Watch.

I’ve been enduring a grueling work out regimen for the past month. It’s working, but I’m in a constant state of ache. My playlist is burned into my brain for the parts of my body that suffer differently in each song. I didn’t consider that when I invited my friend over the other night. I absentmindedly plugged my phone in and hit play. Dancing and chopping veggies, I hear my favorite song come on and cringe simultaneously. It plays at the heart of my run, when I’m absolutely sure I’m going to die. Heart pounding, sweat running down my spine and legs on fire…

In the midst of running out of condoms,  my song came on and I can’t lie… I really thought about dancing. Stupid on screaming orgasms and sexual liberation, I feel completely justified to do a little happy dance. I am not one to be outdone and when I am satisfied I will go above and beyond to return every pleasure.

So when I saw him laying there, all satisfying and shit; I was inspired. I picked up the candle that was burning on my dresser and carried it to the side of my bed, asking him to come closer.

I slid a pillow to the floor and under my knees as his legs slid over the edge, wrapped my fingers gently around his balls and enjoyed my favorite song in a whole new way. Watching his eyes roll back in his head while he tries to watch me appreciate my favorite inches of him with my very grateful mouth.

This is why I curled my eyelashes.

I reached for his hand and tucked his fingers into my hair, focusing on moaning around instead of choking on, my favorite new plaything. Feeling him fill my throat and whisper as he closes his eyes…

K- fuuuuuuuuck.

Watching him watch me. It’s hot.

and let me just tell you about my run this morning! Midway through Ariana telling me to keep on breathing, I realize what’s next and bite my lip at the thought. That soul stomping 4 minutes that used to threaten to break me, is now an audio guide to some spicy memories.

I’m intoxicated on inspiration and enjoying every bit of being able to write again, so if you are easy shocked or offended, you definitely want to unsubscribe now. I’m relishing the fact that I can ask him for anything without shocking him and vice versa. I intend to do what I can to blow his mind and my own in the process.

Pop some corn, sip some tea, or better yet?

Watch.

Eww… gross.

I recently made a new friend. Introduced by one of my favorite girlfriends, I liked her immediately! She’s a gorgeous mother of 6 of the most well behaved and wonderful children I’ve ever met. She’s my age, just moved here, and offered to watch my little one if I ever needed some help. I was incredibly grateful, especially since I knew my tiny girl would love to play in a house full of kids.

When my sitter canceled at the last minute and my standby sitters were all busy, I asked if they’d be willing to let her play for a few hours. My friend Supermom agreed enthusiastically. She wouldn’t be off work until 45 minutes after I did, but her husband and 5 kids would be happy to help and she’d be there right after. I dropped her off with a bit of hesitation, to be honest. I’m extremely selective about who I leave her with, and I’d only just met them. The kids rushed out to greet her and she didn’t mind me leaving. I knew she was going to have a great time, and they lived next door to my favorite Bearded Man and Beauty Queen.

I got to work and put my phone in the glove box, approving a Facebook friend request from Supermom’s husband, feeling relieved that they were a safe family for my precious girl to be with while I had to work, because I’ve had some less than fantastic sitters. A few people at work are cell phone addicts so they’re taking them from us in order to stop the problem. It’s created a lot of stress for me personally in regards to not being able to check in to the nanny cam in my home and just be immediately accessible in case something comes up. I went in to work feeling at ease for a change, which was fantastic.

I got to the car at 8:40, and checked my phone. Two Facebook messages from the husband. Odd.

1

It made me uneasy. I sent Supermom a message, thanking her and letting her know I was on my way, then flew to get her. Supermom greeted me with a friendly smile as my munchkin happily ate popcorn with her sweet kids in the background. We visited for a minute, I thanked her & left. I buckled my sleepy smiling girl, with two handfuls of popcorn, into her carseat. My phone flashed as I buckled my seatbelt. Another message from the husband.

2

She was rattling off all the fun stuff they’d done and laughing about the kids. She said she wanted to play with them again. I tried to shake off the weird feeling I was having, and attribute it to three years of celibacy going to my head. It’s easy to misread text messages. I began shaking my head at myself for feeling weird. We got home, I tucked her in with toddler babble about splashing and playing, still coming from her. I thanked him.

3

I walked away from my computer and emptied the dishwasher. I came back to texts to my personal number, from him. I hadn’t given him my number so I was confused, but knew immediately who it was. Still trying to quell the unease caused by how I was interpreting his tone. I tried to respond kindly, but there was still just something, making me feel… off.

4

I sent Supermom a message and got a emoticon back. I honestly wondered if maybe they were swingers, getting ready to make the pitch.

5

Phew. Normal dad comment. I’m overreacting. Thank GOD. My baby had a great time and couldn’t wait to go back. I was being ridiculous. I felt like a bit of a jerk for jumping to asshole conclusions.

6

Fuck. First things first, I’m WAY too old to ignore my inner barometer. When it feels wrong, it’s because something is fucking wrong. The hair rose on the back of my neck. My douche bag radar is unparalleled these days. I’m ashamed I forgot that. I was at a loss for words and didn’t respond. I was hoping he’d clarify, respectfully. No such luck.

7

Well if there ever were a gilded sign from God that I am, indeed, right about men… here it is.

8I no habla slutty husband. I walked away from my phone, sat down at my laptop to see if my friend was online so I could call her, and saw his creepy Facebook messages.

9

Huh?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware that my little lady is the cutest and sweetest child ever born, but this crosses a line that I can’t even begin to describe. This is beyond creepy, and I wish my little girl’s incredibly defensive father was a few states closer, because this pervy husband would be gargling teeth. No exaggeration.

I was instantly afraid in my own house, and moved the baby to my bed. I think that’s what makes me the most mad.

We slept in and I woke up, tormented. Supermom is wonderful, and I had to say something to her before I called my babydaddy and her husband had to push his torso around on a skateboard for the rest of his life.

Worse yet… I had to tell my friend who’d introduced us.

Which is when I learned that he’s been texting her too. She’s happily married and pregnant and has been trying to kindly sidestep his propositions in the same way I have.

This guy is a full blown weasel, and when confronted, claims he was blackout drunk and does not remember sending any texts. I hate to use my least favorite word, but….

Aint nobody got time for that.

SO consider this is a good ol’ fashioned spanking…just not like he was hoping I’d be willing to give him.

Dear Mike,

I was going to send you an understanding message asking you if you were maybe blackout drunk. Then I realized something. That’s because I was raised to be polite, pleasant and demure. To accept even the most insincere apologies, because (to quote my mother) “To err is human, to forgive, divine.”

Only I’m a farmer, and I recognize a weasel when I see one.

You sir, prey on women. I’m sure you’ve successfully bagged a few. You’ve talked your way out of it, somehow, but not with me. I am mortally offended, on many levels.

I’m a single mother, and I have no choice but to rely on the kindness of my friends and neighbors to help me find someone safe & trustworthy to watch my precious baby, because work is not optional. Unlike you, who get to be a stay at home father, I have to work. Finding childcare is a burden I never understood, until now. How dare you use my daughter as a pickup line, and do you realize what a pedophile you sound like? How dare you humiliate both your wife and me, and put me in a position where I have to tell her something so awful.

How will you ever begin to apologize?

Oh… that’s right… by continuing to text me, during the day. SOBER.

10

You will never see my child again. Be glad I don’t call the police and report what a creeper you are, just in case. Incidentally, you were home alone with your own baby girl at the time you were having withdrawals for mine. Gross.

I screenshot your sketchy ass messages and sent them to your wife. She admitted you are “weak” and said it was “alcohol related and harmless” and that “it had happened before and you’d moved here for a fresh start”.

You’ve been here a month and you’ve propositioned the pregnant neighbor and your wife’s new friend. Things aren’t looking good for your fresh start. I was going to send you a text telling you what a douchebag I think you are, until I found out that, when confronted, you feigned ignorance and took no responsibility. Then I decided you needed a little public bashing, because a million guys would give a kidney to be as lucky as you.

You’re raising husbands and fathers. They’re growing up to emulate the example you set. They’re going to treat their wives the way they’ve watched you treat their mother. Now you have a baby girl. She’s going to pick a man just like YOU. How’s that sit?

You had no right to disrespect me or cross that line. You ruined a friendship for your poor wife, who already carries & makes excuses for you, and lost a fun friend for your kids. Shame on you.

Dirtbag… you are a jerk and your wife (and children) deserve better.

Mr. Incredicock

I believe in giving credit where credit is due. This outrageous temptation turned out to be the most fabulous idea and I look smug today because it has been years since I’ve been so satisfied. I’m pretty sure my eyes are a lighter shade of green and I feel muscles in my spine I didn’t know existed.

I’m an erectile dysfunction survivor.  I’m a nice girl, so I’ve always made the most of a difficult situation but it just sucks. I’ll be blunt; in my experience the closer they get to 40, the softer their dick.

I wish there were a way to sugar coat it, but I’ve had to try to swallow that soft, disappointing noodle, too many times and for the record, making him feel better about it gets really old, really fast. It’s his job to handle things on his end and if he doesn’t?

Peace out of that party, girlfriend..because good Lord in the morning…

You are missing out on some earth-shattering orgasms. I sure was. My favorite new superhero had to listen to me scream again and again all night.  I lost count at 8 and that was early.  God love him, he’s probably half-deaf today because I had no idea that titanium dick existed.

It does exist… and every woman needs one. Post haste.

Women go through all sorts of invasive shit in order to have safe sex. The least men can do is come prepared for battle. I feel bad for any man struggling with getting or keeping it up, but there are all sorts of solutions and it shouldn’t be our job to handle that end of things.

I felt like I was drowning in a sea of semi flaccid dick, when Mr. Incredicock showed up to remind me that not all men are created equal.

I feel like sewing him a goddamn cape.

good

Escaping The Friend Zone

In my defense… I knew it was a dangerous idea from the moment I heard he was coming to town. He’s been my favorite vice for years, and I’ve known for a long time that this could only end badly.  Just like last time, logic doesn’t slow me down. I gave up worrying about the how’s and why’s of it a long time ago.

What could possibly go wrong?

I could end up even deeper, with a need that can’t be easily satisfied. That’s what.

I made an educated decision to ignore the little nagging voice in the back of my mind,  shaking my head at myself because I know what happens when I ignore her. Too busy fantasizing about him while I shaved, waxed, spray tanned and tried not to bite my nervous red lips, raw.

Some things never change. The first sight of him and his beautiful smile,  the cologne that ties my stomach in knots. Sigh…I’m an adult, not a saint and I silently begged my body to obey the situation and B R E A T H E . . . but.

It’s Him. That same Him. It’s new because it’s been a while… but it’s not new. It’s a familiar sort of perfect that gives me the same butterflies I had at 14.

I’ve learned a lot about perfect in the past five years. Besides the fact that it doesn’t exist, I’ve learned that I had unreal expectations for some of the men I’ve named.  Being labeled as perfect sounds horrible to me. What an overwhelming burden to maintain. However… he just is. Sweetly sexy in a way so primal that I feel like I need to go to Mass this morning to apologize for the sexual acrobatics my subconscious mind has him performing.

He makes me want to listen to slutty hip hop, inspires the most intense workouts and loathe my empty bed in ways I never imagined possible.

 

People tend to live up to their labels and I’ve been known to saddle a man with his worst vice. He’s an exception to every rule I have, which is absolutely fantastic and completely refreshing. Never mind the torturous sleepless nights that have resulted in my ignoring what I already knew would be a horrible hangover.

Just as quickly as he was here, he’s gone again and it’s a new sort of suffering I haven’t even considered for the past 5 years. Weeding isn’t helping, I’m too distracted to knit and I wake up to dreams about him in my sheets. I resent my kitchen utensils because they remind me of him, so the poor whisk has been sent to the pantry until I can look at it without wanting to hop on a plane. I have to just grin and bear it with the spatula.

I am at my breaking point, when I hear a text from him come in… and I’m freshly addicted and grinning like the latest Publisher’s Clearinghouse winner.

Platonic chats about cheese never felt so scintillating because I want just one thing.

 

Wifey

He reached for me and I swallowed hard as I felt his nails dig into my wrist. They’d been drinking all day and I’d just gotten off work. Being sober in a bar at midnight is no laughing matter and it was a full house of what looked to be, inebriated teenagers.

I needed booze on board, post haste.

The dirty Bombay Sapphire martini I held, felt like a liquid security blanket even though I appeared to be the only person in the room with an actual glass. His hand on my wrist made my heart race, and the icy cold gin wasn’t helping fast enough.

Something had shifted with him and I could feel it hanging in the space between us. I set my glass down and he pulled me out the door and across the street to another bar.

We’re standing at the end of the bar, halfheartedly trying to order a drink, when a man interrupts us.

M- Hey, Hi- excuse me! I can see that you’re having some sort of romantic and special evening, it’s your anniversary, isn’t it! Can I squeeze in and order?

I blink at Perfection. Completely speechless and thankful for the dark, because I’m positive I’m ruby red.

P- It is. What’s it been, wifey- 3 years? Oh no, 3 years and 10 months.

I’m amazed my shaking knees are holding me. The butterflies in my stomach are making me a little nauseous and I feel feverish. I wish I had a drink in my hand so that I could do something other than look stunned. I finally choke out an awkward response.

J- Sure, hubby. Wow, you’re a daddy too.

P- Bonus!

I’m thankful for my sobriety, and manners…because they were the only things keeping me from propositioning him right then and there. The strange guy just wants to buy a drink, but now that he’s celebrating our anniversary with us, he insists on buying us a shot. I am still so stunned by what’s going on with Perfection that I cannot make up my mind about what I want.

J- Not Fireball or Rumple minze. Anything but those. You decide, Darling.

P- I insist, wife. What do you really want? Tell me what sounds good?

The answers that come to mind would leave him equally as speechless, but his hand is drifting lower on my ass and I can hardly breathe, let alone speak. The stranger is looking at me, expectantly.

J- Washington apples. Thank you.

I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone. Is this real life? Am I hallucinating? Am I really wasted and I just feel far too sober?

We take the shot and the stranger wishes us well on our marriage and leaves. Perfection leans in.

P- Do you know how many times I’ve had dreams about you?

J- Are you feeling alright? I think you’ve been overserved.

Ever have one of those moments where you’re a million miles away from the noisy room you’re standing in? I could feel his heart racing and hear him struggling like me.

This is real life.

This is Perfection.

This is what it’s supposed to feel like. In and of itself, it is a huge relief that I can recognize that. He doesn’t live here, the timing is wrong and he has a few loose ends I don’t want to get tangled in…

But…. it is fanfuckingtastic to have a Perfect evening, and remember what it feels like to be wildly attracted to not just anyone, but someone really and truly special.

Maybe I’m not a catlady, after all.

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