Wednesday, April 27, 2011
So lately I've fallen in love with Rihanna's song "S&M". I whip my hair and sensually rub my hands up and down my body as I dance around to it and feel every syllable of the lyrics. I hop my jiggly ass all over the room and swish my locks as I imagine karaoking to the song and seducing some random hottie. I had the pleasure of listening to one of my kids tell me what a slut Rihanna is for the song. In the meantime, I'd been wrestling with the idea of adding it to my list of theme songs and I've since made it the first in my jogging playlist on my iPod.
Today I told my bestie about a crush I've developed on a coworker. Although I have no plans to do anything with him, he's still a total babe and someone I enjoy drooling over to my friends. I told bestie how hot the guy is and how since I've been bumping S&M like there's no tomorrow. Somehow I ended up telling her a story about how a few years back I walked up on some gay coworkers that had a conversation. I naively asked what they were discussing, only to be told "lube." I quickly walked my ass away and refused to look back. I ran away from that discussion like white suburbanites run away from an influx of black and Mexican neighbors. My bestie then remarked how crazy it is that I happen to be a total slut while being a total prude.
For a moment I thought, "I'm not a slut." But then, I thought about it, and I just shrugged. I mean, I'm not a "slut." I don't have sex with random guys. Most of the men I've been with, if we weren't dating, we were at least good friends and they were (mostly) polite and gentlemen. But then my bestie reminded me of my tendency to kiss "random" guys, which is what led to the slut moniker. She's right. I totally like kissing. If I talk to a guy and he's cute and I'm feeling it, I'll probably kiss him and not think much of it. The fact that I'm okay being labeled a slut in itself says that I'm a bit too comfortable with my sexuality.
I realized that my bestie Daisy has been with me and seen me kiss a total of three different guys. In my defense though, one of those guys was during a game of Truth or Dare. The other was a guy that we'd met that happened to be a friend of my former crush Kelsy Davis. After a show of Kelsy's, we went back a friend's loft, the guy and I shared a chair and I leaned over and planted on one him. Another time, we were at her home and I grabbed another guy on the way out and planted one on him. In my defense though, I'd known him for a long time, so I don't feel like that kiss counted, but whatever.
Another time I was out with my friend Nicole and were at the famous MJQ. I'd known one of the bouncers for a while and for some reason, I planted one on him. I don't know why. He was there, I was looking hot, and I wanted it. Later on she said "did you kiss him?" My reply? With a shrug of my shoulders I said "yep." Truthfully, I've kissed over 100 men. I know it's horrible. There have been guys that looked me in the eye and remarked about a fantastic kiss that I'd planted on them years ago. And I don't remember it at all. I want so badly to say to some guys "Jesus dude, do you know how many guys I've kissed?" but that would make me sound like a bit of a whore, so I just go along and make them feel good. *briefly lowers head in shame, but quickly recovers*
My friend actually marveled at my ability to kiss any man that I'm moderately attracted to, while barely knowing his name. The crazy thing is that for me, it seems natural to the point where I don't understand why people get so uptight about it. I mean seriously, it's just a kiss, not blowjob. What's the big deal?
Strangely enough, for me to supposedly be a huge freak, I don't even masturbate. Seriously. If I'm going through a dry spell, I wait it on out. Rubbing on myself just doesn't do it for me. I also don't just have sex with random dudes, despite the constant nagging rumors about me doing with with any old guy. Truthfully, the overwhelming majority of the men I've slept with have been great friends to me. In my youth some of them were bastards, but since then I've learned to be a lot more selective. But when I do get it on...
Anyway, so apparently I'm known as a total slut because of my uncanny ability to give my luscious lips to damned near anyone and have no emotional attachment at all. But I'm also comfortable with my own sensuality a little too much for the comfort of some. Not like I give a damn though. I'm a kissing whore and I've learned to own it. You're just jealous cuz you aren't one too.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
I have a friend named Kevin. I've known Kevin since I was 15. I refer to him as my brother. We've shared the most intimate details of our lives and he even just got me a job at the pet store where he works. This is our first time in our lives getting to physically spend this much time together. I love getting to see my brother so often. Kevin and I have always had a bond where we know everything and we get through most of our bad moments by laughing at one another. Seriously. He could write a book about the dumb shit I've done.
My brother just lost his mother. She died this evening after a lengthy illness. I don't know what to say. Of course I'll try to hold down the fort at work while he's gone (as if I have that power), but I just want to take away his pain. I saw a picture of his mother that he posted on his Facebook page. I looked at her and told her that I'll take care of him while she's gone. She responded by telling me that she knows I will. I feel that she's a peace. She's reuniting with loved ones from her past. I feel her being happy. She's free. I'm happy for her, because I feel that her whole body was falling apart and she was ready to go. When I think that he is ready to hear it, I'll pass it on to him. But for now, I just want to heal my brother.
I want to go to him and tell him that she's in a better place. I reminded him to be strong, because he's always been the rock in his family. But even though Kevin is on the other side of town, I can feel his spirit from here and I know that he's falling apart. I can feel his stomach aching. I feel him being dizzy and light headed. I feel that his wife is trying her best to be supportive. I know he's being silent, not knowing what to say. My body, my heart, and my spirit ache for my brother. His mother is gone. And none of my stupid jokes or funny stories can help him.
(s/n I was about to post the picture he just posted of her, but she told me that she didn't want her picture posted, so I chose this one instead)
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
As all two of my loyal readers may know, I'd left. And I fully intended to stay gone. I was pissed and hurt and a bunch of stuff. I'd even set up another blog elsewhere. But I talked to Fred, and despite many of my friends telling me to stick to what I love (which would be my blog) he was the one that told me to forget the dumb shit and to do what makes me happy. I missed my blog. I'm not really going to bore the world with the goings on that I've been through so far. But I'm looking forward to being back.