A Heart Condition

The atmosphere is changing. I can almost hear Mother Nature’s promise for impending snow. I love snow. For some reason, snow seems to possess a certain type of magic. While reminding us that nothing lasts forever, snow gives us an opportunity, or a clean slate if you will, to reflect and remain …quiet.

A new friend of mine was recently scrolling through my blog, and chastised me for using the word “Soulmate,” more times than anyone in the history of the world. …I thought that was a tad dramatic. But then I realized, I’ve never given my own definition. Soulmate is such a broad term really, because it could mean something entirely different to the Jo Schmo standing next to you. While Plato believed humans were tragically split apart by Zeus, always in search of their “other half,” the actual word soulmate wasn’t coined until 1822 by a disheartened married guy.

Many people believe that “soulmate” is just a term. A term used by hopeless romantics who are still naïve to the ways of love. I’ve encountered some people who simply don’t believe in “souls.” Our bodies and minds are all that exist, and once we turn to dust…that’s it. There’s nothing left.

Other humans have a deity they worship. They place blind faith into the idea of souls, and heaven, and usually the devil too. Belief systems, opinions, emotional baggage, and so many other concepts go into your personal version of soulmate.

A part of me wishes that you and I could lay next to one another on pillows, and I could listen to you define the word on your own terms.

But alas…you’ve arrived to JBlondie’s tiny corner, and this will be the first time I see my own meaning for soulmate in black and white.

When I was but a tiny toe-head, my mother instilled in me the beauty of the stars. She kept me humble by explaining everything she knew about the vast galaxies above, making me realize the possible insignificance of our existence. Whenever a star would die and fall into the darkened abyss, we would cast our wishes upon it hoping for them to come true. It’s a tradition I still follow through with to this day. I have no clue who or what is up there, but there is definitely something. And I’m hoping it’s got my back.

In my opinion, we are all too different, too unique to simply be built by evolution alone. Our species is too small, too unimportant to exist without a greater purpose. Each one of us has been placed here for a reason. Beyond biology, looking past the physical element, our energy was created somewhere else by something unknown. We are all too complicated to only be comprised of atoms with ventricles and a brain.

It’s not uncommon for eye rolling reactions, or scoffs with a tiny bit of laughter to occur when I explain my idea of soulmates to those around me. I completely understand how idealistic and unfounded my beliefs remain. Some say I’m afraid. They see my need to believe in the unknown as a type of dependence. A way of making the hard parts of life easier, and giving a meaning behind tragedy helps me make sense of it all. And to that I say…so what?

Rooted within me is a sixth sense. It’s a ball of warmth lying on the very top of my rib cage, and it reminds me that we are not alone.

Since I was 11 years old and gazing upon the stars, I have known that when I was created there was another soul made to match mine. Nothing within me is “missing” per say, I am a complete being…but I know that somewhere out there, on this expansive earth, he is searching for me just as I am looking for him. And when we finally find one another, the puzzle will be complete.

There can be multiple great loves in a lifetime, but there is only one individual who is the check to our mate. Every good relationship has positive attributes…but with soulmates there is an indescribable component, something you just have to feel to truly believe. So call me delusional, call me crazy, but my heart will continue to roam until she knows she’s finally found home.

soulmate2

 

The Mind Reader Pinky Swears

As my car turned the corner onto Christian’s darkened street, a light-bulb in my head switched on. Having no idea of his exact address, and noticing the large wooded area directly across from his small abode, I realized how dangerously foolish I was being. I swear, sometimes it’s like my brain is blonde…

(In case you missed reading about my Mind Reader, click here )

Taking a deep breath, I was now playing the role of the stupid, helpless, white girl in every poorly written scary movie. Kristyn’s voice played over in my mind like a broken record, “this is by far the scariest situation you have ever put yourself into.” Almost as if to answer her, I began nodding my head silently.

While contemplating my next move, Christian walked over and opened my car door. Still in a daze with my seatbelt attached, I didn’t move a muscle.

“So…are you gonna get out?” He inquired.

“Well I was thinking about that,” I answered, staring straight ahead into the forlorn forest.

His face contorted into a question mark.

“I just really feel like this is a very unsafe situation and while I think you’re super cute, I’m super worried you’re going to chop me into small pieces and stick me in your basement not unlike John Wayne Gacy, and well I like my body. I’m kind of a fan actually. I’m also really nervous because I feel as though you might write me off after tonight if I go inside with you because I’ve made this dumb choice and also…I’m not going to sleep with you.”

::Sigh:: This was not the first serial killer rant I’ve had on a date. It’s embarrassing really.

Christian was now fully aware of my anxiety. He began speaking in a slow and monotone voice.

“We’re going to watch Garfunkel and Oats. We’re not going to have sex. And I cross my heart, swear on my children I will not hurt you.”

Unbuckling my seat belt I slowly made my way out of the car. I looked up at his eyes which seemed much kinder than they had been at the bar, and laughed nervously.

“Ok,” I said. “Let’s just hope you’re telling the truth about even having kids.”

Christian smiled while wrapping his arm around my waist pulling me into him.

“Kiss me,” he directed.

My hand cupped his face as his lips met mine and I allowed my body to melt into him. His kiss made my knees weak and as we pulled away from each other I knew I would be kissing him again before the end of the night.

His house was small with low ceilings and the décor was straight out of the 1960’s. It smelled as though at least three cats were co-inhabitants, and there were two large fish tanks strategically placed within the living room. Christian’s tiny cubby hole had character. I liked it.

We sat on his couch and watched two episodes of Garfunkel and Oates just as Christian had promised. I adore both of the starring actresses and the sense of humor is just my style.

“How did he know I would love this?” I asked myself.

The second episode ended, and before I knew it, Christian was kissing me intensely. My hands were on top of his head moving their way down to his chest very slowly. I straddled his lap and suddenly he grabbed my ass, picked me up and was now carrying me to what I could only assume was his bedroom.

“No sex my ass!” I thought to myself.

He lowered me slowly onto his bed and then laid down beside me. His hand began to travel up my skirt, and he commented on how wet I was. After making me cum twice with just his fingers he licked me like no one ever had before…dear god this man had skills.

After two more orgasms, he resurfaced and lay there silently smiling. I on the other hand was breathing heavily (my heavy after-orgasm breathing usually sounds like dry heaving…super attractive. I recommend it). Turns out Christian got off on pleasing a woman in any way, shape, or form. He assured me he was happy and so we spent the next hour just talking.

Christian had been divorced for about three years. He had one serious relationship after his divorce and while he didn’t provide details, I knew that she had broken his heart.

Rather than diving into my emotional baggage, I provided him with the cliff note version of my previous relationships and then asked him a question.

“So, what are you looking for exactly?”

It’s not a question I usually ask men the first time meeting them. I like to get a feel for what I want from them first before diving into anything too serious. But Christian’s response was perfect in my opinion and the eloquence to his words resonates with me even now.

“I refuse to settle. I want it all.” He answered. “What are you looking for?”

Turning my head from the ceiling and meeting his gaze, the thought erupted from my mouth more clearly than ever before.

“There’s something to be said for finding the entire package. I refuse to accept anything less.”

Christian pulled me into him and offered for me to stay the night. However, due to my work schedule, my sleep pattern was anything but normal. I explained to him that I’d most likely be awake for most the night and being that it was 2am and he had to wake up at 6am, it would be best if I left.

He walked me to his door, kissed me on the cheek, and said we would make plans for a movie date soon.

As I walked to my car that night I thought about his lips, and I smiled.

 

 

 

The Mind Reader

Hello trouble…nice to make your acquaintance.

As I watched him take a seat beside me at the bar there was no doubt in my mind I would eventually sleep with him. He was exactly my type. He was tall, with dark brown eyes, and his smile was anything but kind.

Christian and I had very strange discourse via Plenty of Freaks. We had been casually speaking for about three weeks and it was all very…sarcastic. Our messages consisted of one line, sometimes even one word responses several times throughout the day to one another. It was odd to say the least. When he finally asked for my number I wasn’t sure where it would lead. Yet now here I was, in a familiar bar, with an unfamiliar man.

We began immediately diving into the do’s and don’ts of online dating. Christian wasn’t one for small talk, so when I asked him how he had remained so down to earth and casual about being a serial dater, I knew then that I would never forget his response. He laughed, looked straight into my eyes, and said…

“Jess, somewhere along the line I learned to not give a fuck.”

For some reason, still unbeknownst to me, I was immediately turned on by this tall, dark stranger.

As a thousand questions raced through my brain, Christian began to tell me about his job. We worked at rivaling hospital chains, however while I was patient based, Christian worked as head of the IT Department for his company. The banter became playful as he made digs at why his employer was better than mine, and suddenly he once again took me by surprise.

“Well look at you,” He commented. “You’ve already let your guard down.”

My cheeks immediately blushed and I quickly took a large sip from my vodka tonic. His game was good, and he knew it. Christian was correct. I wasn’t being my first date self. My polite front had been washed away by Christian’s overwhelming amount of charm. Rather than my sweetheart inquisitive side, which usually takes over for the first few dates, Christian was seeing parts of me I rarely introduced so early on.

He ordered me a second drink without asking and while some women would find this pushy or annoying, I’ll freely admit that his dominance made me drool like a hungry pup. Christian’s carefree confidence was highly attractive, and I wondered if it would correspond in the bedroom. My inner monologue was extremely conflicted. Suddenly, I began to chastise myself.

“It’s been an hour Jessica and you’re already thinking about sleeping with him. Get it together! Look at your life. Look at your choices.”

Several times this past year, I have felt like a cartoon character when facing a moral decision. The angel sitting on my right shoulder is constantly at odds with the little devil on my left. The angel reminds me to be lady-like focusing on the goal of finding my soulmate, whereas my evil side is more concerned with dick size and bedroom capabilities. I’ll admit I’ve always been a sucker for immediate gratification, and online dating has made this quality of mine all the more apparent.

Before I knew it Christian was leaning in to kiss me. He stopped right before reaching my lips and stayed there…motionless.

His mouth began to form words…

“Right now you’re wondering if you should kiss me. Where will it lead to or do I even want to kiss him yet, you’re thinking.”

Fucking Mind Reader! Christian was suddenly expressing the inner turmoil happening in my head.

“I’m not going to kiss you yet,” he answered. “But I wanted you to know that I know what’s going on in that pretty blonde head of yours.”

He pulled away from my face and took a drink of his beer. I became a little dizzy and wondered how this man knew me so well. How many other women had he seduced so thoroughly?

Walking me out to my car, Christian made a comment concerning my height while simultaneously engulfing my hand in his. Arriving to my compact silver fox, he pushed my hips against the car door. Slowly he leaned his lips down to the base of my neck and softly drew a line with his nose up to my jaw. Rather than heading in for a kiss he whispered into my ear.

“I know you like being told what to do,” he stated.

My legs were suddenly Jello.

“You’re going to come home with me, but we’re not going to fuck. I’m going to make you wait. Now get in your car and follow me home.”

In that moment the angel had been silenced, and I’m pretty sure my tiny devil was dancing with delight. I was either heading to my impending death, or to a night that would prove to be a first for JBlondie’s Little Black Book. As my keys went into the ignition I voiced a prayer up into the darkened sky.

Dear Mary Magdalene, please don’t let this man be a serial killer.

A Wrinkle in Time

Due to an unforgiving bout of insomnia last night I was organizing almost everything in my life that could possibly be organized. I shuffled through papers from work, clothes, shoes, I considered alphabetizing my “To Do” list, but instead I chose to riffle through my email inbox.

“It’s time,” I told myself. “It’s time to get rid of Peter James Turner for good…every bit of him.”

Here’s the problem with getting rid of something that once upon a time made you happy: If your current state of living is not how you want it to be, then you begin wishing and dreaming about what it could have been. It’s a dangerous game filled with unforgiving shoots pushing you down too many ladders.

 While I’ve moved on, the connection is still missed. Perhaps one day….

Every Thursday (whether the post is read or not) I will be sharing an email between myself and Peter James Turner. I will then be deleting said email and looking for someone in real life who I can build something REAL with.

An email I sent him while at work one day shows how he knew exactly what to say and how he broke down my walls so effortlessly. My writing is black italicized and Catfish’s  responses are in Red.

Email Title: You’re Tacky and I Hate You

Get it together Twat-Waffle! Jesus…SOMEone’s on the rag.
Jesus…I just keep having to wait and wait on you. ;)  get fucking used to it. I waited for you for 25 goddamn years.
You truly are the girl in this relationship. It’s like I’m the man waiting in the living room while you’re STILL trying to figure out what outfit will make you look thinner. …and it couldn’t be more annoying.  you’re so stupid lol
For this reason, I’ve decided that when you get home I will make you wait on me for EVERYTHING. Going to dinner?…just give me five more minutes. You need me to come to bed? …oh let me paint my nails first. It’s time to wake up? …let’s hit the snooze another three times.
Just accept all of this and move on…because I’ve waited for you for 25 years and 8 months…I will do no such thing. If you purposely make me late for everything I ever plan to do, I will not be a happy camper. I believe in 3 things: love, trust, and BEING PROMPT. Jesus Christ. I’m marrying someone who is so mentally challenged she doesn’t know how to use a motherfucking watch. I’m going to have so many ulcers. 
Also for when you get home…I’ve decided there should be a designated day every week you’ll be required to give me a present. This will serve as a reminder to the both of us that I’m the superior one. Again, just accept this and move on…It would have not a single thing to do with you being “superior.” IF I choose to give you gifts, it will be because I choose to spoil you. That way, you don’t feel the sting of being inferior as badly. 
I’ve also come to the conclusion that work is boring and stupid today so I’ve made the decision to not be an adult anymore. But I don’t have enough money to runaway…so if you need me I’ll be coloring in my Ninja Turtle Coloring book underneath my blanket fort when I get home. We need to make forts. This isn’t something I want to do, it’s something I NEED to do. 
 
It’s surprising how the only thing BETTER than the name Jessica is ….Jessica MothaFuckin’ Turner. That’s right…Jessica MothaFuckin’ Turner just gave you a black eye…what are you gonna do about it punk? I just made you my bitch. You’re welcome. In all honesty, Jessica Turner is by far the best name I’ve ever heard. Just saying.
Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking about when I decided to fall head over heels for you…it’s like I said to myself “this is the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met and will ever meet in my entire life so of course I should spend forever with him because he obviously needs supervision”…btw…What are you doing with you life right now? Answer: Making me wait. Jesus.  This is how you get when I’m off working hard all day? Get yourself together, Mrs. Turner.
 
I guess since you’re not back yet I’ll have to start asking about your day…but really since it didn’t include me…I feel like it’s an unnecessary day that we both should just forget about. :) all my days include you, you just don’t know it :)
1. How are you feeling? like a million bucks
2. How was the patrol? except for our little problem, it went well
3. Did you get hurt? just my pinky but it’s a pretty unnecessary digit anyway
4. Was anyone else hurt? Dougie broke a nail and I thought he was going to die
5. What are your thoughts on e-readers…you know like…Kindles, Ipads…that kind of stuff since you’re such a bookworm nerd? I’ve never used one so I don’t really have many thoughts on them. Someday I might want to try one, but then part of me thinks I’d miss the old fashioned feeling of having a real book in my hands. I don’t know…it’s a cool technology that I know would give me a million books at my fingertips but it might be hard to get used to
6. How much did you miss me today? (I haven’t missed you at all) Yesterday was miserable. I missed you so fucking much. I tried to stay joking and light hearted with the guys but it didn’t work but it didn’t work bubs. Expect a mushy email coming, and a very sexy web-cam session later my lady. ;)
7. Did you think about me at all? (because you’ve only crossed my mind once and it reminded me of what an absolute mess my future is going to be) every second…I think about you every second of every day. I know you’re being funny here and I had a hilarious word assault I was about to throw upon you, but I think I’ll just be honest. You Jessica are the only thing that makes my heart keep beating sometimes.
8. Did you get any good sleep last night? decent
9. Any Dreams? I don’t remember any from that night and the only one I remember from today is the spicy one I will tell you about later tonight ;)
10. Were you on the Turret today? (I better have a “no” for this response or else I’ll take the liberty of removing your teeth myself when you’re home whether they need it or not) I was in my normal spot. The guys gave me shit for it all day, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m so tired of listening to their bitchy complaints. 
11. Speaking of which…how’s your mouth feeling baby?  I’m still babying it, but it’s starting to feel better. Thank you for asking babygirl 
12. What have you eaten today? I’ll answer for today – scrambled eggs, toast, and 2 bananas

 

Today’s Gem: …because you’re going to come home to this one day after work…and neither Charlie or I will be ashamed. Another thing to chuck in the fuck-it bucket and move on with...I hope you realize that YOU will also be coming home to this as well. Or you’ll get pictures sent to you like this while you’re at work. It’s just the way it is. You’re marrying a fatty, so in turn, your child will be a fatty. unnamed
Alright…well I’m gonna go do some actual work now. We’re moving to our new offices this week so I’m gonna help pack a little. I didn’t know about this? Where is your office moving to? You know I want to know everything about my girl’s life. I’m your stalker and I’m gonna climb through your window with a birthday sloth later. ;) You just got a lady-wood didn’t you?
 
I had to send this email because the Sappy one I sent was just making me miss you a painful amount. …so I had to remind myself of what a complete ass you are. I like your sappy side…but I also like your fiesty side too. You’re fucking perfect :) even when you’re being a giant bloody twat
 You’re my favorite of all time in the History of Foreverand you’re mine :)
ILYSFMFTSNMW
-Your Lady Boo

 

Lollipops and Candles

We were sweaty, and loving it. It was the kind of sex everyone dreams about really. Cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, sideways, missionary, that position where your knee-caps are touching your ears…god he was good. But then again, so was I. ;)

sweatysex

Sex with The Psychopath  was always dirty and provided multiple orgasms, but today would end in tears of laughter.

After my fifth orgasm, Jason collapsed onto the bed breathing heavily.

 “Your turn,” he directed.

Grabbing his dick I licked it like a lollipop. 

lollipop

I then quickly sat up to straddle his hips. Slowly sitting down on top of him, welcoming every sensation my body could handle.

“I want you to cum again for me,” he added.

Following his direction I closed my eyes and started rolling my hips.

The pressure began to build…the room went dark. My head was spinning, and I’m sure I was making noises that frightened the neighbors.

Jason loved to watch me “let go.” He could always tell when I was over thinking. But thankfully with him I didn’t have to put much thought into anything, I just followed my body.

Due to the repetitive rolling of my hips, my temperature began to rise, my legs became weak, and my hands were roaming around from my face down to my stomach.

 Jason licked his right thumb and began rubbing my clit.

 FUUUCCCCKKKKK…..

 Suddenly I had the urge to move faster. With my palms on his chest I began to roll my hips back and forth, moving my ass up and down simultaneously. …the move he had taught me. Balance was difficult to keep though because after forty-five minutes of fucking your body is exhausted.

His eyes began to roll into the back of his head and I knew we were both close. He placed his hands on my ass moving it up and down harder.

Closing my eyes once more I lost myself. Nothing around me existed. I was one big ball of ecstasy. I could hear Jason’s excitement as he realized my cum was all over him, and he let go as well.

Falling over onto the other side of the bed we looked at each other and smiled. Our chests rising and falling in time to one another’s…our hearts racing from the latest mind-blowing ride.

 Have you ever been there? Have you ever been so engrossed in a sensation that you forget everything else in your life? My body was warm and my skin was sticky. The room smelled like body parts and sex.

(You’re welcome Yankee Candle. I just gave you a million dollar idea for your next scent)

 After a few moments, dehydration set in and my mouth felt like a 90 year old’s vagina without lube. I sat up, threw my legs over the edge of the bed placing my feet on the floor. My head felt a little fuzzy, but I stood and slowly placed one foot in front of the other. I took one, two, three steps and….

BAM!

 “Ow!” I shouted. “What…what just happened?” My hand automatically reached up to a suddenly sore spot on my head.

Jason sat up cackling. I glanced over and saw his arm across his stomach from the pain of laughter.

 “Oh my god,” he said. “You just ran into the fucking wall.”

Looking up, I suddenly realized why I now had a knot on my forehead. I had apparently lapsed into an orgasmic coma and walking proved to be too difficult a task. Laughter erupted and I fell backwards, bare assed onto the carpet floor. As I sat there in awe of what had just happened, Jason fetched our water.

Clearly my body was not going to cooperate any time soon.

How It All Began…

My relationship with Jeremy was a simple one. A much older man meets a much younger woman, lies to her about his age, and then has her move in with him a year later. One day she discovers he’s forgotten to take his wallet with him to work and glances down at his driver’s license. She then learns Jeremy is ACTUALLY 41 years old rather than the 36 he had told her. He has also lied to her about his exact birth date, and his name is spelled differently than how she had been spelling it for the past year and a half.

It was all downhill from there really. Initially I was convinced he was a serial killer on the run. But he wasn’t. He was just a middle aged man who had fallen in love with the blonde next door and was afraid of rejection.

The truth is, I was never in love with Jeremy. Even when I believed him to be who he said he was…I never for one moment thought he was my soulmate. When I first met him he represented everything I had been lacking: a stable man who was a hard worker, and accepted me for who I was. Turns out, even my safety net wasn’t so safe after all.

After a year of trying to rebuild my trust I gave up. I realized what I was doing was unfair to me, but more importantly it was unfair to Jeremy. He deserved someone who loved him. Rather than the bright-eyed 22 year old with endless hopes and dreams, I was three years older, more jaded and fiercely independent. I was also craving someone who could give me an orgasm without having to direct him each step of the way.

So I set out on a journey having no clue where the road ahead would take me, but only hoping it would lead me to him: My Soulmate.

Putting yourself out there is such a dangerous adventure. We risk bruised egos, and dents in our self-esteem. Broken hearts and new lessons to be learned are also on the docket. But it’s a risk only the brave take. We welcome rejection, because we are looking for our one exception.

When I decided to embark into The World of Online Dating I had been single for six months. There had been no dates, no flirting, no sparks of any sort after ending things with Jeremy.

The second message I received on Plenty of Freaks was from Mr. Blue Eyes. I will never forget the first time I saw him. My nerves were shooting through the roof, and I was questioning my sanity. If you’re an online dater I’m sure you can relate. Your first date with someone from online is a bit surreal. “Am I really doing this?” goes through your head AT LEAST fifty times. But after popping your virtual cherry, it’s all just kind of “meh.”

Blue Eyes stood at the doors of the restaurant that night wearing a light blue shirt with his flip phone attached to his belt. He was very tall, but thanks to my fuck me heels there was only a slight awkwardness due to my lack of length.

It was evident he was just as nervous as I was, but I think I was a little better at hiding it. I always wonder what my dates think of me when I walk around that initial corner. I wonder if they’re happily surprised, disappointed, or would like to run away and never look back. Unfortunately, Mr. Blue Eye’s face was difficult to read.

He opened the restaurant door for me, and we were seated at our table. He was a world traveler and I couldn’t get enough of his stories. His passion for Ireland and all things adventurous was highly appealing. Unfortunately when I’m nervous I tend to ask a lot of questions. Especially back then…when I was still a “dating newbie,” I didn’t quite know how to conduct myself. Poor Blue Eyes was left to do most of the talking, but I don’t think he minded. After a delicious meal he walked me to my car and gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was sweet. …but I left that night knowing he wasn’t my soulmate.

A couple days later we met for breakfast. As he made a snarky comment about the waitress I confirmed what I already knew. Blue Eyes wasn’t my person. He was intelligent, cute and sweet to me, but when our lips met after our morning meal there was…nothing.

So I made the choice. I chose The Psychopath, and took a whirlwind course in dating, crazy people, and all of the in-betweens. I could have played it safe again. I could have saved myself from a lot of heartbreak and rejection. Mr. Blue Eyes made his feelings clear, and they were strongly in my favor, but I couldn’t waste his time or mine.

There cannot be love without risk. There must be that gravitational pull towards another human being for love to last and it must be mutual. Relationships are hard work, and without an initial connection we are selling ourselves short.

Mr. Blue Eyes and I would meet up again eventually. He would take me for a ride on his motorcycle and I would play a song for him on his Les Paul. He would kiss me, and touch me, and each time that day I would hope to feel something more…but I couldn’t. Fireworks cannot be forced….and the fire within me is waiting to create a spark.

spark

 

 

I Have Been a Very Bad Girl…Blogger

bad-girls-button-2

 

A Huge and humbled thank you to the ever seductive Ann St.Vincent  for awarding me with the Bad Girl Bloggers AwardAnn, your breasts are perfection, and your journaling provides me with more insight into my own life than you could ever realize.

It’s been quite the year in dating for me. Turns out I like my sex rough, and I could give a fuck what anyone thinks about that. If talking about the various forms of Flesh Plugs, or discussing what Women ACTUALLY want offends you, then you probably shouldn’t follow my Blog. But here’s some lovely ladies who you SHOULD follow. …because they too are “Bad Girl Bloggers.”

Turning Lamebos Into Rainbows: The Rambling Goat co-writes a blog with Non-sensical Unicorn, and together they can turn your frown upside down. Goat is a Bi-sexual lady who’s in love with a character she calls The Hulk, but her Polyamory ways often lead her to exploring with Sugar Daddy’s while checking out some lady parts along the way. If you’re a guy you’ll love her because she’s just as into boobs as you are, and if you’re a lady her ridiculously awesome sense of humor will have you questioning your own sexuality.

SexAholics Anonymous: The Daring Vagina is a ball of laughter mixed with some very important life lessons. She’s a yoga-pants wearing Craigslister who has had more Sexcapades then I could ever imagine. While her methods are risky, her journey is one I cannot tear myself away from because she truly is a kindred spirit. If you ever wanted to know what it was like to have sex with a complete stranger…she’s your girl.

Kittykat-bitsandbobs: Kat is a woman without boundaries. She’s a married lady who wants it all…romance, passion, and enough sex to make her dizzy. She writes THREE blogs, and one of them is steamy enough to hit your G-spot with no touching involved. I know right? Kat keeps it real and doesn’t put up any facades. Her writing is highly relate-able to any and all bloggers. Follow her and you won’t regret it.

The ‘S’ Word: Girlseule is an Australian hottie with more personality than you and I combined. Ever since I ventured into this WordPress World I’ve been a fan. She’s honest, smart, and embraces the word slut. She’s admitted to being a hopeless romantic, and hasn’t lost her sense of what this life is really suppose to be about. She makes you feel like a welcomed voyeur into all of her adventures, and after reading just one of her posts I’m sure you’ll agree with me that she possesses a true gift for writing.

For anyone who actually reads my posts and comments…you provide my heart with happiness. Therefore thanking you seems a bit dull. But just know that when I “like” your posts it’s because I’ve read it, and it probably made me FEEL something. I write because I long for my voice to be heard and I write about sex because it’s one of my favorite things about this life. So if that makes me a Bad Girl…then someone should come and punish me right away ;)

 

RULES: If you are a recipient, please choose 3-5 female bloggers who write about sex (or post sexy pics of them selves, or both) that you admire and award them by passing on the award photo above and the rules.  Also, give a brief explanations of why you love those bloggers so much.  Be sure to notify your favorite bloggers that they got the award! (Or Don’t…as The Rambling Goat would say…”Meh” …you still won whether you nominate others or not)

 

The Atheist

His freckles were specks of perfection, and his eyes spoke only of kindness. He was taller than I had first imagined him to be, and his smile was full of mischief. After day one of just texting I knew The Atheist was not my soulmate. He had told me he was talking to another girl, and right from the beginning made me feel as if I had to compete with her. I had learned this lesson a long time ago thanks to The Psychopath and The Mad Hatter. If I’m not enough for you in the beginning…I never will be. 

(In case you missed it, The Atheist wrote a guest post for me which you can read Here)

So I left my heart out of his game. But at the same time, I knew he had come into my life for a reason. And I was willing to stick around to find out his purpose.

If I may be vulnerable for a moment, I’ve had some pretty awful luck when it comes to men. Shocker right? My dating mishaps and adventures are really just new additions to a long legacy of failures when it comes to the opposite sex. My father was a free-loving hippie who never wanted children. He was a “whenever I feel like it,” kind of dad; not a bad person, just not a father. One month we would be speaking several times per week, and then for the next three years I would have no idea whether he was alive or dead. In addition to my father’s intermittence, my mother was always dating someone. Men came in and out of my life like busboys in a restaurant. I loved some of them, others I was extremely apathetic towards.

As a child, and all the way through early adulthood, I was extremely uncomfortable around men. I would actually avoid check-out lines at the grocery store if they had a male cashier. Making eye contact was difficult, and speaking to anyone with a penis felt like having a root canal done. It’s only within the past few years that I’ve completely overcome this debilitating fear.

Hopping into The Atheist’s car that night felt a bit surreal. Here I was…in a car…alone with a man…and I felt completely comfortable. I wasn’t nervous because I had already let my guard down, and since my heart wasn’t involved, I knew fun was the only agenda that evening.

The Atheist had gotten stood up that afternoon, and my adventures with Ollie had just begun. Needless to say there were plenty of hot topics to discuss. Since he doesn’t believe in soul-mates, or “souls,” in general (hence his name), I think rejection is more difficult for him. When he began speaking of how he missed his ex-girlfriend my heart ached. As a friend I wanted to make everything go away, but as a therapist I knew better. So as The Atheist talked, I listened and ate some guacamole.

We finished dinner and traveled to a few bars. I got drunk and asked him to dance. He declined. Yep, ”definitely not my soulmate,” I thought to myself. That’s a deal breaker for me. If a girl gets up the courage to ask you to dance, you better oblige her for at least one song.

As the bar began to close, the alcohol penetrated my frontal lobe and my thinking became cloudy. On the way home I decided I hadn’t had enough fun, so I asked The Atheist if he’d like to hear me sing.

Playing my guitar to someone is not something I take lightly. I had joked with The Atheist earlier in the month that it’s my way of seducing men, but let’s be real here…men don’t need seducing. I’ve only played for two men in my life. One of them just happened to have a classic guitar I was longing to strum, and the other I had fallen madly in love with (key word there was “madly”).

Deciding to sing to The Atheist was a combination of the alcohol, and a way of proving to myself I could do it. I wanted to be absolutely open with a man I had no romantic interest in.

 So I played, and I sang, and he smiled.

 Walking him to the door I felt an overwhelming sense of warmth. So I kissed him. While there was no spark, it was a good kiss. Which is why things led to where they did…aka…the stairs.

The Atheist is my friend. He is my first male friend whom I can completely be myself around. In all actuality, he is the first man in my life to take an interest in me that has nothing to with what I can give him. He isn’t my friend because he thinks it will lead somewhere. He doesn’t talk to me because I show him attention. And he’s willing to come and rescue me from a flat tire in the middle of a dangerous ghetto.

The Atheist reminds me there are good men in this world, even when everything in my life is telling me otherwise. He’s upfront with the women he dates and never strings them along. The dedication to his sons should be respected and repeated by every man in this world. Plus, he’s pretty damn funny.

He recently met a girl who makes him feel like he’s won some kind of prize. Her intensity matches his and she shows him all of the physical affection he’s been missing for the last year. She fits perfectly into his little box of life, and since he doesn’t believe in soulmates, I’ll just say: Here’s to another Great Love friend. May it be long lasting and never end.

The Atheist speaks the truth about online dating. What are we doing to each other?

The Atheist speaks the truth about online dating. What are we doing to each other?

 

From Homeless to CPA

Rewind to about a year ago and you would have seen me in the midst of getting my heart broken by a homeless man. While it was a very toxic relationship, I learned a lot through my experiences with him. He taught me what “Chemistry” actually meant, so in a way I’m thankful for his existence (however my credit-card still hates him).

Fast-forward to two weeks ago, and you would have seen me sitting at a bar with a CPA. I’ve come a long way since last year (or at least that’s what I thought as I downed my Old Fashioned).

Walking out of my door heading to the date, I realized my rear tire had decided to play limp dick proving utterly useless. I was forced to shoot Mr. CPA a text.

 “Soooo I just walked out to my car and realized I have a flat tire.”

“Well that’s no good.” …was his response

(Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Now I’m gonna have to wake up early in the morning before work).

 “Unfortunately I think I’ll have to cancel with it being so late already.”

I realized he probably thought I might be making up an excuse, so I quickly followed up with…

 “Unless you trust me to not be a stalker, and are willing to pick me up?”

Mr. CPA asked for my address, and I made him swear to abstain from smothering me with Chloroform.

It was an awkward way to meet him. I hadn’t let anyone pick me up at my apartment since The Racist, and being back to my old self nowadays, I’m more concerned about my safety. As I hopped in his front seat, I sent a silent prayer up into the heavens.

 “Dear Mother Earth, Please don’t let this man be a serial killer.” Quickly followed by…”if my mother knew I was doing this she would murder me herself.”

Inquiring about his job on the way to the bar was an enlightening experience. Accountants have a bad rep. Whenever I think of an accountant, I imagine Milton from Office Space.milton

However, as he went on about his different responsibilities, and the various companies he worked for, I found myself a little intrigued by Mr. CPA.

Once seated at the bar, we began talking about various subjects…well…rather HE began talking about various subjects. He regaled me with stories of the stripper at his bachelor party, and the various women he had met off of Plenty of Freaks. Usually to keep an individual talking about themselves you have to provide certain question prompts, but not Mr. CPA…he was on a roll by himself.

Somehow we began talking about politics and before I knew it, I was imagining him as a bobble head.  mrbean-bobblehead

As he rambled on about how Obama has failed our country, I pictured his head bobbing about on my compact dashboard, entertaining me on my way to work in the morning.

My minor was Political Science in college, so the topic of conversation certainly didn’t bore me, and I love a heated discussion, but Mr. CPA really didn’t give two hoots about what I thought regarding ISIS or our country’s economic status. My independent vote was trampled by his majority voice.

He ended up talking until the bar closed. I tell you not one question did he ask about me. Not a single one. …and when the bartender came to give us the bill (I had all of one drink) he looked at me as if I should pay for my own.

 You MUST be kidding me.

 Since he saw I wasn’t reaching for my bag, he quickly put down a $20 bill. He got back change and left a stingy tip for the bartender who had waited on us for three hours only serving two drinks.

Pulling through my apartment complex he continued to go on about why liberals are idiots.

 “Did you know that it actually hurts the economy when the minimum wage is raised? It causes small businesses to hire less people therefore limiting the number of jobs available.”

 As you can imagine, by this point I began to get annoyed.

 Here’s what I wanted to say:

Yes Mr. CPA, Actually I DID know that fun fact. I took four Economic courses in undergrad, and have read books such as Naked Economics and Freakonomics. If you would have let me speak without having to talk over you, or asked me ANY questions about myself, you might have realized I have an educated viewpoint that you may or may not find interesting.

 Here’s what I ACTUALLY said:

 “Yep. I knew that. That’s why I consider myself financially conservative and a social liberal.”

Rather than making any comments on what I had just said, or asking any follow-up questions, he began talking about abortion.

You would think maybe by his lack of appropriate dating etiquette Mr. CPA was a newbie in the world of meet and greets, but no. I suspect he was just SUPER full of himself.

 Attempting to make light of a very serious topic, I made mention of how I had never ended a date talking about dead fetuses before. …he didn’t laugh. No one gets me. ::Sigh::

 I thanked Mr. CPA for the drink, and let myself out of the car. No handshake. No hug. And there was certainly no kiss.

He of course sent a follow-up text asking how I thought everything went. I was torn.

How do you tell someone that unfortunately you would rather see them as a plastic car accessory than in person?

Important Side Note: The homeless man ALWAYS opened doors for me. Money does NOT make a gentleman. Case Closed.

 

 

 

Coffee Shop Talk

It was snowing that night. If you had been standing outside on the sidewalk it would’ve been easy to peer in from the window and see them. They were sitting across from one another at a booth in an unknown coffee shop, on an unknown street, in an unknown city.

If you knew her at all, you would be able to tell from her face she had never been happier. And you could have deciphered that she was enthralled in telling him a story. As the words flew from her lips at a ridiculous rate she smiled. It wasn’t a forced smile, or an everyday smile, but a smile just for him.

Moving your eyes across the table, you could’ve seen him listening intently. His neck stretched as far as his shoulders would allow, for he refused to miss a single syllable coming out of her mouth. His face was one of contentment, and as he gently smiled at her, you suddenly longed to hear what she was saying.

Her smile widened, and she began moving her hands in the air. He spoke, and she nodded her head yes. They both erupted into a laughter you could almost hear through the windowpane.

The waitress came over and filled their coffee, placing the check in front of him. He handed over the money and said something to the blonde across the table. She laughed to herself.

Exiting the restaurant he took her hand and placed it around his arm. She looked up at him and softly smiled. They were in love. It would have been evident to anyone who crossed their path.

No man has ever made her feel important. She’s used to being brushed aside and forgotten. She’s used to listening, and responding politely. And she’s become accustomed to asking questions, without any mutual interest shown in return.

But that’s all he thinks about. He asks her how her day was not to be courteous, but out of genuine curiosity. He wants to know if she’s ok. He wants to make sure she’s happy. And if she’s not, he wants to know how to change it. He can’t get enough of her. The light in her eyes when she talks about the things she loves in life is one he has never encountered before.

“No one has ever taken the time to really see her,” he thinks to himself. Suddenly, he feels compelled to keep her a secret.

Passing in front of you that night, her voice led into a question. As he began to laugh, they crossed the street and disappeared into the dark. You wonder where they’re headed.

They’re going home. He’s going to help her take off her coat once inside the door, then remove his own. He’ll ask her to sit with him on the couch for a while and they’ll talk to one another how lovers do. Even though it’s been a year since they’ve met, they still keep each other up at night. Just talking in the dark.

He finally kisses her and she removes her top. He helps her take off her skirt, and she undresses him in return. He lays her down on the floor, and then brushes her bangs softly from her face. After kissing her, he looks her in the eyes and asks her a question he already knows the answer to.

 “Do you love me?”

“Forever and then some,” she answers.

That’s how she’s always answered him when asked that question. It’s how she will answer him until she takes her last breath.

Waking up from that dream was a painful experience. I wanted to stay in the cocoon offered by my REM cycle for as long as possible. It’s taken a year of dating and seven months of writing, but I’ve finally pinpointed my number one need in a relationship.

Everyday I am overrun by an intake of information. Asking questions, helping people discover how they think and why is the main focus of my job. I realized a long time ago most individuals don’t want you to provide the answer, they’re just asking you to show interest in helping to find it.

The dream signified what I’m longing for at the end of my day. I’m hoping to find someone who is genuinely interested in me. Someone who notices my passion and craves for me to express it. A man who sees my wall, and has patience while I find my footing to climb over to his side. He’ll be waiting to hear about the boring nuances my Tuesday had to offer. Just as I would want to know what he ate for lunch, or if that new coworker annoyed him like always, I would want him to ask about what type of work I mostly dealt with that day, or if I had accomplished everything on my to-do list. Rather then his eyes glazing over, he would only display sheer interest in how my story turned out.

Most people tell me I’m looking for something that doesn’t exist, or what I desire is something that cannot be found. …that I have this perfect idea of love in my head which nothing will ever compare to. And to that I have finally found my response.

We are all searching for something. I am searching for a “no questions asked,” type of love, a love that will only enhance my excitement for this life. But above everything else…I am simply searching to be heard.

What are you searching for?