A Confession

Ever since I had first met Ollie my gut had tried to tell me that something was just…off. (If you need an Ollie refresher, you can read about him Here and Part 2)

He was intelligent, and funny, kind and cool… so I ignored the twinge in my stomach because it’s not every day you meet someone with these qualities. My instincts have never been wrong, and yet I continue to push them away. From our very first date, and a few comments he had made, I wondered if Ollie had found my blog. He seemed to know me…too well for someone whom I had exchanged a few text messages and conversations with. But none of this seemed to make me stop and turn away as I should have done. Instead, in JBlondie fashion, I kept the metaphorical blindfold tight around my eyes.

“I always find it funny when women have a drastic haircut after a break-up.” Ollie commented.

I laughed. “Yeah. It has to do with evolution I think. If it didn’t work as a blonde…maybe things will go better as a brunette.” I laughed again.

“Oh so you’ve done that before? Do tell. ” Ollie inquired.

I don’t recall how this topic of conversation began, but it’s one I will never forget.

Yes. I had done this twice. After my first love, Zachary, I died my hair a dark chocolate brown. Once I began falling in love with Fake Pete (The Catfish), I chopped off my long blonde hair in order to start fresh with him. The long locks reminded me of everyone who had come before him. I needed to forget them all.

As I pondered which way to turn this conversation I realized I had two options. I could laugh it off and make fun of myself. I could make light of how foolish I was to fall in love with a fuzzy screen, or I could let Ollie see a part of me that very few people do. Note to self: Always choose the light, laughing option.

“Well,” I began…“I’ve been Catfished before.” I gave him my crooked smile.

“Oh tell me everything.” Ollie pushed with a curious grin.

My brain kept shooting off signals to shut the fuck up, but my mouth kept moving in protest. I gave Ollie an overview of how it all began and why I chose to believe the things Peter Turner (Catfish) had told me. Explaining how it all ended was the worst part…how all of Fake Pete’s lies came to the surface and how I had never been so broken before. I had been staring at the wall during this confession, with Ollie listening quietly beside me.

When I was done dishing the dirt, I knew I had to turn and face him. At that moment, I remember thinking “god he probably thinks I’m a lunatic.” Instead, as my gaze met his, I found his light green eyes to be judgement free.

A moment of silence passed (which felt like fucking eternity) and my inner thoughts became selfishly insecure. “Was he laughing at my level of pathetic?” “Has he realized that my damage may be too much for him to handle?” After all, who the fuck falls in love with a picture? A thousand theories flew through my mind. The look on Ollie’s face only resembled a big question mark.

I couldn’t help but ask what he was thinking. Nervous butterflies turned into circling bats in my stomach while he paused again.

He inhaled and let it all out.

Ollie interrupted my neurotic brain and with no hint of sarcasm, as if he was going to tell me a secret, the words came out of his mouth…

“Jessica. What if I told you I was Peter Turner?”



Moments Vs. Months

There is a moment when you lose yourself. Everything and everyone around you remains insignificant. Your body is tingling all over. You’re excited and yet completely relaxed. The limbs attached to your torso have a mind all their own. The racing thoughts which once consumed your brain have been hushed. To step out of your rambling head and find an inner freedom is nothing that can be truly explained.


Not everyone has the ability to free themselves, while some of us do it far too often.

People lose themselves in various ways. Drugs and alcohol are pretty popular outlets. Others lose themselves in work, spending hours at the office, forgetting to live the life around them. Some choose to fall down the dark hole of depression. They swallow their emotions and are only alive on the surface.

Last October I did something many people do. I temporarily lost myself in another person…or multiple people rather. One could say I blindfolded my heart, spun around in circles, and gave myself to whomever I landed on. Mental Note: Finding your soul-mate should never resemble a game of Pin The Tail on The Donkey.


During that time I was wild. Unfortunately, living in chaos suits me. Adrenaline alone can keep JBlondie moving for weeks on end. However, I also tend to hate the person I become while on that roller coaster. Embracing the mayhem often means treading muddy waters and getting stuck.


So I began to write…breaking the bedlam and re-finding my focus. …with some laughs along the way.

Exploring the under lying reasons why I desire to lose myself in the first place has also been an eye-opening notion.

Lately, I’ve been losing myself while running. In late afternoon or early evening you may spot me outside wandering, with only the pavement beneath my feet to guide me home. Occasionally, on Saturday nights, you might see me on the dance floor with my eyes closed, losing myself in the music as if I’m the only one there. All of my insecurities are forgotten and the crowd I’m surrounded by disappears.

I’ve come to learn that losing myself is only beneficial in moments. Leaning off kilter for too long sends me reeling for months and doesn’t provide the type of release I crave anyway.

It’s a tricky concept …to lose yourself. A selfish act that sometimes is exactly what I need to regain balance. For a chronic over-thinker life can be exhausting sometimes.

My hope is to find someone who can understand all of this. Someone who recognizes my need to let go and run wild, as long as I only run home to him. He’ll help remind me to keep things simple when they appear oh so complicated. And on certain nights, he will allow me to lose myself in him if only for a few hours.

…Because the reason why we lose ourselves, is to find ourselves all over again.

The video below provided me with several chuckles. It’s a flashback of a 10 year old JBlondie losing herself in the moment. In case you don’t know what it’s like…this is the best example of inner freedom I could find.


Like a virgin having a wet dream this post was kind of inevitable. Penis. Dick. Cock. Deep-V-Diver. Dong. Are you excited yet? I know I am.carlton

They come in all shapes and sizes and can be so much fun! Schlongs are kind of amazing when you think about it. They can be hard, soft, long, short, thick, skinny…and sometimes they can even taste good!


Dip-sticks are a marvelous thing when used properly. Therefore, JBlondie thought it was about time to give a shout out to the lap-rockets of the world.

(Obviously every single jack hammer is unique, so this is just an overview). Some I’ve seen personally. Some I’ve just heard of. Others I fear.

  1. Hot Dogs: These are your uncircumcised baloney ponies. They’re interesting creatures who offer more than meets the eye. I personally am not a fan, but I know some women who are…and others I’ve talked to don’t seem to mind either way. Just remember to clean these disco-sticks properly, otherwise you’re going to repel anyone who could potentially want to lick your meat-popsicle.                                        hotdogdick2
  2. Pyramid Prick: Thick at the base and shoots up to a point. I tend to see these in a lot of porn. I’m not sure why. I wonder how effective they are in making a woman cum. These flesh-plugs are usually pretty long and tend to be pretty rare. So if you have one, you’re welcome to feel special.
  3. Forward Flute: Can you go pee without having to angle down? Then you probably have a Forward Flute. When these hoses are hard, they curve away from the stomach. They’re also usually average in length and pretty thick. Through word-of-mouth, I’ve heard they’re extremely difficult to give head to, so fellas go easy on us if you’re packing one of these guns. However, I’ve also heard when ridden in the Reverse Cow Girl position they can be utterly magical. Just a heads up folks!
  4. Backwards Boner: Opposite of Forward Flutes, these microphones bend INTO the stomach. Again they’re usually average in length and on the thicker side. Ladies, if you have difficulty licking these lizards just imagine how good they’re going to feel while on top.
  5. Side Swiper: Most man-members have at least a tiny bit of a curve to them, but Side Swipers have a significant curve to either the right or the left. Depending on where your ladies G-spot is, this could either be a blessing or a curse.
  6. Shorty Shafts: These little buddies are cute. Most men who are sporting these wish for a bigger tool, but there’s no need to be sullen. Shorty Shafts range from 2.5 to 4 inches, and can be a lot of fun if used to their advantage. Here’s a hint for men with a Shorty Shaft…look for spinners.
  7. Easy Rider: The average length of an Easy Rider ranges from 4.5 to 6.5 inches. These choppers are true to their name because most women love them. Not too thick, and either arrow straight or only with a slight curve, they’re made for an easy orgasm.            orgasm 
  8. Choad: Resembling a burrito, Choads are thick in nature and usually range from short and stubby, to average length. Through the grapevine, I’ve heard these thick sausages are difficult to make cum, and are not the preferred choice. But if you’re the owner of one of these boner-briskets don’t fear! Look for an experienced lady with wider set hips…they’ll love you immediately.
  9. Hairy Hummers: Men of the world, it is NOT 1972. If we are expected to trim our lady bits so are you. If you’re uncomfortable shaving down there that is fine with us, but take those scissors and start cleaning up the area. I should not be aware if you have naturally curly hair down there. I also refuse to place my mouth on anything that I have to search for.                                                                                                                            images
  10. Pencil Dick: Thin and usually average length these are for a specific type of woman. Virgins. I’ve been told these bed snakes are more likely to go soft during sex, but are a pleasure during oral.bat
  11. Lipstick Lingam: Tiny buggers. If you’re 2.5 inches or less, I empathize with your plight. But there’s always toys and the oral exam. So instead of over-compensating, start researching! Your tongue could be god’s greatest gift to your lady.
  12. Colossal Kickstand: Holy Fuck. These bad boys are usually straight as an arrow, and are a lot to manage. If you’re whipping a wang around that’s 7 inches or bigger, CONGRATULATIONS. You’ve hit the genetic jackpot. But don’t get too cocky, because you ALSO have a tendency to bruise our uterus.crowddick

There you have it Ladies and Gents. The Glocockary of male genitalia. Please feel free to let me know if I missed one, or whatever your personal preference may be.

And as always…protect those peckers. Because there’s nothing worse then a Beaver Basher with an STD.

Happy Humping!


P.S. Props to The Unfortunate Virgin Male for helping me with the title.






Beige Vs. Red

“I feel like we should share our darkest secrets.”

This was the text message I received at work one night after my second date with Ollie.

Ugh. I was torn. Already? I hadn’t let anyone into my darkness since The Catfish and my guards were still on high alert.

 Should this be a red flag or am I being too cautious? I thought to myself.

It’s not a secret that JBlondie craves communication. I want to know all about you and I love when you ask questions about me in return. Share moments from your childhood with me, and I’ll probably immediately care for you. Explain to me your deepest fears, and there will be no need to sweep me off of my feet, because I’ll already be head over heels. However, this seemed just way too fast. Ollie was trying to force emotional intimacy, which only made me want to add bricks to my towering walls.

Due to his comment on our second date about how I was “keeping it close to the chest,” I felt obligated to share something about myself.

But I’ve never been a fan of “Beige Love,” “Beige Sex,” or beige in general…it’s just so…beige? Don’t you think? So per usual, I ignored the flashing red lights and proceeded down the rabbit hole.

 “You first,” I replied.

Ollie responded with three options.

1. A secret I have only told one other person.

2. The reason why I gave up on my family a while ago.

3. Something about you (well, really US).

I’m sure you can guess which one I chose….let’s be real. When it comes to JBlondie, the darker the better.

As Ollie confessed to me the secret he had only told one other person (via text messaging…weird right?) I found it incredibly strange that someone, who I had only known for two weeks, was going to give me this piece of himself to hold onto.

After he was done telling me his secret, I wasn’t sure how to respond. You see, as a therapist I have been jaded. I witness the results of neglect, abuse, and abandonment on a daily basis. Tell me about your horrible childhood, and I would bet every dollar in my bank account (which is currently $ 4.16) that I’ve heard at least one story worse than yours. Tell me the tale about how your father didn’t come to your soccer games or how your mother called you fat, and I’ll show you ten people who are institutionalized to psychiatric units because no one has ever given enough shits about them to teach them how to function in the real world.

As a society we are incredibly desensitized…but that’s another tangent I’ll save for later. Let’s get back to Ollie…

To be honest, I was a little horrified by my reaction to Ollie’s “secret” because my immediate thought was “oh that’s nothing.” I completely realize this is absolutely unfair of me. Minimizing someone’s darkest moments is incredibly cold, but a first thought is a first thought…and I couldn’t help it. I also HIGHLY doubted the fact he had only told this to one other person.

After I responded APPROPRIATELY to Ollie, he made note of how it was my turn to share. I detested this feeling of owing him something. I wasn’t ready to share the weight of my emotional baggage. Was he trying to see if I was too damaged for him? Or was he simply trying to dive into deeper waters with me?

Being fair, I provided him with three options as well. I kept my explanation somewhat surface. I admitted to him there was much more to this discussion, but it’s one I’d rather have in person. He accepted this and we moved on.

Ollie and I Face Timed a couple of nights that week and while I was excited to know more about him, I tried my best to keep him at a distance. I told him about my inability to cook, my forgetfulness, and my obsession with sloths. I was hoping he’d slowly fade away realizing how dorky and weird I was…but instead he inquired,

 “Is this how you push people away?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well I’m not going anywhere, so you’ll have to push a lot harder,” he responded.

I was silent.

 “Do you hear me? I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated.

With that statement I took a deep breath and my impenetrable shell began to crack. This was how I always imagined things to begin. Ollie seemed to be everything I wanted…deep, intense, and overwhelming. He was red in a world of beige.

Unfortunately, Ollie was brought into my life to teach me the meaning of the phrase “Be Careful What you Wish for.” It’s a lesson I would learn for the last time, because I would never repeat the same mistake again…

Note to Self: Once you share certain parts of yourself, you never get them back…



My Most Favorite Date….

It was raining the second time I saw Ollie. As I crossed the street to meet him mother-nature decided to be a cruel bitch causing a gust of wind to catch the skirt of my red dress.

“Thank god I remembered to wear underwear,” I thought to myself.

Hello bumper to bumper traffic. Did you enjoy the Free Thong Show just now?

 Squealing slightly I began to run faster towards him in my nude heels. I had tried my best to appear effortlessly graceful, but alas, there I was in front of the restaurant with damp hair, wet feet, and a nervous smile. Also, per usual, I was twenty minutes late. Ollie didn’t seem to mind though.

The Racist and I were still meeting up on rare occasions…but my heart. My heart was ready to beat again. After a few dating mishaps, I received a message from Ollie on Plenty of Freaks. I was almost at a giving up point, but Ollie’s message changed my mind. We exchanged numbers, and had met for dinner and a movie for our first date.

The first time I saw Ollie was also the first time I truly knew the meaning of Deja Vu. Walking up to him was so familiar to me. It was as if I had known him from somewhere else. So much so, that my defenses immediately came down and I was able to just be myself. It was so refreshing.

Now here we were, one week later, and I was doing my best to remain calm. My hopes have a tendency to resemble balloons when accidentally released into the clouds. They rise too quickly and are soon popped.

Closing my umbrella I looked up into his eyes. …god his fucking eyes. They made me want to dive into him. They were light green pools of wonderful with thick eye lashes to hold onto as I swam around exploring. They seemed to sparkle when I spoke to him. Literally sparkle. They were fucking magic.

Before I could ramble out an apology for being so late, he pulled me in towards him lightly touching his lips to mine. I felt weightless. For the first time in a long time my body was floating above ground. My emotions had returned and it felt so delicious.

As I backed away I reminded myself to breathe.

 “Are you ready to play a game?” Ollie asked.

With a giant smile and exaggerated head nod I quietly answered, “yes.” I couldn’t hold back my excitement. Ollie had been building up the surprise all week.

We had agreed to meet at a Spanish Restaurant I had never been to, but Ollie had been planning something in addition to dinner as well.

 “It was clear from our first date that we have some of the best verbal communication two people could have with each other. So I thought tonight we should evaluate our non-verbal communication skills.”

 Ollie clearly knew how to peak my interest.

 “I’m listening…” I nodded.

“So the challenge is…we cannot speak during dinner. We cannot say anything until the entree arrives.” “Do you accept this challenge?” He inquired nervously.

Without a second of hesitation I exclaimed, “yes!” His originality was impressive, and while I was apprehensive of how this would work, I couldn’t have been more excited.

 “Then game on,” Ollie whispered as we entered the restaurant.

Inside there was music playing, and it seemed as if the entire place was covered in wall to wall red. I was thankful to be out of the cold rain, but as the hostess showed us to our seats I suddenly realized I was not allowed to thank her for leading us to the table. Rather I looked her in the eyes and simply smiled. When she asked us if the table choice was ok, I nodded profusely giving her a big, toothy grin. Ollie was already causing me to adventure outside of my shell. I loved it.

The waiter came and of course both of us pointed to our drink and entree selections. As soon as the waiter left, Ollie whipped out a stack of note cards.

Wow! He had actually prepared something for me. I felt humbled in that moment. “Maybe he’s just as excited as I am,” I thought to myself. However, I noticed my guards were still at attention when the sudden reassurance was quickly silenced by “I wonder how many other women he’s done this with.”

 The after effects of my Catfish were beginning to reveal themselves…

 On each of Ollie’s note cards was a question. We discussed our families, favorite music, and hobbies all without saying a word. I’m sure if anyone had been watching us they would have assumed we were either deaf or crazy, but I didn’t care at all and neither did Ollie.

From our silent conversation I gathered that Ollie was not close to his family. On our first date, Ollie hinted at the fact he had dealt with abuse growing up. When someone originates from a nuclear family, I find it very difficult to explain why I have chosen to cut ties from both of my parents. So in that moment, I was put to ease believing Ollie would not judge me for my familial dysfunction.

Our entrees were brought out and we began talking. We clarified things we were not sure of during our voiceless discussion. We also already promised each other plans for a third date.

After dinner we walked to a nearby ice cream parlor. Ollie had planned for us to walk around and just talk but since it was still raining and chilly we decided to go see another movie instead.

As he dropped me off at my car that night he jokingly made a reference to how I was “keeping it close to the chest.” I hadn’t realized I was staying guarded, but Ollie had noticed. He kissed me goodnight and once again I was light headed. I just couldn’t think straight when his lips met mine. I suddenly felt over heated. I said goodbye, jumped out of his passenger seat and into my driver seat as fast as possible.

Ollie would make mention later of how he found my awkward goodbye adorable. …but in all honesty…Ollie was the adorable one. He was intelligent, and funny. He was definitely too cool for me…and I was smitten.

Would I be able to open up to Ollie? Could Ollie be my reward after swimming through treacherous waters for so long? A girl can only dream…











What Happens When I’m Called a Slut…

I recently received an email from The Mad Hatter. It read…

 “JBlondie has become quite the Jslut.”

 I haven’t responded…until now.

 Dear Mad Hatter,

First of all, I’d just like to say, thanks for the continued patronage to my blog! I truly appreciate my fans who have been there since the beginning. The fact that you still spend your time reading about my little, insignificant life is well…kind of sad, but also just as entertaining for me as I hope my stories are for you.

If I’m being completely honest, your words stung. I allow myself to be a vulnerable human being with emotions, and therefore my feelings get really fucking hurt sometimes. Too bad you don’t have any, maybe then you’d realize how absolutely unnecessary and inappropriate your email was. I truly regret allowing you to have that kind of power over me (and the fact that you’ve seen me naked makes it so much worse) but everything happens for a reason. Maybe some unknown girl somewhere will read this post one day and decide to just say “fuck him,” if one of the men she’s dated calls her a slut.

So in case that girl is reading right now, I’d like to take a minute and talk about the verbal vomit you felt compelled to throw my way.

Urban Dictionary:

Slut: A Woman with Morals of a Man

Webster Dictionary:


1. Chiefly British: A slovenly woman

2. A promiscuous woman

Now Mad Hatter…we both know my morals have been a tad shaky in the past. Sometimes I make bad decisions. Sue me. But overall, I’d like to think I’m a good person who believes in the good in other people. I chose a profession in which I hopefully can do some good to the world. But I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. However, unlike you…I take absolute responsibility for mine. I regret my actions, I apologize (which you’ve NEVER done), and I ask for forgiveness from the individual I’ve wronged. Too bad you refuse to do the same. Vis-a-vis, I suspect my morals are higher then yours, hence why we can negate Urban Dictionary’s poor excuse for a definition.

Next, let’s address the word “slovenly.” I am neither messy or dirty. I enjoy a daily shower and I take pride in my appearance. I’m sure you can remember that from our time together, so let’s cross out that second definition as well.

I suppose the third and final definition could be rather tricky as promiscuity is highly subjective. An individual could read my blog and ASSUME that I’m promiscuous. They could ASSUME that sex means nothing to me, and I sleep with whomever, and whenever I want to with extreme impulsivity or without regard for real emotions. However, my dear Mad Hatter, they would be wrong wouldn’t they? I don’t do “casual.” Sex involves every emotion I possess…and anyone who’s slept with me would know that.

In all actuality, the fact that you use this word to describe me not only makes me think you’re uneducated and should review your vocabulary, but it also shows how little you got to know me during our time together. (If you need a refresher you can read about that here)

Mad Hatter, there could be a thousand reasons why you felt it necessary to pop back up into my life. Maybe you wanted to make me feel shitty about myself…maybe you miss my friendship…or mayhaps you were just bored one day and decided you wanted to fuck with someone and I was the lucky winner. (Since you’re dead inside, I’d go with the latter)

But take note: After this cathartic release, I refuse to waste a single second of my time thinking about you. I refuse to accept the term “slut” simply because I enjoy sex. I’m looking for my soulmate…not casual sex and anyone who has read this blog would CLEARLY know that. Sex is an amazing thing in this life, and I REFUSE to be someone who takes it for granted. I do not fit the definition Mad Hatter, so stop trying to force my square peg self into your round hole. (No pun intended).

 When will society stop dishing out double standards like yesterday’s leftovers?

 When will women embrace their sexuality, but at the same time respect themselves for everything else they have to offer?

But most importantly, when will men stop the name-calling? All you’re doing is reinforcing what society has always told us…that we’re not your equal. Stop. Build us up. Don’t break us down. We are capable of deep concentrated love. Why would you ever want to hinder that?

Mad Hatter I hope you realize I don’t need your advice. I want nothing of what you have to offer me. You are a toxic human being and your numbness is contagious. Have you had enough attention yet?


JBlondie (The Big ‘Ol Slovenly woman who’s promiscuousness is out of control…let’s all pray for her soul)

P.S. Remember that time you sent me a video of you playing with an anonymous girls breasts in order to simply crush my sense of self worth? That was special. I’ll always treasure the memories you’ve provided.

P.P.S. A huge thank you to Ann St. Vincent who provided me with a moment of lightening during a dark cloud










8 Reasons to Let Yourself Go…

1. You’re Closer to Death Everyday.

Listen, some people see this as a chance to grab life by the horns and ride that wild bull. I see it as a reason to drink too much, eat whatever I want, and adopt the daily attitude of “I don’t give a fuck.” Just let it all out…let that ugliness stun those around you. Unleash your freak flag, have a no pants party in holy underwear, and decide to not care.


2. True Love is a Fallacy.

Now usually I’m a crusader for Love. However, on a day such as today I’ve decided to call Bullshit on Cupid. That Chubby Cherub wouldn’t know love if it hit him in the ass. So stop exercising, stop giving a shit what you look like naked, and just sit on your couch while eating too many Cheetos for one sitting. I’m giving you full permission to eat the entire bag, and then rummage through your freezer looking for that forgotten fudge bar you hid in case of emergencies.


3. You’re not going to change the world.

It’s come to my attention lately that most people think they’re pretty special. Guess what? You’re not. In fact, most of us are rather unexceptional. We can try to be unusual, remarkable human beings, but in reality…NOPE! Accept this fact and move on. Maybe when people realize their impact on the world is far less then they imagine it to be, we’ll start getting closer to a World Peace Treaty.


4. Everyone has their ugly days.

You’re not that hot. You should probably be shooting to take that 6 out on a date rather than the 9 you’ve had you’re eye on all month. The 9 will just hurt you in the long run. Trust me. 6’s are safe…and usually much nicer. (But who wants “nice?” …see #2) Today is the only day in the history of time I will ever say this…settle. Settle before you end up ugly, fat, and alone. We really need to stop demanding perfection…


5. Your Dog is NOT your best friend.

…because he’s a dog and he does not have feelings. Learned behaviors? Sure! But he doesn’t love you. Get over yourself.



6. Everyone uses everyone else.

I’m sure some of you will be shocked and horrified at this statement…and to that I say? I don’t give a fuck. Reality is we use everyone around us to fulfill SOME wanting or need we have. Mayhaps we want love. Maybe we need a promotion…or maybe we just want the cashier in the grocery store to be behind the register because we’re feeling too lazy for the self-checkout today.

7. No One Cares.

Have a Pity Party. It’s your party, you can cry if you want to. Why don’t you just cover your head back up under the covers because sending whiny text messages to your significant other isn’t going to help. They may bring you home some chicken noodles soup, but since we grew up…your bad days really don’t matter to other people. I wish mom’s kisses still helped your boo-boos. But since they don’t, I suggest “boo-fucking-hooing” until the cows come home because no one owes you anything.


8. Tomorrow will come.

(Unless of course it’s your time, then see #1 above) The sun is going to shine again. There is light at the end of the tunnel. It’s one I won’t be appreciative of…but it’s there none-the-less. And since tomorrow is already on it’s way….you should let yourself go. Today!

…you’re welcome to come on over…I’m just sitting on my couch day drinking and eating too many Cheetos.


Sunday Sex…Kinda Like Church

As the steamy shower called my name I took an assessment of myself in the bathroom mirror. I slowly counted the black and blue splotches covering what was once my perfect, pink flesh. I turned around to view my backside and immediate attention was drawn to the thick, red lines scrolling down my spine.

A sudden flashback of last night played in my brain and I let out a quick gasp. I looked up at my face and there it was…my crooked smile. The one The Psychopath had created, The Mad Hatter had let out of it’s cage, and the one The Racist was now delighting in.

I was no longer the girl next door. I was no longer Jessica the innocent blonde. I wasn’t a role model, and while I still respected myself, I no longer respected other people’s opinions of me. Zero Fucks were given and I was enjoying the moment.


I closed my eyes and replayed the previous night’s activities like a silent movie (well…not really silent).

His hands grabbed tightly around my thighs causing my sensory neurons to trigger pain. Every time Kurt touched my body it was with force. He was anything but gentle.

 “There will definitely be bruises there in the morning,” I thought to myself.

He yanked my body closer to his while simultaneously leaning down to kiss me. I closed my eyes and let go.

A sudden inhale escaped my mouth as he pulled my hair back, slipping his finger inside of me with his other hand. The Racist’s ability to immediately find my g-spot was impressive.

 Reading my reaction he knew what chord he had struck, and he decided to play it until I came.

Once my body unclenched, he placed his hands on my hips and holding onto me he rolled to his back placing me on top.

 Leaning over to his left ear I whispered,

“What do you want?”

 “Do whatever you want to,” he responded.

Hmmmm. Not the response I was looking for, but I’ll take it.

As I licked my way down to his dick I grabbed a hold of it tightly and tasted him until I couldn’t take it any longer. I needed to cum again.


Straddling him I sat upright and placed him inside of me. I began moving my hips slowly, enjoying how he felt, taking in all of him. Our bodies fit perfectly together. He knew it, I knew it, but neither of us were going to admit it just yet. No one had ever felt this good before.

I leaned over him once again with one hand on his chest for balance, and the other by his left ear. I moved my ass up and down adding a slight curve.

Right as I began to move faster Kurt let out a loud groan.

 “Ahhh I fucking hate you,” he bellowed.

I smiled my crooked smile, and kissed him hard with my tongue slowly pulling out of his mouth.

 “No you don’t,” I answered back.


 “Oww!” I involuntarily screamed.

Kurt’s eyes popped open and he smiled as he smacked my ass again.

…definitely going to be a bruise there too.

The Racist growled at me. I liked his playful anger, but I wanted more.

Just then he placed his hands on my shoulders digging deep into my skin with his nails. He mauled his way down my back as I arched in pain.

Intensity grew as I returned to my vertical position on top. I rolled my hips faster, and harder. I could tell Kurt was holding back just for me now, so I began to touch my clit as the ride continued.

With each movement of our bodies suspense began to build. My legs began to twitch, my fingers clenched his stomach, and  The Racist let out a loud…


I began to cripple on top of him from weakness. My entire body seemed to be tingling from an overdose of Dopamine.


 This memory will forever serve as a reminder of the moment I decided exactly what I wanted sexually. Looking at myself in the mirror that morning I knew The Racist was certainly not my soul-mate, but more than that he couldn’t fully offer me what I wanted in the bedroom either. This type of sexual encounter took a lot out of him. A few bruises and some scratches were his limit. …but I wanted more.

Domination is possessed naturally. It cannot be forced, and it cannot be taught. I want my body to be claimed as much as my heart. I want pain AND ecstasy. I want to submit myself entirely not only to my soul-mate, but to my “Sir.”

On certain mornings I want to wake up with my body so sore from the previous night that each time I touch something I’m reminded of him. Skipping off to work, trying to make the world a better place one person at a time but then returning home to my love. The one who still sees me as a precious soul…despite our dirty little secret.

Delicious or Demented?

 …either way…it’s what I want.











From August 2013 to August 2014 there have been Seventeen First Dates

Seventeen outfits picked out accordingly

Seventeen pairs of shoes carefully chosen

Seventeen glances at my bank account to check the balance in case he made me pay

Seventeen prayers sent up into the clouds requesting that the person I was about to meet would NOT turn out to be a serial killer

Seventeen Hellos

Seventeen drinks shared with a complete stranger

Seventeen explanations of what I do for a living

Seventeen voices I listened to

Seventeen backgrounds I inquired about

Seventeen reasons to “call it a night”

Seventeen Goodbyes

Seventeen drives home

Seventeen responses to Kristyn’s “How did it go?”

Seventeen face washes

Seventeen changes into pajamas

Seventeen phone numbers I would soon discard

Seventeen disappointments because I knew, deep down, in my heart of hearts, he was NOT my soul-mate

Seventeen men and One Catfish

…take a wild guess on which one I miss the most

Here we are with #18 already over with–and no soul-mate in sight

Dear Love Gods,

Who’s next? …Bring it on



What (Most) Women Want

After reading Paul Thomas Bell‘s post on what a man in his late 20’s THINKS women want…I decided to take it upon myself and explain what women ACTUALLY want. Now granted his post “What Women Want” was funny and sarcastic, but I thought I’d make mine a little more serious with a bit of Jblondie flavor. :)

So here we go…let’s fall down the rabbit hole and into the mind of a vertically challenged 27 year old blonde. (Are you scared yet? …you should be)

We want…

1. To have sex… to be fucked…and to make love. We WANT it ALL. We don’t always need to cum to enjoy it, and we like being naughty so teach us something we don’t know. We’ll be putty in your hands. Lick us…lick us every chance you get. Make sure you know what you’re doing (if you don’t ask us) and then make us melt.


2. You to embrace EVERY inch of our bodies. Find something specific on us that most men wouldn’t compliment and then choose to adore it. Tell us we’re beautiful, hot, pretty, adorable, cute…and mean it. Every.Single.Time. We want to love our bodies…and we want you to love them too. Slap our butts, grab our breasts and tell us you would NOT change one fucking thing about us.


3. To be Valued. We want you to ASK for our opinion on things. We have a brain and we like to use it. Asking us about world events, books, television etc. shows you’re interested in all we have to offer, not just our boobs.

4. To be challenged. Don’t give us everything we want (I know, ironic right?) We don’t want you to agree with us 24/7…talk about snooze fest! Disagree with us, make us think. Question our stance on a few issues, and you’ll immediately have our interest. Define that fine line between chasing and being chased…stay there.

5. To be Danced with. And I don’t mean in Da Club grinding up on us. NO. We want you to ASK us to dance. You might be an awful dancer. WE might be an awful dancer…but none of that matters. Ask us to dance right before we go to bed…in the dark. Hold her while you both sway back and forth to the song. Kiss us softly, tell us how beautiful we are, and then lightly graze your fingers down our side. It’s something we want and may not even know it. Oh! And ALWAYS ask us to dance at weddings. It’s a requirement.


6. FUN! If you’re a couch potato you’re going to bore us. Women need excitement. We love when men have their own hobbies and can teach us new things. Take us to a football game but make sure we know the rules. Show us why you love cars so much because we want to love them too. It doesn’t matter how weird your hobby is…we’re going to be interested if we’re interested in you.

7. Intensity. When we are together it’s YOU and ME. No one else matters. Sure we could be out with a group of friends, but women still need those personal glances. We still want you to whisper in our ear telling us how you can’t wait to get us home and rip off our clothes. We want to have our friends and you should have yours, but at the end of the day help us realize that it’s just us…and you’re more than ok with that. In fact, “just us” is exactly what you want.


8. Genuine Love. We ask you to love us on our good days, our bad days, and those truly insecure moments. You don’t need to be overly affectionate, but we need to know what you’re thinking. We ask you to love our random ideas, our snoring habits, and yes…our bed head. Love us while you can’t stand us in that moment. Love us when we’re sick and can’t stop complaining. And when you start to question if we still love you…talk to us, but love us anyway.



Ladies I’m sure I have forgotten some things so feel free to leave them below. And Gents? …take notes.