“Another version of me..is she perverted like me, would she go down on you in a theater”……. Oops, time for a station change….”U got it, U got it bad. When you miss a day without your friend, your whole life’s off track”

I laid in bed last night coming up with the whole new blog entry in my head. Except, today I’m writing something different than I envisioned.  Alanis Morrissette was going to be my theme song today.    Because the little demon in my head was trying her (my demon is a chick that I picture as Elizabeth Hurley in the movie Bedazzled) best to convince me that CS was out getting fucked by someone else. (He wasn’t). I got in my own head and came up with a whole post about getting played emotionally this time and how much worse it was than being used for sex.  And then I was wrong. So I had to blog about what’s in me that causes my vivid imagination to make up the worst case scenarios instead of just laying back and using a toy while thinking about the way it felt when he kissed me that afternoon.

I haven’t mentioned much about CS yet, I think for fear of jinxing it.  And this post isn’t really about him, but about me. But here’s the background: He’s 6’3, hot, and has a big dick. He is great at foreplay and keeps my mind blown and head spinning at the multiple orgasms.  We talk almost everyday, which is where Usher comes in, (actually on the phone, heller 1994!), connect like hell mentally too, and is the first guy that seems to be as crazy about me as I am about him. He’s my guy, I’m his girl. (We mostly forego the boyfriend/girlfriend label as we are at the age where we are getting asked to leave bars for getting fingered rather than the homecoming dance.) He drove to my “Cheers”, met my friends. On a side note, we are waiting to have sex. Which is terrifying. and exciting. I keep having this whole Baby from Dirty Dancing moment in my head. Because I think that’s how I might feel afterwards.

So what’s the problem? Me. I have Post Traumatic Swiping Disorder. (There’s a whole market you haven’t tapped for DSM-IV diagnoses American Psychological Association).  On the outside, I’m fairly confident. I’m pretty hot for my age. I’m fairly smart. I’ve got my shit together. But such bad dating experiences has my inner, insecure needy bitch surfacing as soon as I stepped into some feelings.   CS has had such extreme patience and understanding but I know it can be frustrating for him sometimes. Because for the first time I didn’t hear from him for hours, I’d already envisioned me on the couch crying with chocolate ice cream and watching a girly movie, instead of taking him at face value when he said he was truly busy.  How do you overcome such bad experiences and not take it out on the next?  I think the antidote is just time.  And trying to vent to my girlfriends when crazy, inside, demon bitch tries to take over.

Aww yeah, hurry click. Can you send a nasty pic.

First of all, I love this song. If you’re a hip hop fan, make sure you listen to this by Ludacris.    This post is two fold, partly about sexting and partly about that first meeting. And the lessons I’ve learned from both.

Sexting–the phenomenon that has replaced phone sex.  The phenomenon that has gotten many a celebrity and political leader in trouble.   How many times have we started chatting and almost immediately been asked for a dirty pic.  One day, thinking too many men were beginning to see little Ellie, I searched for a random vagina online.  I cropped that bad boy (girl) matched it to my skin tone, and sent it on to dude. (This made Marley laugh harder than she ever has). I have also done it with ass. In a discussion with some girls today, we talked about dick pics.  I have received so many, they start to look alike. One of the girls mentioned that guys wouldn’t mind knowing that we show our friends their little friends. Well boys, I gotta tell you, 90 percent of the time, we are showing it to our friends to laugh. The other ten percent of the time we are showing our friends because we are extremely impressed.

Meeting–I have a new rule thanks to Lorna. If a guy hasn’t suggested meeting me within a week, he’s gotta go. Something is wrong there. Marley suggested today that some of these dudes just join dating sites to have someone to chat with. I thought about that further and realized she has a good point.  I took it a step further and said most of the ones I’ve talked to are trying to get free porn. Think about it, they get to talk to a live chick and see dirty pics. They have no plans of meeting you but they have no issue with sexting you and jacking off to your pics. Some even send videos of just that. I guess there are some lonely guys out there too.  I chatted with V for about three weeks. He was witty, he had all the right answers (I asked him what he was looking for on the app, he said “You, I did not know it at the time but it’s you”) I literally had to force V to meet me. He flat out said “Okay, but only for an hour. And don’t think we are going to go any further than meeting.” He showed up sloppy as hell and was one of the weirdest people I’d ever met.  As Lorna says “it’s too easy to hide behind text.” I did not talk to him for much longer than that.

Advice? Stick with the week rule.  And remind gentlemen that there are sites they can pay for to get what they are wanting from you. Unless of course you are drunk and horny, but be in control sista.



I love bad bitches that my f**ckin’ problem, and yeah I like to f**ck I got a f**ckin problem….


I wanted to have some fun with tonight’s post. Warning, if  you couldn’t tell by the title,  this post is going to be rated MA-for mature audiences only.  I think every woman goes through their wild child phase, usually after something significant happens in life. Maybe not every woman, but it should be. The only problem is still the “slut” title. Yet, men are considered playas.   I’m going to share my bad girl moments. Yes, some are dumb. Yes, I realized how unladylike this is.

Let’s start with the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life.  I swiped on a really hot younger guy. He swiped right back on me.  We began chatting one morning about sex and sex only, very minimal personal conversation. We talked about what a great fantasy would be and he mentioned he always wanted dressing room sex.  A plan was made. We met at a department store near both of us after work.   I grabbed a men’s shirt off the rack and went into the handicapped men’s dressing room. I then messaged him I was inside waiting. I stripped down to nothing but my six-inch heels. He came in, I got on my knees and made him hard. And he was huge. It was a nice one.  I bent over the bench while he pounded me from behind. He finished. Smiled and walked out. We never said one word to each other. We did add each other on SnapChat and chatted a few more times but nothing ever came of it. I will admit I did some hard research based only on his snapchat username and found out who he was. Yeeeaaahhh…. he’s young, hot, and really rich. Or else his daddy is.

Another day I matched right with a guy who I noticed was less than a mile from my office. I asked him where he worked. It was literally the  next office building over. Lorna talked me into inviting him over to our office.  He was young, hot, and really rich with daddy’s money too. (See a pattern here? I’m a good Cougar). We chatted over a couple of days and I did notice immaturity, but damn that body.  We decided to take a lunch break at the same time and I blew him in the back of the office complex. He said that was the most awesome thing that had ever happened to him.  We chatted a couple of more times, mostly out of his amazement of my bad girlness, but it faded and his company eventually moved.

Now for the dirty. The dirty, dirty. The back door. (Lorna don’t kill me when you read this, I know you said girls don’t talk about poop.)  Until I entered the dating scene again after years of hiatus, I did not realize how popular the booty was.   I’ll start with Mama’s Boy, or M as I’ll call him here.  I drove to his house at 1 AM to hook up. M is hot, great body. No fat anywhere. We went to his rather messy room and began to mess around, moving back to the shower, then back to his room. He proceeded to finish with the rear door entry. Then I heard one of what is my favorite sayings from any hook up: Wow, you took that like a champ!  He offered to go down and get me something to drink before coming back for round 2. He was down there awhile and comes upstairs and suddenly says “Are you ready to go? I told you I was housesitting for the weekend!”  Lo and behold, the truth eventually came out. He lives with his parents. He will still send me a message every now and again to inform me his “roommates” are out of town if I’d like to come over.  Him and I have remained friends though.  When the bad hook up prison guy happened, I told M all about it. He was there for me and checked on me on a daily basis.  He’ll make someone a good man one day. Hopefully they can help him keep his room straight when they move into his mama’s house.

RG is the only person I’ve ever enjoyed back door with. I don’t know what he does different but he is wonderful. Here is where the dirty comes in.  After our first time of letting him in the back way,  I noticed something else minimally came out too. It was minimal, but it was embarrassing. I called Marley mortified who calmed me down saying that was to be expected. The funny thing is when we saw each other two months later, he made it into a joke and called me his ‘dirty girl’.  That’s all it took for me to be comfortable again.

The advice from this column is-Experience shit (no pun intended). Don’t worry about societal issues or what’s right. Just be safe.


“My outsides look cool, my insides are blue.”

I matched with a guy tonight who has on his profile “only into way above average looking woman… and that it’s not going to work if you can’t pull off a bikini bathing suit convincingly.”  He and I engaged in a lively conversation. I told him my favorite expression was “don’t trip, we all ugly to somebody” to which he replied “doesn’t matter how hot she looks, there’s someone out there who’s sick of her shit.”

An hour into chatting once, I had a guy ask me if I gave good head. I told him I think so but why? This Prince Charming responded “Because you’re not pretty enough to fuck but I will let you suck my dick.” Wow. Sting. Again, tapped into my insecurities as a woman.  Dude had never met me yet was already judging me as a butterface  (see http://www.urbandictionary.com n. A girl who is hot, except for her (but her, butter) face.)

The concept of the cards we swipe left and right on comes down to window shopping for humans. Being judged on pure physical traits. While women can chat for a guy for awhile and overlook the slight beer belly, men cannot seem to do so. All that deep intellectual conversation and laughing seems to not exist if he finds one thing wrong. RG made the statement to me once that you date, and seem to more often than not get passed over for the next puppy in the window yelling “pick me! Pick me!”

TLC sings “at the end of the day, I have myself to blame. I’m just trippin'”  I’m not to blame that one jackass says a remark to make me think I’m not pretty enough.  I am however to blame on how it makes me feel inside.  And the best thing I can take from that is to not make anyone else feel that way.