Rabid Interest

I forced myself out of bed at 5, dying a little. Feeling the whole weight of eating a cow and drinking a bowl of gin. My eyeballs ache. I have to force myself into the car and to my office. Struggling hard with a headache and a desperate need to nap. Not just tired.

Bothered, and not in a good way. I had to silence my phone to stop the whistling. Mr. Grey doesn’t wait for me to text him back and when I look at my phone there are 11 new messages from him. I feel inundated. I’m especially annoyed because Incredicock’s text tone cracks me up and I’ve missed it three times now because Grey can’t pump his brakes.

There’s a fine line to holding my interest. I’m not afraid to admit that. If I feel like I have to hide from him, I don’t want him anymore. I have a million things going on in a day and I don’t care what he ate for lunch. Not. At. All.

I actually have no desire to talk to him during his lunch break or on his drive home. I’m not a pacifier.

For the love of God. Why do all the wrong men chase me like a deer on the first day of hunting season?

I realize by going silent that I’m making the problem worse. If I want him to chill out, I have to out-text him, call during dinner and send him animated gifs all day. I know the path out, I just don’t care enough to follow it.

G- You must be busy today! Have a good one, gorgeous.

G- Flying Sunday?

G- I can fly over and pick you up so you don’t have to drive so far.

G- We could get lunch in Kalispell, Montana?

G- It was great to catch up with you.

G- Navy pinstriped tie today.

Sigh. I wish I cared, but he’s annoying the shit out of me. I feel like there’s a target on my back that I don’t know about. Yeeesh. I finally snapped.

J- Hey Chatty Kathy, I’m at work. I’ll text you when I get off.

G- Sorry babe, I woke up thinking about you. When do I get to see you again?

Where’s that annoyed emoji when I need it. I put my headphones back on and prayed he’d shut the fuck up. No luck. I finally Googled how to silence him, and a lovely little moon popped up beside his name. Finally, peace.

I raced to get my little Dumpling from school and took her to the park to play. It’s getting colder and darker earlier these days, so we’re trying to squeeze every last bit of playing outside. We walked home in the dusky twilight, holding hands.

This is why I don’t want a boyfriend. She’s my +1. I don’t want her to have to share my time with anyone. That may sound a little dramatic, but it’s really important to me. I only date when she’s asleep so she is none the wiser. She is really excited that my heels have come out of  storage, though.

We walked up to the house and there was a long white box waiting by the front door.


It’s from Mr. Grey. I lifted the lid and it’s a big bunch of gorgeous pink roses.

D- Daddy sent me flowers!!!!

J- He’s such a nice daddy. Let’s put them in some water.

D- I want them to be in my room!

I thanked Grey for the roses and let him know it was a huge hit with the little one. I stopped short of telling him they were in her room.

G- Call me after she goes to bed.

J- I have to run. I’ll text you.

… … … ……………………..

I didn’t.

and woke up to 14 messages, including some song lyrics and hearts.



All Hail The King.

Too many hours into his day, he showed up looking every bit the wet dream he is. I am incredibly tempted to strip my clothes off at the door, pull his work shirt on and ruin it for him permanently. Not because I want to be possessive, but because I want him to think of it every morning that he gets dressed for work.

We’re at that level of Good-God-Get-Naked inspiration.

In true fashion, I cooked. I dug potatoes. Miss Lovely called and asked right away:

L- “Mmmm what did you cook?

I’m ridiculously domestic, and when you satisfy me, I feed you. I suppose it’s my Mormon roots rearing their subservient head. At any rate, I cooked it all… and we didn’t touch a single thing. I didn’t eat so much as one slice of the tomatoes I’ve been waiting for since February. He’s the meal I’ve been craving, the vitamin I’m deficient in and the best friend a girl could ask for.

He’s the Viceroy of Vulva. Lord of the Labia. King of the Clitoris.

Mr. So Fucking Good I Can’t Think Straight.

I was on the phone with my darling Lovely as I ran around the house in breathless anticipation.

L-“Well I hope you have a wonderful time tonight”

I choked on the beer I was drinking and laughed.

J- “I’m more concerned about where I can find a wheelchair, tomorrow.”

I guess I should feel a little guilty about the situation. I’m incinerating some pretty enormous cardinal rules I’ve always held… but.

This adorably funny man is my animated sex toy. My wish? His command. He’s where I want him and how I want him, for as long as my hungry body desires. I don’t know how he does it, I’m just grateful to be on the receiving end of such titanic inspiration.

K- Where do you want me?

Y’all. Is this real life? I’m torn between tying him to my bed and tossing him the rope. Realizing now why they sell those Clone a willy kits   because I’ve seen the promised land in this penis. He should be mass produced and widely distributed. We can all remember our favorite orgasm and after last night, I have a new favorite. Bless him.

I took my first night off in 5 years and am shaking like a car on bad gas this morning. My silky smooth, freshly waxed thighs were every bit the kryptonite I knew they’d be… but I’m afraid I was their ultimate victim.

A short run this morning nearly killed me, squats are completely out of the question and my 8 pound weights feel like 20. Pale blue fingerprint bruises map out the path he burned across my body last night and I can’t help but blush at a few of the flashbacks.

God bless Mr. Incredicock

and God save the satisfied Queen.

Also, does anyone have a wheelchair I could borrow?



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 a functioning one showed up to remind me that not all men are created equal.

I feel like sewing him a goddamn cape.