet..."
3) "Cum for me, baby."
4) "Suck my dick, baby."
5) "Cum on my dick, Chelsea."
6) "Chelsea, oh God. You're so good at that."
7) "I love the way you feel. So wet.."
8) "Take my dick. Take it all."
9) "Squeeze my dick in your pussy.."
10) "Oh, God. Suck me off, baby."
11) "Oh, Chelsea. I want your hot mouth on my cock."
12) "You like that, baby? Let me give it to you."
13) "Do I make you wet?"
14) "You're so good at sucking cock. Where did you learn that?" (great conversation starter by the way)
15) "I love sucking your tits, baby. Do you like that?"
Not all of these were said just once, either. Oh, no. Number 14 was stated at least four times. And all I have to say about that is I was unable to reply to his line of questioning for I was orally fixating on something and my mouth was full.
After this all occurred, he wanted me to stay. I said no, and when he went to the bathroom, I got dressed and got ready to leave. Then this happened, our great, emotional goodbye statements...He said, "I just thought of something...I didn't get to see your naked body in the light..." I replied, "It's better to keep it that way...that way my body is idealized and perfect." Then I walked out the door.
His dirty talk just made me want to laugh. It just was not something that needed to be said. I think I might have felt differently if the sex was amazing and it was super hot and heavy and we were both really into it. But, that is not what it was. I am sure he would agree with me that it was not that great. I am not commenting on his skill, but just simply stating that as a sexual couple, I feel we were not super compatible.
Now some of my guy friends told me that guys say stupid things when they are super lusty and especially when they are getting out that pent up lust. But, I have to wonder why, after no positive responses or reinforcements from me, this guy felt it necessary to keep on saying such things to me.
I do believe communication is vital to any relationship or interaction between people, even in sexual encounters. Yet, I feel conversing about whether I am satisfied with the way you are thrusting your cock into me or asking me where I have picked up my tricks of the trade is communication better left unsaid.
I am sure that in some instances dirty talk is effective in arousal and stimulation between the sheets, but as the following event illustrates, effective dirty talk is an art and should only be used by professionals.
One fateful night, I decided to have a one night stand. Now, I am usually not this type of spur of the moment, impulsive girl. I like plans. I like boundaries. I like limits.
The guy I picked to have this adventure with, Tony Stewart we refer to him as, was not anything special. Just a regular guy. Kind of on the douche side if I am being honest. And short. Yet I knew I would never run into him again and he was not a complete stranger, so I was willing to give it a shot.
I also have to admit to two heavy influences that played a role in this night: booze and revenge. I had been drinking copious amounts of alcohol and I wanted to fuck a guy so I could prove I was able to "move on."
Well, this night of reckless fun turned out to be, well, not a disaster, but more of a clusterfuck of happenings that are almost too good to be true.
I will skip preliminaries and just cut to the bedroom.
To start my sexual liberation of no strings attached romping, I started moving back toward the bed, walking backwards. I was somewhat familiar with the layout of the room, so I felt confident in my movements. I felt what I thought was the bed, so I started to lean back to sit down.
It was not the bed. It was actually a vast abyss of nothingness. Which means I fell on my ass on the floor.
He did not seem to care though. I laughed. But he just quickly resumed making out and shedding clothing.
I am not going to go into details. But I will say that I just did not feel like we fit together right, if that makes sense. Plus, he told me I was too big...which I am not sure I really want to know what that meant.
Anyway, it was pretty lousy sex, a huge let down, and during this the following things were said to me:
1) "Oh yeah baby....just like that. Give it to me..."
2) "Oh, god. You're so wet..."
3) "Cum for me, baby."
4) "Suck my dick, baby."
5) "Cum on my dick, Chelsea."
6) "Chelsea, oh God. You're so good at that."
7) "I love the way you feel. So wet.."
8) "Take my dick. Take it all."
9) "Squeeze my dick in your pussy.."
10) "Oh, God. Suck me off, baby."
11) "Oh, Chelsea. I want your hot mouth on my cock."
12) "You like that, baby? Let me give it to you."
13) "Do I make you wet?"
14) "You're so good at sucking cock. Where did you learn that?" (great conversation starter by the way)
15) "I love sucking your tits, baby. Do you like that?"
Not all of these were said just once, either. Oh, no. Number 14 was stated at least four times. And all I have to say about that is I was unable to reply to his line of questioning for I was orally fixating on something and my mouth was full.
After this all occurred, he wanted me to stay. I said no, and when he went to the bathroom, I got dressed and got ready to leave. Then this happened, our great, emotional goodbye statements...He said, "I just thought of something...I didn't get to see your naked body in the light..." I replied, "It's better to keep it that way...that way my body is idealized and perfect." Then I walked out the door.
His dirty talk just made me want to laugh. It just was not something that needed to be said. I think I might have felt differently if the sex was amazing and it was super hot and heavy and we were both really into it. But, that is not what it was. I am sure he would agree with me that it was not that great. I am not commenting on his skill, but just simply stating that as a sexual couple, I feel we were not super compatible.
Now some of my guy friends told me that guys say stupid things when they are super lusty and especially when they are getting out that pent up lust. But, I have to wonder why, after no positive responses or reinforcements from me, this guy felt it necessary to keep on saying such things to me.
I do believe communication is vital to any relationship or interaction between people, even in sexual encounters. Yet, I feel conversing about whether I am satisfied with the way you are thrusting your cock into me or asking me where I have picked up my tricks of the trade is communication better left unsaid.
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Magic Minute
So...just to warn you, this post deals with sexual content. Which means it is rated PG-13, and persons under the age of 13 should not read this post without being accompanied by a legal adult.
Now that I have all the perverts and sexual deviants licking their chops, here is tonight's post...
The Magic Minute.
What, do you ask, is the Magic Minute.
Well, my female friends, that is the promise a man makes to you to show his raw sexual power. His masculine dominance over your delicate, feminine libido. It usually follows a phrase of making you reach an outstanding climax with using only one and/or two of his phalanges of the hand.
I have heard this Magic Minute promise twice in my life. Which, if you ask me, is two too many times.
Magic Minute #1
In high school, this guy from another town came to hang out with me and some friends. He was cute. Uber cute. And his best friend was flirting/trying to get on my best friends. We were in the back of my friend's Jeep, talking. He had a girlfriend, but he was slowly but surely making his way over to me. I pulled away. Then he decided to let me know what letting him get closer could mean in the form of this romantic sentence: "I can make you cum in one minute with just two fingers."
WTF. Really? Gee whiz, Mister. You must be the man of my dreams.
I kindly declined to see if his offer was true or not. After this incident, I noted its strangeness and laughed it off, thinking it was a once in a lifetime comment to share as a funny story with friends. So, this explains my surprise when.....
Magic Minute #2
College. Oh, the years of strange experiences and stories. I was dating a boy pretty seriously at this time. It was a house party, at his house, when I started to talk to this guy. He was cute. I had previously, while intoxicated, grabbed his junk on the urging of a one Allison Richardson. This night, we were talking. I was a bit tipsy, so I am not exactly sure why were talking about me dating my boyfriend and why this guy brought up getting with him. But, the conversation found its way to this proposal from him: "I can make you cum in one minute with one finger."
.....It was eerie. It was almost the EXACT SAME sentence uttered to me all those years ago in the Jeep. Although, in this guy's defense, his maturity had brought with it the experience to accomplish the unthinkable with the use of only one finger, not two. Despite his upping the ante, I yet again kindly declined this gentleman like offer.
Now, these incidents would not starkly stick out in my mind if I heard my friends tell me similar stories of men promising the same thing. I mean, using this exact same phrase. For real. What are the chances of the exact same offer, like that, being said to you in your life time? Slim I would think.
This is what really perplexes me about the whole thing. I am not a very experienced person when it comes to sexual activities, but I am just going to say that saying that you will be getting me to orgasm in a Magic Minute is not the way to get me to go to bed with you. Most people, I would venture to say, are not of the wham bam thank you ma'am variety.
I feel sex and foreplay are about the anticipation and the moments that lead up to the grand finale more than the grand finale itself. Getting in and getting out is not really the name of the game. It is about being intimate and having the moment last. Exploring and experiencing.
Yes, of course, having an orgasm is super nice and a good way to finish...but it is exactly that. A finish. Not the whole race.
Also....why is it that with a female it would be good to get her to orgasm in a minute while with a man it is a huge blow to his masculinity when he cannot last more than a minute or is premature? That is suppose to be a huge turn off and a deal breaker when a man does a false start in the race. Like, men are suppose to be these marathon runners and we ladies are only suppose to be sprinters. I know there are reasons for this, like we can have multiples in seconds and what not, but still. F' that noise.
So.....when I hear this offer, I do not think of how knowledgeable this guy is in the ways of the clitoris. No, I think of how he obviously knows nothing of what a real woman wants in bed.
I feel he should use those phalanges of the hand and that one minute of magic to instead get himself to "cum in one minute" for he will not be getting any stimulating magic from this girl.
Now that I have all the perverts and sexual deviants licking their chops, here is tonight's post...
The Magic Minute.
What, do you ask, is the Magic Minute.
Well, my female friends, that is the promise a man makes to you to show his raw sexual power. His masculine dominance over your delicate, feminine libido. It usually follows a phrase of making you reach an outstanding climax with using only one and/or two of his phalanges of the hand.
I have heard this Magic Minute promise twice in my life. Which, if you ask me, is two too many times.
Magic Minute #1
In high school, this guy from another town came to hang out with me and some friends. He was cute. Uber cute. And his best friend was flirting/trying to get on my best friends. We were in the back of my friend's Jeep, talking. He had a girlfriend, but he was slowly but surely making his way over to me. I pulled away. Then he decided to let me know what letting him get closer could mean in the form of this romantic sentence: "I can make you cum in one minute with just two fingers."
WTF. Really? Gee whiz, Mister. You must be the man of my dreams.
I kindly declined to see if his offer was true or not. After this incident, I noted its strangeness and laughed it off, thinking it was a once in a lifetime comment to share as a funny story with friends. So, this explains my surprise when.....
Magic Minute #2
College. Oh, the years of strange experiences and stories. I was dating a boy pretty seriously at this time. It was a house party, at his house, when I started to talk to this guy. He was cute. I had previously, while intoxicated, grabbed his junk on the urging of a one Allison Richardson. This night, we were talking. I was a bit tipsy, so I am not exactly sure why were talking about me dating my boyfriend and why this guy brought up getting with him. But, the conversation found its way to this proposal from him: "I can make you cum in one minute with one finger."
.....It was eerie. It was almost the EXACT SAME sentence uttered to me all those years ago in the Jeep. Although, in this guy's defense, his maturity had brought with it the experience to accomplish the unthinkable with the use of only one finger, not two. Despite his upping the ante, I yet again kindly declined this gentleman like offer.
Now, these incidents would not starkly stick out in my mind if I heard my friends tell me similar stories of men promising the same thing. I mean, using this exact same phrase. For real. What are the chances of the exact same offer, like that, being said to you in your life time? Slim I would think.
This is what really perplexes me about the whole thing. I am not a very experienced person when it comes to sexual activities, but I am just going to say that saying that you will be getting me to orgasm in a Magic Minute is not the way to get me to go to bed with you. Most people, I would venture to say, are not of the wham bam thank you ma'am variety.
I feel sex and foreplay are about the anticipation and the moments that lead up to the grand finale more than the grand finale itself. Getting in and getting out is not really the name of the game. It is about being intimate and having the moment last. Exploring and experiencing.
Yes, of course, having an orgasm is super nice and a good way to finish...but it is exactly that. A finish. Not the whole race.
Also....why is it that with a female it would be good to get her to orgasm in a minute while with a man it is a huge blow to his masculinity when he cannot last more than a minute or is premature? That is suppose to be a huge turn off and a deal breaker when a man does a false start in the race. Like, men are suppose to be these marathon runners and we ladies are only suppose to be sprinters. I know there are reasons for this, like we can have multiples in seconds and what not, but still. F' that noise.
So.....when I hear this offer, I do not think of how knowledgeable this guy is in the ways of the clitoris. No, I think of how he obviously knows nothing of what a real woman wants in bed.
I feel he should use those phalanges of the hand and that one minute of magic to instead get himself to "cum in one minute" for he will not be getting any stimulating magic from this girl.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Fitzwilliam Darcy: Famous Fictional Heartthrob
If you do not know who Fitzwilliam Darcy is, you are dead to me. And quite obviously you are dead to the world, too.
I might be stereotyping here, but I would wager that 95% of women who have read Pride and Prejudice are in love with Mr. Darcy. Add on all the converts from the many film adaptations and mini-series and you are dealing with a hefty number of women all loving and lusting after this fictional man.
He is the ultimate hunk of burnin' love in Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. He is mysterious, handsome, loyal, confident, caring, intelligent, and everything a gentleman should be. Yes, he is a bit too prideful and a bit high strung. Plus he can come off as a huge douche. But, as he falls in love with Elizabeth, the love begins to soften him. Their love allows them to both grow together. It is a true partnership and each lends something to the other. It is by far my favorite love story.
I have at least read this book over twenty times.
I am not delusional. I know that Mr. Darcy will never leap from the pages and into my bed...I mean arms. But, that does not mean that I do not daydream about this fictional heartthrob entering my life, loving me fully and ardently.
This daydream that many women (and men I am sure) have shared was transformed into a book and then a BBC mini-series and now a movie in production called Lost in Austen. It is a story of how a contemporary woman, who has read the book too many times to count and has a huge lady boner for Darcy, switches places with Elizabeth Bennet. Shenanigans ensue. No one marries who they should, Bingley becomes a drunk bastard, Caroline Bingley is a lesbian, Wickham turns out to be a stand-up guy, and Jane marries Mr. Collins. In the end, Darcy falls in love with the woman who switches places with Elizabeth and she decides to stay in the perfect fictional world with the perfect fictional gentleman.
I just watched Lost in Austen and I hated it. HATED IT.
Why?
Because the woman, Amanda, and Mr. Darcy do not share that connection that Elizabeth and Darcy do. Yes, there are similar parallels, but Amanda and Darcy never really talk. They yell at each other, but Darcy just all the sudden is like, "Vulgar slutty woman, I love you. Let us marry."
It was too unbelievable for me. I ultimately wanted to puke after watching Lost in Austen.
What is so great about Elizabeth and Darcy is the way they both have to work through their own misgivings and flaws. During the relationship, they learn more about themselves and grow. They are able to bring out the best in each other. They even have witty conversations and flirtatious interactions. Which is something Lost in Austen was lacking.
I admit that if I found a genie in a bottle, one of my 3 wishes would be Mr. Darcy. (Other two: endless supply of books and endless supply of saltwater taffy) But quite honestly, in reality, I do not want to marry Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy or an exact doppelganger. Maybe not even an exact model of him. Lost in Austen verifies this. I pretty much hated the Mr. Darcy in that movie. He looked like Darcy, shared some of the same qualities...but that was not enough.
What I really do want is a mutual partnership like Darcy and Elizabeth. Someone who can see my flaws, respect me, love me, and help me grow as a person. I want to be that person for that guy, too.
I have come to realize that it is not really Mr. Darcy, international man of intrigue, that I want. It is the love him and Elizabeth have that I want.
Here is to finding that love and my own Mr. Darcy.
To end.....a picture of my favorite Mr. Darcy....Colin Firth.
I might be stereotyping here, but I would wager that 95% of women who have read Pride and Prejudice are in love with Mr. Darcy. Add on all the converts from the many film adaptations and mini-series and you are dealing with a hefty number of women all loving and lusting after this fictional man.
He is the ultimate hunk of burnin' love in Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. He is mysterious, handsome, loyal, confident, caring, intelligent, and everything a gentleman should be. Yes, he is a bit too prideful and a bit high strung. Plus he can come off as a huge douche. But, as he falls in love with Elizabeth, the love begins to soften him. Their love allows them to both grow together. It is a true partnership and each lends something to the other. It is by far my favorite love story.
I have at least read this book over twenty times.
I am not delusional. I know that Mr. Darcy will never leap from the pages and into my bed...I mean arms. But, that does not mean that I do not daydream about this fictional heartthrob entering my life, loving me fully and ardently.
This daydream that many women (and men I am sure) have shared was transformed into a book and then a BBC mini-series and now a movie in production called Lost in Austen. It is a story of how a contemporary woman, who has read the book too many times to count and has a huge lady boner for Darcy, switches places with Elizabeth Bennet. Shenanigans ensue. No one marries who they should, Bingley becomes a drunk bastard, Caroline Bingley is a lesbian, Wickham turns out to be a stand-up guy, and Jane marries Mr. Collins. In the end, Darcy falls in love with the woman who switches places with Elizabeth and she decides to stay in the perfect fictional world with the perfect fictional gentleman.
I just watched Lost in Austen and I hated it. HATED IT.
Why?
Because the woman, Amanda, and Mr. Darcy do not share that connection that Elizabeth and Darcy do. Yes, there are similar parallels, but Amanda and Darcy never really talk. They yell at each other, but Darcy just all the sudden is like, "Vulgar slutty woman, I love you. Let us marry."
It was too unbelievable for me. I ultimately wanted to puke after watching Lost in Austen.
What is so great about Elizabeth and Darcy is the way they both have to work through their own misgivings and flaws. During the relationship, they learn more about themselves and grow. They are able to bring out the best in each other. They even have witty conversations and flirtatious interactions. Which is something Lost in Austen was lacking.
I admit that if I found a genie in a bottle, one of my 3 wishes would be Mr. Darcy. (Other two: endless supply of books and endless supply of saltwater taffy) But quite honestly, in reality, I do not want to marry Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy or an exact doppelganger. Maybe not even an exact model of him. Lost in Austen verifies this. I pretty much hated the Mr. Darcy in that movie. He looked like Darcy, shared some of the same qualities...but that was not enough.
What I really do want is a mutual partnership like Darcy and Elizabeth. Someone who can see my flaws, respect me, love me, and help me grow as a person. I want to be that person for that guy, too.
I have come to realize that it is not really Mr. Darcy, international man of intrigue, that I want. It is the love him and Elizabeth have that I want.
Here is to finding that love and my own Mr. Darcy.
To end.....a picture of my favorite Mr. Darcy....Colin Firth.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
A Man of Slim to None Intelligence
If I were ever asked how many times my heart has been broken, I am sure I would reply with at least seven times:
1) Hank in Fifth Grade
2) Jablonski in Eighth Grade
3) John in Ninth Grade
4) Jablonski in Twelfth Grade
5) Nathan, Freshman year of college
6) John Doe, Freshman year of college
7) Man of Slim to None Intelligence, Sophomore-Senior year of college
I am sure I could add to that list, too. We all have little heart breaks here and there, especially in high school. Your crush does not return the feelings you have for him. He starts dating a different girl. But, we do not tend to remember them. They are small blips on our time lines of love. Infinitesimal heartaches that lack any real cleaving of the heart.
But, there is always that big one. That one heartbreak that seems like it will forever be an open wound. Try as you might, you just cannot get it back together, make it as whole, as strong. No matter how many pints of ice cream you eat, no matter how many tears you cry, no matter how many things you throw, and no matter how what ifs? you ask, your heart remains broken.
I feel weak confessing that this is a point I am at in my life. If you know me, you know who Man of Slim to None Intelligence (or NoIQ as I will call him now) is. I am sure you are tired of hearing about him or seeing me talk about him, so I apologize for the rest of this post. Just try to bear with me though.
I can sum up the four years of our relationship pretty quickly: I had a crush on him Fall semester freshmen year, we hooked up the following summer, he wanted to be fuck buddies and I said no, he asked me to date and I said yes, he told me he was indifferent toward me and I broke up with him, he had heart surgery then told me I was the only important thing in his life and we started dating again, we dated for five months and then I broke up with him for various reasons, we kept in touch and kept hooking up until he told me he had stopped hooking up with another girl he failed to tell me about, fights and make ups for the next two years.....until finally this summer he started dating a new girl who forbid him to talk/see me and thus ended our relationship.
At one point in this fucked up relationship we talked about getting married. Even at our worst, he always talked about how our time was not now, but we would have our time to be together. How one day we would get married.
I know that sounds dumb, and so will the following statement. I always held out hope for that future. I cannot honestly tell you why. Most of the time NoIQ drove me nuts or made me sad. He refused to tell his parents we were dating at first and also hid it from his brother. He called me fat once while we were having sex. He refused to pick me up one time when I was having a crappy day and my car broke down. He told me he was indifferent toward me. He blamed me for bad grades. He two-timed me with a girl. Etc, etc...
I never stayed up at night when we were apart hoping to get back together, longing for it. But, when he so abruptly removed himself from my life, I realized how much I had depended on him and hoped in him.
Dumb, right? My best friend can tell you how lame that relationship was and how better off I am without him. I know I am, too. He never loved me like I loved him and he always had that power over me. He used me over and over again, and I am sad to say I let him.
After having this epiphany, I decided to take him completely out of my life. I deleted him off Facebook and from my phone. I emailed him one last time.
It has been about four months now. I am past a lot of the violent and crying tendencies associated with a broken heart now. But I do take certain measures like not listening to certain songs and avoiding certain memories when the creep up. I do not think about him every day now. I do not dream about him anymore.
Yet, I do feel like a part of me is missing in a weird way.
I invested so much in him. So much. It is just so hard to not have that part of myself.
I think that is the hardest part about broken hearts. You eventually will put them back together. But, there will be that one little sliver missing that cannot be replaced. It leaves a small gap that after time you hardly notice, yet it is always there.
Here is the deal: I am fine most days. I go without thinking about him or missing him. It is just those days when a smell reminds me of him. Or when Cherry Pie comes on the radio. Or when a memory creeps up on me. Those moments I do miss him, briefly.
In the end, though, I know I am better off without him. He seriously was a Man of Slim to None Intelligence and one day I will find a Man of Real Intelligence that will make NoIQ a distant heart ache.
1) Hank in Fifth Grade
2) Jablonski in Eighth Grade
3) John in Ninth Grade
4) Jablonski in Twelfth Grade
5) Nathan, Freshman year of college
6) John Doe, Freshman year of college
7) Man of Slim to None Intelligence, Sophomore-Senior year of college
I am sure I could add to that list, too. We all have little heart breaks here and there, especially in high school. Your crush does not return the feelings you have for him. He starts dating a different girl. But, we do not tend to remember them. They are small blips on our time lines of love. Infinitesimal heartaches that lack any real cleaving of the heart.
But, there is always that big one. That one heartbreak that seems like it will forever be an open wound. Try as you might, you just cannot get it back together, make it as whole, as strong. No matter how many pints of ice cream you eat, no matter how many tears you cry, no matter how many things you throw, and no matter how what ifs? you ask, your heart remains broken.
I feel weak confessing that this is a point I am at in my life. If you know me, you know who Man of Slim to None Intelligence (or NoIQ as I will call him now) is. I am sure you are tired of hearing about him or seeing me talk about him, so I apologize for the rest of this post. Just try to bear with me though.
I can sum up the four years of our relationship pretty quickly: I had a crush on him Fall semester freshmen year, we hooked up the following summer, he wanted to be fuck buddies and I said no, he asked me to date and I said yes, he told me he was indifferent toward me and I broke up with him, he had heart surgery then told me I was the only important thing in his life and we started dating again, we dated for five months and then I broke up with him for various reasons, we kept in touch and kept hooking up until he told me he had stopped hooking up with another girl he failed to tell me about, fights and make ups for the next two years.....until finally this summer he started dating a new girl who forbid him to talk/see me and thus ended our relationship.
At one point in this fucked up relationship we talked about getting married. Even at our worst, he always talked about how our time was not now, but we would have our time to be together. How one day we would get married.
I know that sounds dumb, and so will the following statement. I always held out hope for that future. I cannot honestly tell you why. Most of the time NoIQ drove me nuts or made me sad. He refused to tell his parents we were dating at first and also hid it from his brother. He called me fat once while we were having sex. He refused to pick me up one time when I was having a crappy day and my car broke down. He told me he was indifferent toward me. He blamed me for bad grades. He two-timed me with a girl. Etc, etc...
I never stayed up at night when we were apart hoping to get back together, longing for it. But, when he so abruptly removed himself from my life, I realized how much I had depended on him and hoped in him.
Dumb, right? My best friend can tell you how lame that relationship was and how better off I am without him. I know I am, too. He never loved me like I loved him and he always had that power over me. He used me over and over again, and I am sad to say I let him.
After having this epiphany, I decided to take him completely out of my life. I deleted him off Facebook and from my phone. I emailed him one last time.
It has been about four months now. I am past a lot of the violent and crying tendencies associated with a broken heart now. But I do take certain measures like not listening to certain songs and avoiding certain memories when the creep up. I do not think about him every day now. I do not dream about him anymore.
Yet, I do feel like a part of me is missing in a weird way.
I invested so much in him. So much. It is just so hard to not have that part of myself.
I think that is the hardest part about broken hearts. You eventually will put them back together. But, there will be that one little sliver missing that cannot be replaced. It leaves a small gap that after time you hardly notice, yet it is always there.
Here is the deal: I am fine most days. I go without thinking about him or missing him. It is just those days when a smell reminds me of him. Or when Cherry Pie comes on the radio. Or when a memory creeps up on me. Those moments I do miss him, briefly.
In the end, though, I know I am better off without him. He seriously was a Man of Slim to None Intelligence and one day I will find a Man of Real Intelligence that will make NoIQ a distant heart ache.
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