Self Control

It’s an amazing feeling to be content. I’ve spent my entire life worried about what people thought of me, going where they expected me to go and doing what I was told to do.

You know what I do now? Whatever the fuck I want.

It’s just as liberating as I imagined it would be.

Instead of dreading work and always being in a desperate battle to get back to the home I drown under financially; I get up early. I take some time to myself before my little Dumpling wakes up.

Making coffee in the morning doesn’t feel like an irritation anymore. I kind of love the ritual of it, and filling the house with the warm smell of fresh ground espresso. One cup only, or my hands shake, which may be the result of the soft silty coffee bean sludge at the bottom of my cup. It’s more like legalized rocket fuel than a morning beverage.  I can’t ever stop at one cup.

I run for a half hour in the morning, and it’s not my favorite. I try to talk myself off the machine for the first five minutes, every morning. I’m watching my arms change shape and the pile of clothes that are too big, continues to grow. It’s working, and more importantly, it’s silencing my screaming sex drive. An hour a day keeps the fantasies at bay?

The funniest thing about being single is that when you actually want to date, it’s difficult to meet someone. When you’re over it and not interested? They come at you from every direction. Two dads in the last week have made the awkward first attempt.

D1- Hey so I didn’t know you were single? Would you want to hang out sometime?

As in fuck you? No. Also no to everything else that “hang out” may include. 

D2- Jen! Hey we should get the kids together to play sometime. Do you like Italian?

Leather, men or salad dressing? Also no, my kid doesn’t like your kid so that’s a hard pass from me too. 

It was fun for a minute, until it wasn’t. I love men, but I’m fresh out of patience for boys and games. I’m at a cool point in my life where I’m completely comfortable being open and honest and I don’t have any desire to side step the truth anymore. I can think of Perfection and not cry about him anymore. If I’m going to be honest, I had the sense fucked back into me and I feel a million times better.

Better to get out of the pool on a high note, so I deleted Incredicock… even out of the iPad (which means I’m serious, lol). It pains me, but you have to realize as a lady when he’s just not that into you, and those late night text messages can say anything platonic you want, because the message you’re sending is loud and clear. If he doesn’t answer, that’s also a very loud response.

Sometimes you just have to save yourself, from yourself. I have to look at him like he’s the cake I cannot have. He’s not on my diet, he’s bad for my heart and the amount of running I have to do to get him out of my system, is obscene.

Having self control is important to me, and he’s done amazing things for my ass as a result of all this so there’s a lovely silver lining.

It was time, but I’m sure gonna miss him…

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Relapse

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I’ve done so well not texting him. It’s a whole new form of torture I haven’t bothered with before. I haven’t deleted Incredicock out of my phone AND I’ve managed to not horrify myself by caving and begging him to come over. I’ve run miles, sat on my hands and knit a dozen mittens.

A day full of visual foreplay had me biting my lip, raw.

There really aren’t words to describe how insanely hot it is to see a beautiful tattooed man, sewing. I’m gonna make him famous on instagram and we may have to make a calendar. I was speechless most of  the day and only embarrassed myself once.

J- My God you smell good.

M- I smell good?

Fuck.

That was supposed to be a thought…. but it fell right out of my mouth. The man is a walking menu of my favorite things and I was so distracted that my filter fell off. I’m drowning in adjectives and praying no more of them escape.

This is some insanely awkward territory. Crushing hard on my friend’s ex and my newest employee. This is either the best or the worst idea I’ve ever had.

Home run, slam dunk, touchdown pass…. I only know-go-big-or-go home.  I don’t speak half-assed and I don’t play to qualify or lose.

He’ll lift the heavy things and make my days, visually satisfying. Seems pretty win-win to me.

I walked up behind him when he was sewing and my words died in my mouth at the sight of his neck. Freshly shaven anything in my world, begs to be touched. Christ on the Cross. I stuck my hands in my pockets and bolted for the door.

M- What?

J- Nothing.

It’s been way too long since I’ve had a man in my house. I’m stunned by the physical presence of him sitting at my desk, and wished my elliptical machine weren’t in the same room as him because there’s absolutely no way that’s happening.

3 rounds of Pretty Pretty Princess, Go Fish and The Squirrel game with Baby Sparkle and The Dumpling later… he was done and heading out the door.

I can do this. I can take one for the team and be part of the greater good. Welcome to management and running 30 miles instead of minutes. I was a half hour into my run when the idea occurred. Sorry, that’s a bold faced lie. I wake up every single morning between 2-3 with my legs tied in knots, fighting this idea.

I slowed to a walk and pulled my phone out. How in the world do I phrase this. “Need” feels like too strong of a word. “Want” feels cheap, or at least not in the ballpark of where I’m at.

J- Hey.

She of so many words, has nothing but a solid determination not to beg.

I- Hey.

J- Busy? I need your help with something.

Whoops. I was doing my best to avoid the N word.

I- With what? On my way.

Thanks be to God. I haven’t slept in weeks, I’ve run myself into oblivion and am sick on inspiration. Masturbating like a teenaged boy, with no relief. I do neeeeeeeeeeed him. I dropped my clothes at the side of my bed, kicked off my socks and laughed. I love my life. Hearing his tires crunch in the driveway makes my heart race and my cheeks hurt from smiling. Today is a good day, y’all.

He came in grinning, adding his own clothes to the path I left behind… raising an eyebrow at me. I’m lightheaded. He’s naked and I thanked God, out loud.

One, two, three four… so many orgasms and I still get more. He’s my very favorite ride. (Sorry, Mom.)

Just like that, he was gone again and I was kicking myself for the fresh highlight reel destined to torture me with renewed vigor. I know I shouldn’t. I can’t not. I fall asleep wanting him… wake up craving him and can’t. It’s an intense form of self torture, but the satisfaction outweighs the suffering and I can’t quit him.

So if you need me, I’ll be running it off. Sigh…

Deal Breakers

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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?

BDT- No.

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.

Yaaaaawn.

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?

J- Can’t.

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.

Hmph.

Can’t have the one I want and don’t want the one that’s begging. Go figure.

 

 

 

 

 

Big Dick Tom

It’s been another insanely high traffic day around here and I’m feeling a little naked. My email has been screaming at me with comments and pingbacks. I logged in this afternoon only to see that stupid Ok Cupid has charged me for another month.

ARGh. This is what they do. I should have checked… so I go in to delete it permanently, and see a message from the guy I’d been talking to & left hanging a few weeks ago…

I shoot him my number and tell him I’m deleting the dumb app, and get an instantaneous response.

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For the record. They all think their dick is amazing. Men are the quintessential opposite to women. Even the tiny fellas think their little peanut is stellar… and sometimes even more so the smaller it is. Tom just turned 30 and I would be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling guilty for being 12 years older than him.

The next text comes in like a baseball bat. Literally.

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No big deal. Just a red hot, armed assassin. I have so many questions. What do you even do with that? I know a few of my favorite things are completely out of the question. I’m dying to know if he gets light headed from the blood loss of getting an erection, because DAMN.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to admit that I’ve never really cared much about size. I can think of two that stand out as noteworthy in regards to size, and neither were there for my favorite orgasms.

From my experience:

Small is horrible. No amount of nice character traits make up for how utterly disappointing it is. Sorry, these are facts. Short and fat beats long and thin, any day. Pencil peen is a deal-breaker. The chance of an orgasm with this one is between slim & none, and Slim left town. For the record, Slim would never be invited TO my town.

Average is what we’re used to seeing 99% of the time. He’s learned to do whatever fun things he can to make his average member, exceptional. I’ll take an inspired average dick over a lazy large one, any day. I’m guaranteed to get there in 5-7 minutes if he’s lazy, but average guys rarely are.

Just like billion dollar lottery tickets, occasionally the heavens open up and God throws out a unicorn. Big dicks are the unicorns of the single world. Gay or straight, it’s a very nice surprise. It’s akin to winning the bonus round of the dating lottery. They aren’t usually attached to the nicest people though, because men learn really fast how much  power there is in a Unicorn. This is a guaranteed, instant orgasm on contact. If not 2 3 4?

There are some places only a Unicorn can take you to.

I looked at the picture of his massive member a half dozen times before calling the Songbird.

J- Hey. I have to send you something, but I want you to apologize to the boyfriend for me first, and I have to prepare you for it.

S- 😂😂😂🔥😂😂😂😂😂☠😂😂😂😂

S- ☠☠☠

S- Holy fucking dick.

J- Right?

S- Eeek. That would rearrange everything. You could only do that on a Friday so that you could be able to come to work on Monday.

She’s right. This is special occasion dick unless you’ve always wanted to know how those cheap, hollow chocolate bunnies feel. I’m really lucky when it comes to being easily satisfied, so I feel like I don’t need a sure thing.

But here we are, faced with the eighth wonder of the world and I have questions.

He’s quick with the dick pics and dialing. I’ve already saved him as “Big Dick Tom” in my phone and am struck by the fact that this is the first guy to actually call. I’m excited to ask him some of these things.

BDT- Hey doll. I’m Tom. How you doin?

Oh no. He’s east coast saucy and I have visions of violent ice hockey to add to the lengthy menu of fantasies this sweet boy brings to the table.

Confession: I have a soft spot for hockey players. Nothing inspires me more than a bunch of big, strong men, beating the shit out of each other for the puck. It’s the only sport I love more than football.

Same goes for that accent of his. He could just whisper “Boston” a few times and I’d be all set. There’s something about those princes of Maine, those kings of New England.

BDT- I wanna see you naked.

This new dating stuff is tough to work with. You see his dick five minutes in, and if you’re game- he could be at your house within the hour.

But I’m more Crock Pot than Instant Pot and I learned a valuable lesson from Incredicock. I’m ok with casual sex, HOWEVER; I am not content to be told when I can have it. This is a two way street and I need to be able to pick up the phone and order a half pound of cock when the mood strikes me. That’s the WHOLE reason you settle for casual.

I’ve learned some contemporary dating lessons with training wheels and now I just have to apply them to Big Dick Tom.

Pray that I live to tell the tale.

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Thirsty

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Well no, Jesus, I haven’t.

I’ve drunk from the water that makes me want more fucking water.

It’s a difficult thing to navigate as a lady, because I’m inclined to just ask. I want what I want, when I want it, and I’d rather accept defeat than entertain drama or guilt. I don’t feel bad for being comfortable with my sexuality. I never will.

But.

When you’ve been celibate for 5 years and you make some whim decision to let Pandora out of her box?

The hangover is intense.

I crave him so much physically that the willpower I possess  for food is far beyond the threshold I have for resisting the urge to beg him like I’m inclined to.

My phone shouts YUMMY every time he texts me and it cracks me up. The Dumpling thinks it’s hilarious too..

D- I like it when your phone says YUMMY! YUMMY! YUMMY!

Mommy does too.

I’ve run myself into a smaller size as a result of all this frustration, and my best friend is scheduling an intervention to help do a clean sweep of him out of my phone and off of the iPad, which is an unfortunate necessity. The temptation is intoxicating enough, but after two glasses of wine, I start to drown in it and reason is the first to escape me.

Goddamn Pandora. I’ve crammed her back into the box and I’m duck taping it shut. It’s too distracting to listen to her whine and as much as I celebrate my sexuality, I refuse to be controlled by it. If I could snap my fingers and he’d be in my sheets? I’d be snapping my fingers all damn day and I have shit to do.

Some men know too much and it fucks you up a little when he reads your mind while giving you a whole new list of favorites.

Inspired men are dangerous.

and Yummy…

 

Ego

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It takes a special kind of man to sit comfortably in the crosshairs of my blog. I make a point to not get involved with anyone that knows me well enough to know about it. It puts me at too much of a disadvantage when they start reading. I’ve learned the hard way by thinking it wouldn’t matter. It always has.

The worst of the worst , work overtime to manipulate it. The absolute worst guy I ever dated, manipulated every syllable until I bleached him out of my life. He knew if he came to see me, I’d be word vomiting his ego back into the stratosphere before he got back to his office. He also was the only one who’s ever loved a solid hate blog. I wrote about his failed erections. He was furious, but he made a point to drive over to spank me, because he wanted to read about it.

The best one was determined to be a good guy in print. I wasn’t that into him and he was on overdrive. He sent me pretty shoes, cheeky panties, a pretty pink Coach bag… and on and on. He would have kept on buying, purely for how much he loved to read about how much I loved my new panties… until he read about me putting them on for a date he wasn’t taking me on. Nice guys turn crazy when they read how lukewarm you are about them. Disinterest hooks them just as deeply as it does us.

The hottest one, lived to outdo himself. He referred to my blog as personalized porn, and he did research on ways to stun, surprise and satisfy me. He counted my orgasms like goals and left me drowning in adjectives and shaking from the highlight reel running through my head. What began as a revenge fuck, ended up being a hell of a hard habit to break. Still the only man who has ever made me tap out. Bless his smoking hot soul.

The biggest monsters learned the largest lessons. Nathan still has to explain why he’s such a liar and I cock-blocked Virgin Islands with the truth until he begged me to stop. I set most of the content regarding both of them to private because I don’t want to be defined by my biggest mistakes any more than they do.

My friends will tell you that I’m one of the nicest people they know. They will also caution anyone not to overlook the flip side. I rise to the occasion and put in overtime to outdo my conquests. Same goes for when they’ve decided to be an asshole. When I hear them whine and complain about how they hate and want me simultaneously, I know that my work is done. I’m not a bitch, I’m just a big fan of Karma.

However they inspire me to feel, will be returned to them, tenfold. I’m the ultimate investment until he’s a douche bag, treating me poorly; whilst reading my journal.

At that point? He becomes a verbal target and I unpack my bag of his deepest insecurities for a few thousand friends and strangers to read and laugh about. It’s all fun and games until it hurts, huh boys?

Mr. Grey is not a subscriber and will not be reading. Something that absolutely delights me for a few old fashioned reasons. I don’t know what he’ll be wearing on our date Sunday, because he hasn’t read what I hope it’ll be. He’s attentive without knowing I want him to be, responding to my texts within minutes unless he’s in court. He actually apologizes if he’s away from his phone and doesn’t respond, promptly. That still surprises me. Confidence is one of the hottest things a man can show you and it’s the definition of masculinity for me. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t play stupid games and <gasp> even communicates. With words I occasionally have to look up…<quadruple swoon>.

For the most part though? It’s really fun to see what he does without reading the cliff notes…

The One? Nah.

(I think I may be a lifer. I found this sitting in my drafts folder from 2011. The adorable Baby Chicken has since gotten married, so my apologies to the Mrs.)

………………………………………….

Someone asked me recently…

D- What are you looking for?

J- I don’t know? A normal, nice, hot, funny, sexy, smart, sharky…

D- Oh keep going, jeez, is that all?

J- One can hope, ya know. I’m aware most of us settle for two of the seven.

D- Then what. After you meet that guy.

J- Hopefully I like him.

D- and if you do…then what?

J- Date him? I don’t know- what are you getting at?

D- and then you’ll get married?

J- Oh god no! I’ll never ruin a perfectly good relationship with marriage, ever again.

I’ve been to a few weddings this year, and the same feeling always strikes me.

Dread.

Deep in the pit of my chest, dread. I never want that again. I really like my life belonging to myself. I suppose I’m actually dating for fun at this point. Cool.

In getting out of a lengthy situation, I’m gun shy. I’m not really ready to date anybody because I’m still busy whining about someone else.

I need to knit for a while, sew with my daughter for a while… make a few thousand marshmallows… plant a few thousand seeds.

Hearing the grumblings of friends wanting to introduce me to people, even meeting a great guy… My head isn’t in the game. I’m ridiculously hot & cold, and I have a crush on a certain chicken. Not a safe bet if you’re looking for a girlfriend or wife.

I’m a little disgusted with men in general actually, and enjoying hanging out with my guy friends, who only hit on me when they’re really really drunk.

On hiatus really- because the last time I jumped into dating headfirst after a breakup, I ended up with a stalker. I’m entirely too disinterested, and unfortunately everyone is susceptible to wanting something that eludes them. When you play by the same rules as the boys, they don’t know what hit them…

Some of us aren’t interested in finding “The One” and though I love being single, I do like hanging out with someone funny/sexy/sweet as well.

Hence my Baby Chicken habit.

It is, what it is, what it is. Perfect. Great company, no strings, funny & burn the house down. A little too burn the house down at times. It takes 3 days to recover from having Chicken for dinner…but I’m always tempted. I can’t lie, he’s my favorite bad habit.

I’m incredibly unavailable at this point- and I’d be lying if I claimed otherwise.

Single is kind of wonderful. Dating has been extremely unsuccessful and I’d like to refer to having a boyfriend in the same way I refer to the seven years I lost with a bad one. With contempt, because I think it’s been such an epic waste of time up to this point.

I like the idea… I love the idea of endless monogamous love, I just don’t know that I’m delusional enough to believe in it anymore… or even want it for myself.

Variety is the spice of life….

and I’d rather be single… with an occasional Chicken.