Technology is amazing, but this is some next level kink.

I get requests occasionally to review products and I just don’t want to go down that road. I don’t want to sell anything here so I send all requests to my spam folder. I never check it, but I was missing an important email and found myself looking through the trash.

Which is where I saw this.


So I bought one, immediately. Nora came in a lovely little box on the day my playmate was coming over. Exxxxxxciting. I sent him the login info and gave him long distance access. What a wonderful thing to be alive in the age of Bluetooth sex toys. whoa

I sort of forgot about it after that, because if it’s one thing I don’t need when he’s in my sheets, it’s a vibrator. Remember that amazing erection your high school boyfriend had, that you took for granted? If anything will get me back to church, it’s all the thanks I give to God for the stainless steel he shares with me.

The highlight reel has my subconscious on edge and I’m biting my lip to keep from begging him for more, when the idea hits…

J- Hey… go log in.

He may be at work, watching football, out fishing with the guys,  but with a few clicks, he has full control and I’m struggling to text him back because every time he texts me through the app, Nora bestows another orgasm upon me.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph… he’s even satisfying, remotely. Also, this may be the best money I’ve ever spent.

Image result for martha stewart it's a good thing gif


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?


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.


Drunk Text Gold

I can’t speak for men… but I can say with absolute confidence that every woman loves a drunk text from the man she craves. I don’t care how tired we are, or how little we’ve slept all week… when that sound comes chiming in, it’s a damn fine day. 3 AM be damned, you are awake AND excited.

My beloved daughter had her wisdom teeth out this week, so I’ve been up late hovering or worrying (or both). I fell into bed early last night with a book, my knitting, my list of seeds planted this year and my journal. Tons of ambition and zero energy.  I’ve been listening to a new podcast lately and it was playing on my phone beside my pillow when I fell asleep.

At around 2 am… I heard my favorite sound my phone makes.

P- Hello…

I went from being dead asleep to smiling and awake in 1.2 seconds. When he’s drunk and inspired he’s spicy-sweet with no brakes. The polite gentleman that I do my best to tastefully flirt with becomes my favorite naughty plaything after a few drinks and I am absolutely willing to miss a little sleep when he’s inspired.

Even if he is a few thousand miles away.

It’s the most pleasant break from the ordinary chaos of my day to day and it sure doesn’t suck when the apology text comes rolling in the next morning either…because everyone should be woken up with a whistle on occasion, right?

Let alone twice.

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.