I’m a fickle bitch.
My interest vacillates rapidly, and any delicious idea is one sentence away from dismissal. The moment he brings up his support for Donald Trump, my vagina dries up and I see him as a sad, little mouth-breather and not the present I’ve been dying to unwrap.
I don’t fuck the ignorant.
Along those lines, I’ve been asking the pertinent questions to Big Dick Tom. Could it work? No. He sends me epic videos all day of him strangling the anaconda.
Ugh. This is only hot after you’ve given it to me. Create a craving, then tease my panties off with visual bait. Otherwise, you’re just a basic beater and I’m all set on sexual frustration, thanks.
J- Who’s your team?
BDT- What do you mean?
J- … … …. Do you watch football?
I need that little wide eyed emoji right now. Or that little face palm lady. This is a big deal. I LOVE football. It’s my very favorite season. The thing I miss the very most about having a boyfriend is spending the day in bed, with the game on. If you haven’t fucked all Sunday while watching as many games as you can find? You haven’t lived.
BDT- U can be my sugar mamma.
Where do I even begin. I’d cut my own legs off before I ever supported a man again. I was recently promoted to Vice President at work and have had to shift some things in my own character to be able to handle things that are asked of me. I’m a people pleaser by nature and I am generally inclined to be pleasant and agreeable, regardless of my feelings. Poor Tom… he met me a few months too late, because I’m not even tempted.
I hate to be so black and white about spelling, but I just am. I’ve dated ugly, impotent men with impeccable grammar. It’s that important to me. Tom can’t spell, so we will not be test driving him.
One text message from Incredicock in the midst of trick-or-treating and I’m thinking. That screaming “YUMMY” from my phone makes me want him in the worst way. The nun costume I’m wearing only adds fuel to the fire and I have to bite my lip and sit on my hands to keep from begging him to help me take it off. These cravings are killing me.
My phone barks at me, signaling that Tom isn’t going away without a fight.
BDT- Hey doll face. Wanna hang with the big bad wolf?
My phone starts barking again. He’s calling. I’m bored enough to answer.
BDT- I wanna fuck you tonight.
J- Phone sex is the closest you’re gonna get.
I realize I’m a bit of an asshole for this…. but I don’t care. His east coast, predatory language is the only thing working for me at this point. I dug my vibrator out and told him to talk to me.
BDT- Cum for Daddy.
Damn it all to hell, do I have to do everything my damn self?
J- Uh… Sorry, I gotta go. I’ll call you back.
Don’t wait by the phone, sugarplum… because nothing at all grosses me out more than my dad being brought up when I’m chasing orgasms. There is NOTHING sexy about that. Vom. Gag. Blech. I had a deadbeat dad, and he’s dead. Thanks for bringing it up, asshole.
I threw a minor temper tantrum, kicked the sheets off with my frustrated legs, got my workout gear on and hopped on the elliptical machine.
Can’t have the one I want and don’t want the one that’s begging. Go figure.