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Public Restrooms

6 Jul

I’ve never been one to submit to the odd grope in the toilet.  PDA?  Sure, who hasn’t done that.  And what person hasn’t found themselves HAMMERED outside a bar during her college years and ended up making out with someone then blacked out and not remembered it and then 8 people tell her the next day they saw her making out with the weird looking ginger right after midnight?  I mean, come on now, that’s a common occurrence, right??

Monsieur le Baguette has shared seedy stories from his past which include receiving oral pleasures in the middle of a packed bar and then banging the chick in a vestibule.  Romance.

Since we started dating a few months ago he’s tried, repeatedly, to romance me in public restrooms.  He’s been denied, repeatedly.  When I met his friends a few months ago he dragged me into 2 different bathrooms and suggested we do all sorts of naughty things.  I, being the absolute lady I am, politely declined and left him there on his own.

You can imagine his surprise when on Monday, while we were in a upscale establishment during our UK holiday together, I returned from the restroom and told him it was very private and we’d never get caught.  “Are you kidding me?” he asked.  “Nope, it’s very secluded, no one would even know we were in there,” I replied.  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.  I smiled and replied, “just thought you should know, in case you wanted to go…”  He practically jumped out of his chair and dragged me back there.

Fast forward to 30 seconds later when we’re in the secluded bathroom.  A romantic setting for a rendezvous.

I’ll skip over some of the details.  Let’s just say there were pants around ankles when someone started pulling at the door handle.  “They’ll go away,” I whispered to him.  So we went back to what we were doing (or attempting to do).  A few minutes went by and we could suddenly hear a lot of people outside the bathroom.  “Shhh,” he said, “just keeping going.”  We did.  And then the rattling of the door knob started again.

Awesome.

“We’re going to have to leave,” he said.  At which point we had to come up with the plan of how we were going to exit.  We’d wait a few minutes until it quieted down a bit, then he’d walk out first, I’d skip a beat, and then follow.

Out he walked into the light of day.  “Excuse me,” I heard him say to someone as I closed the door behind him.  30 seconds later I pulled the door at the exact moment the cleaning lady was pushing the door.  She clearly didn’t realize there was anyone else in the single bathroom.  It was evident by the spectacular look of shock and horror on her face when I popped out and said, “hello,” as I brushed past her and kept walking.  Poor woman.

Absolute fucking disaster.

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Laser Beams

2 May

One of the most fun parts of hooking up with someone new is discovering their body for the first time.  It’s like unwrapping a present – you never know what you’re going to get until all the wrapping is off.  I tend to be like a kid a Christmas, ripping all the packaging off the gift and diving right in.   Usually you’ll get an a “Oh! I love it! It’s just what I wanted!” from me.  On some occasions there may have been an “Oh.  Not what I was expecting, but it will do.”  Mind you, the last reaction is never spoken aloud.

The reaction to the package, so to speak, isn’t just about size or shape.  Much of it has to do with the grooming which has or has not taken place.  I appreciate when a man takes care of his business.  Rifling through a forest of pubic hair is not my idea of a good time.  Just as we ladies are expected to keep our lady parts groomed, I expect my men to do the same thing.  Manscape the shit out your stuff, dudes, it’s common courtesy.  No one wants to be choking on pubic hair during a blowie.  Hooking up with 3D was like being lost in a deep dark forest, I forgave him because the package he carried was pretty substantial and he knew what to do with it.

In this most recent round of dating I’ve found men to be far more concerned with the way they present their junk, and for that, I say “thank you.”

We ladies have all sorts of options these days: stay full, trim it, landing strips, bald eagle.  You have to figure out the best way to make your lady bits shine in the way they should.  Maintenance can be a bit of a chore, but it’s always worth it.  You can shave it, tweeze it, wax it, or laser it.  Shaving is great on day 1, then the damn little red bumps make their appearance.  Waxing makes me want to die on the table, and when it’s time to regrow the hair it’s so damn itchy.  It’s what I imagine crabs to be like, only more uncomfortable.  Tweezing takes an eternity and you end up with the same regrowth issues as with waxing.  And that, my friends, is why I have decided on laser hair removal.

Two weeks ago I had my initial consult.  It was quick, they showed me lots of pictures of options (bikini, landing strip, full Brazilian), we talked about the process, and I signed on the dotted line.  6 sessions, every 2 months to kill all those pesky hair follicles.  Ridiculous amount of money to get it done, but it will be worth it.

Last week I went to my first appointment.  I was dead nervous as during the consult I had been told it the process would take 40 minutes.  I’d read the sensation felt like rubber bands snapping on skin, and that sensation on my most sensitive parts for 40 minutes didn’t seem like something to look forward to.  People, it was worse than snapping laser bands.  There are certain parts of your lady bits which are super sensitive and the technician told me it would feel really “spicy”.  It felt like someone was pinching as hard as they possibly could – I don’t know about you, but I’m not down with pinching my privates.  There I was on my back, naked from the waist down, legs akimbo with a complete stranger, trying not to sweat and cry.  Kind of like a first hook up only not as fun.  All because I want to be properly groomed when I hook up.  Talk about vanity.

Thankfully, the process only lasted about 10 minutes.  There was no pain after the session.  I was told it would take about 2 weeks before the shedding phase, then I’d be hairless for a few weeks, and then the sleeping follicles (they go through growth cycles) would activate.  I’ll keep you posted on progress.  We’ll see how things go.  So far, I’m not seeing anything new.  Monsieur le Baguette is eager to see how everything works out.

Operation #laseredladybits is in progress!

Running the bases

30 Mar

Yesterday was a beautiful day for a baseball game.  The sun was shining.  The weather was just right.  The crowds were festive, and the O’s won in the 11th inning.  First game of the season is in the books. As is, probably, my last hook up with the Chess Player.

We spent the entire day together.  Met him at his apartment just after lunch, we walked to the stadium and spent the day drinking.  He didn’t want me to pay for anything because he’s a southern gentlemen, and that’s now how he rolls.  He’s charming and smart, I’ll give him that.  But when he grabbed my hand while we were sitting down, or he was gazing into my eyes, all I could think of was, “I’m so not where you are right now.” He beamed when we were buying beers and the dude behind the bar said we looked like a “nice young couple.”  Cute since there’s an 11 year age difference.  The Chess Player is too into it.  He talked about the future – how we would take me to football games in the fall, “if you decide to stay around,” he told me.  Uh…um…so not there with him.  Not even a tiny bit.

How does one person read signals which aren’t quite there?  What did he see to interpret there’s a future?

We didn’t watch much of the game because we were too busy making out in the stands.  I’m sure it was annoying to the people sitting next to us.  Had I been sitting next to a couple (not a couple, 2 people sitting together) who were making out I would have been rolling my eyes and whispering, “get a room” under my breath.

Oh.

Maybe he read my making out with him in public and letting him hold my hand as signs I’m more present than I actually am?  Yikes. My bad.  I didn’t mean for that too happen.

[Oh hey, is that you, sibling?  Because you can go now.  Tap out.  Is that your phone ringing?  ** BRRRRING BRRRRING**  I think it is.  You should probably get that call. ** BRRRRING BRRRRING**  It’s probably really important.  By the way, did you need me to bring something to dinner on Sunday? I may have said I was going to bring some veggies, but can’t remember.  Text me if you want me to bring something.  And also, I expect an Easter basket. ** BRRRRING BRRRRING** Go answer the phone.  Or at least look away.]

Perhaps he also interpreted my ending up naked in his bed at the end of the night as some kind of sign.  There was no boot knocking, no home run.  Thought about it, but decided it would send all kinds of mixed signals.  We did slide into 3rd base.  In text exchanges with #4, he’d said my talents were wasted on the Chess Player.  He, surprisingly, was more skilled than I assumed he would be.  That was pleasantly surprising.  It was fun.

And it wasn’t.

Not sure how to describe it.  There was something missing.  I did not feel present.  It wasn’t mechanical, and I don’t mind meaningless, but it was hollow if that makes sense.  My mind was elsewhere, with someone else.  Engaging with the Chess Player was difficult, the connection was off for me.  I’m not typically one who tends to be quiet in the bedroom, but I couldn’t get into the talking.  He was saying the right things, but I wasn’t there, so my silence made me feel more disengaged.  My focus seemed to be on finishing so we could wrap things up and I could go home.  Even in the throes of – well, you know – I kept thinking this whole thing would have been way more fun with Monsieur le Baguette.

I’d rather be with him.

Interestingly enough, had the hook up been with #4 instead, there wouldn’t have been an issue with him.  Perhaps it’s because we already have some sort of established connection and there are no illusions of what is/not between us.  We’ll find out when he comes back around in the next few weeks.

The Chess Player leaves today to visit his family, he’ll be gone for the weekend.  Hopefully, the distance will serve to cool things off.

 

It’s your move

20 Mar

Well guess who has been awfully chatty over the last few days?  Looks like the Chess Player still has some moves he’s looking to make.

Saturday morning, barely hours since I had left his apartment, he was texting me.  Asking about the weekend, telling me he’d had fun, wanting to know more about me.  Foundation, I assumed, for a future hook up.  He asked a few questions about why I had decided to go home with him.  He joked about having me back in his exceptionally soft sheets.  Of course he was telling me how hot, interesting, smart, charming, and talented I was, and how much fun he had had.

Wouldn’t you know it?  He’s pretty funny.

He’s also, a bit of shock when you factor in the 11 year age difference, genuinely interested.  Or perhaps it’s that he’s intrigued?  He asks about my day.  I had a big launch of a project I had mentioned to him and he asked how it went.  Do booty calls do that?  Because he also called me “amazing”.  And not in a sexual kind of way (he used “talented” for that).  He also wants to know what kinds of shows I like to watch.  Where I want to go on vacation.  What I like about my job.  The books I like to read.  Today he told me he’s a champion snuggler – I can vouch for those skills.

Texts first thing in the morning and last thing at night (for him).  We were in the midst of texting last night when Monsieur le Baguette called me. I stopped texting the Chess Player, because well it was Monsieur le Baguette, I mean come on!  He assumed that I had just fallen asleep (it was kind of late) and he sent me a little kissy winky face goodnight text.

What’s his game here?

The Chess Player

17 Mar

You know sometimes on a Friday all you want to do is crawl in bed. As you’re settling in for the afternoon thinking about what you’ll do for dinner one of your friends calls and convinces you to go out for a drink.  So you grumble under your breath while you get dressed and do your make up and say yourself, “I’m going to stay out for max two drinks, and I’ll be in my flannel jammies by 8:30.”  You drive downtown because uber is stupid expensive due to peak hours and think that driving will make it easier for you to sneak out early.  And oh look, a princess parking spot in front of the bar!

You’re winning already.

You head upstairs, see your friends and think it’s a good idea to start with a gin and tonic (extra limes) because your friends have been drinking beer since noon and you kinda feel like you should catch up even though you’re going to stay out for max two drinks.  More people start arriving and it turns out they work for your old company and so you start making all of the connections and someone asks you why your drink is empty and you order some water because you’re pacing yourself because you’ll have to drive home later.  And then it’s time to order an orange crush and you are talking to your friend’s boyfriend and he asks what you’re drinking and when you tell him he tells you you’re “crushin it” and you can’t help but lolz.

That’s when he introduces you to the tall drink of water who just moved to the area a few months ago.  He’s 33.  He’s smart.  He’s interesting.  You casually sip your drink while you flirt with him for awhile.  You’re introduced to other people who end up standing between the two of you so you move on and glance over every once in awhile and he keeps looking at you.

You’re finishing your drink and it’s time to go home.  Some of your friends are getting ready to leave for another bar and you’re going to go ahead and go and then the tall drink of water asks, “are you coming?” as he’s being dragged out the door.  Game time decision here.  That’s when you say to your other friends, “let’s go for one drink.”

So you find yourself walking 10 blocks to the next bar and when you get there he’s saved you a seat and asks you if he can buy you a drink.  Meanwhile you’re thinking, “what the fuck is happening and why the hell not?”  Because when was the last time you went out to a bar, met someone who was cute and charming who wanted to buy you a drink and who you wanted to flirt with?  You sit down and order the drink and he sits next to you.  When two more seats become available he holds the seats and your friends try to cock block you and you say, “no, no, you sit here and I’ll move down,” so you can sit next to him.

You sit your ass down on that barstool and you order another drink.  You find yourself talking about travel, and work, and family, and regrets, and basketball, and moving to a new city, and all sorts of stuff while he gazes at you with his blue eyes.  You start talking about chess and find out he’s one of those guys who can read all the moves in advance and you ask him if he can do that in life and he tells you, “usually.”  You wonder if he already knows how this is going to play out and if he’s calculating what moves he’ll make to get the outcome he wants.  You ask yourself, “I wonder if he knows how old I am?”  Obviously you look for an opportunity to drop it into the conversation and when you do he doesn’t blink an eye, he just goes with it.

Your other friends decide they’re going to leave, so only the two of you are left.

The Chess Player keeps gazing at you and he grabs your hands, and he gives you this look, and you ask, “what’s that look?” He responds, “I’m thinking about kissing you,” as he tugs your hands towards him and you lean forward.  That’s when you start making out at the bar.  In the middle of March Madness.  Surrounded by people cheering on UMBC.  It’s just the two of you.  Suddenly it’s 10:30.  You’ve been at the bar over three hours.  Where did the time go?

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asks.  You find yourself saying, “yes”.  He picks up the tab and you walk the 10 blocks back to your car to drive to his place.  You’re thinking, “am I really going home with this guy?  Yes, yes I am.”  When was the last time you went home with someone you met at a bar?  Was it college?  Shortly after, at least 10 years ago.  A lifetime ago.  Sure, you had an exceptional romp the night before – thanks to Tinder – but this is the type of chemistry real life has produced.

Why not just go with it?

You’re at his place.  It’s pretty swanky.  Incredible view of the city.  Then you’re on the couch and your top is on the floor, quickly followed by just about everything else and he says, “we can always go in there,” gesturing to his bedroom.  You hop off his lap and lead him into his room and crawl into his bed.  There you proceed to lose every last stitch of clothing and remain for the next couple of hours.

When it’s done, he wraps his arms around you and you lay there and talk about work and whatever and nothing and he says, “you’re hot, you know that.  Right?”  You say, “thank you.” and think to yourself, “maybe I’m kinda decent looking if I’ve made out with four guys in eight days and ended up in various states of undress with each of them.”  You ask him if he had played this out and calculated the moves it would take to get to his bedroom.  He says, “yes.”  He tells you he’d read the signals.  There were only two options, yes or no, and the signals all pointed to yes.

He says, “you can stay.”  You get up and get dressed, he asks for your number.  You walk out.  He texts you before you get to the car.

You think to yourself, “I’m a fucking sex panther.”

Reset the counter.

The Rules of a One Night Stand Revisited

14 Mar

Jumping back into the dating pool has been far more fun than I had anticipated.  Had you asked me 2 months ago what would have happened, I would have probably grumbled and expressed big doubts.  I’m pleasantly surprised with where I’ve landed and glad I’ve been open to getting practically naked with dudes who have zero interest in a long term relationship.  Thank you, Tinder, for bringing hot dudes to my bedroom.

Years ago I wrote about the rules of a one night stand.  With Thursday rolling around and offering the opportunity of a repeat performance with someone who’s already seen the inside of my bedroom, it’s time to revisit the rules.

Is it still a one night stand if the person is coming back for another round?  It kind of is, right?

There’s nothing quite like doing the dirty deed with a stranger.  Or with a friend.  Knowing that it will lead nowhere except to O-town.  There are those out there that look down upon the beauty of the One Night Stand (ONS), but I am not one of those individuals.  I do not look down on the ONS; instead I embrace it and jump on it any chance I get.  In fact, my first time was with a complete stranger-I knew him for 7 hours before giving up the goods.  Perhaps it was that experience at the tender age of 17 that left a positive impression.

Not all of my one nighters ran as smoothly as that first one.  Sure, there may have been a time when I thought it would lead to something more or perhaps my partner for the evening was under the same impression.  In the 18 [UGH – I’ve had to update this number now, in the 27] years since my first sexual encounter, I’ve learned there are certain rules of engagement someone should follow.  The ONS is not for the faint of heart.  If you decide you’re the type of person who can engage in such shenanigans, then these rules will help you make the most of your tawdry romp:

  1. Leave Your Emotions at the Door. If there’s any chance you are going to get emotionally involved, DO NOT PROCEED! A one night stand isn’t about emotions. It’s about sex. You’re basically using your partner in the place of a sex toy. Emotions don’t belong here. If there is the slightest chance you’ll wake up the next morning thinking, “He did it because he loves me,” then you’re better off going home and doing whatever it is you do to get yourself off.
  2. No Slumber Parties. At the end of the encounter, someone better get up, get dressed and go home. Any sleep overs may lead to cuddling, and cuddling may lead to crazy thoughts the person wants to cuddle because they like you. Sure, he or she has to like you enough to get naked and have a dirty wrestling match with you in the sheets (or the back of someone’s car). This doesn’t mean he or she wants to date you. This rule is closely linked to rule #1. I avoid slumber parties like the plague. I have the perfect line for getting the guy out of my house. Feel free to use it as your own. Ready? Here it comes (that’s what she said), “You know what’s funny? I’ll be asleep by the time you get home.” Works like a charm. Every single time.
  3. Be Safe. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve known the other person. Perhaps you’ve known him or her for years and years. Perhaps you just met 15 minutes ago. Regardless, you have to be smart and protect yourself. I don’t want to hear that whole, “I hate condoms. It makes me lose feeling.” Forget that nonsense. Wouldn’t you rather lose a bit of sensation than wake up pregnant or with a giant genital wart on your goodies? That’s what I thought.
  4. Have Fun. Who cares what he or she thinks of you tomorrow morning? Live it up for once in your life! If you’ve always wanted to do it standing up in your bedroom closet, then here’s your chance. Grab the bull by the horns and have your way with your partner. Go, do it now.
  5. No Questions. Do not, under any circumstances ask the following question after you have completed the act: “What does this mean?” Or even worse, “When can we see each other again?” Other variations may include, “Can I call you?” Asking those questions will only serve to ruin the wonderful afterglow of meaningless sex. It’s called “meaningless” for a reason, and that reason is it means nothing. It’s just two people (in some cases three or four) getting naked, tumbling in the sheets, and then going their separate ways. The only question you should even consider asking is, “Do you want to go again?” Got it? Good!

Now, go out there and get yourself some strange ass! But before you go, I’m dying to hear what other advice you might have for others that are interested in pursuing a one night stand. What would you suggest?

Mr. Clean

14 Mar

When I was in college I had a friend who looked exactly like Mr. Clean – including the gold hoop earrings.  He was a nice guy, the kind of guy you could date long term, but not the kind that you want for a quick romp.  I had a few girlfriends who had crushes on him, he didn’t quite do it for me.  I tried to like him “like that”, just didn’t feel it.  We were lacking the spark, at least on my end.

He was good friends with Lawman, one of my secret boyfriends who was hot like the sun.   Now Lawman was the the type of guy that could sweet talk any girl into losing her panties at the foot of his bed.  He and I had crazy chemistry. On Thursdays of my senior year we had a class together at 3:00.  We’d meet at 11:00 at the student center and spend hours together flirting with one another.  The best time ever.  He had a pretty crazy girlfriend who he cheated on pretty frequently.  They ended up breaking up, I slept with him, and then she wanted to kill me in a bar.  It was great.  Mr. Clean knew all the sordid details – all of them, because Lawman told me that he had told Mr. Clean.

A few months after I hooked up with Lawman, Mr. Clean started pursuing me pretty hard.  I had known he liked me, and he amped up the flirting.  Still wasn’t quite where he was, even though there were times I thought, “maybe I should just date him, he’s a nice guy.”  One day he showed up at my house for some forgotten reason.  I was in the kitchen with my back to him when suddenly he was standing behind me, pressed up against me with his head buried in my neck.  Okay, he had my attention.  “Why not?” I thought.  Turned around and we started making out.  No spark.  Have you ever kissed someone when you weren’t feeling it?  It’s kind of like eating very bland food – not a great experience.  He propped me up on the counter and we kept making out.  Meanwhile I was trying to figure out what I needed to do to get him out of the house.  Instead, I just went along with it.

He tried to lure me into the bedroom, but I wouldn’t budge – my ass stayed planted firmly on the kitchen counter.  Then, he did something exceptionally irritating: he attempted to try a bit of dirty talk.  He was telling me all of the things he wanted to do to me once he got me into my room.  I’m totally down for some dirty talk.  The right words can be wicked hot.  Tell me what you like.  Tell me what you’re going to do to me.  Tell me what you want.  Tell me what you’ve been thinking.  Fucking hot, right?

**Swoon**

Not this guy.  It was the tone of his voice along with what he was saying that was awkward as all fuck.  I think there were too many, “mmm’s” in there.  I’m pretty sure I was rolling my eyes behind my closed lids.  Way to kill the mood.  I finally figured out a way to get him off me and talked him into leaving.  I believe it was under the guise of “ruining the friendship” or some other bullshit.  That was the one and only time we ever hooked up and I ever had to listen to him saying, “mmm…your body would feel so good underneath mine.”

**Gag**

Some men are almost poetic with the way they can string together a few dirty words, while others can attempt the same thing and totally kill a lady boner.