too smart and too horny for her own good
I’m sure all of you have been quite curious as to what I look like, since I make myself out to be a vixen in little disguise. I do somewhat resemble this chick here, with the nice plump breasts, defined legs, and weapon of choice. Except I’m not as pretty. Cute, though. You can read about those issues here. But it’s more fun just to be this warrior-goddess, The Fighter Femme. As if there were any doubt.
I took this cute quiz, Which Ultimate Beautiful Woman are You?
Sorry guys, this quiz is intended for ladies only. Ha. “Ladies.”
*Please note that “nymphomaniac” and “slut” are not the same. Nor is “kinky.” Webster’s definition of a nymphomaniac is “excessive sexual desire by a female”, which I have issues with because of the whole “men want sex more than women so any woman who wants sex as much as a man is a slut and any woman who wants sex more than a man is just a fucking nymphomaniac freak-of-nature” bit. Which I will get to in a later post because as you may have noticed this issue royally pisses me off. I’m still trying to come up with my own defnition of a nympho, which is a large part of the reason I’m writing this blog.
Do you, have you, are you, –insert proper grammar here–, etc:
This is a question I wore out before I was even thirteen years old. Before I got boobs, before my period, before shaving my legs–I was already getting bitter about boys. They kept turning me down. Like, what the fuck?
I was pretty cute back then, before the pimples and gangly limbs overwhelmed my long curly hair, bright gap-toothed smile, and permanently purple lips from sucking on grape popsicles (yes, apparently OEN was meant to be a nympho from as early as the age of six). But most importantly, I was the smartest girl in the first grade. Sure there wasn’t much competition since there were only seven girls in my class of eighteen, but most of them were in the dumb reading and math groups, as I’d already figured out. Because I was S-M-A-R-T. Smart. Unlike stupid Libby Hughes, who still couldn’t spell her name properly–it’s not like she was Catheryne Goldschlack with the super-long name we all felt sorry for.
what you’re thinking: ewwww get that out of my ear!
what you say: if you’re that fast with your tongue move it south, buddy
what you’re thinking: my dog humps me better than this
what you say: I’m a virgin. I love you. Please leave before I call my mother and tell her that her little delicate flower is no longer pure. Then you’ll get to meet Daddy!
what you’re thinking: I missed Will & Grace for this?
what you say: I hate you. Get out.
Every straight girl has a list of criteria for A Perfect Man. This list often reads like a personal ad: “must be smart, funny, Protestant, and plan on being a stock broker in the Northeast. Romantic walks on beach a must. Bonus if like breeding cats.” Except when I was in high school and college, the lists of criteria were way more out there. “Must speak five languages and run marathons.” “Be non-smoker but not mind if I smoke two packs a day.” “Must be vegan and have been in military.” “Prep school and Ivy-League education required, not be too caught up in himself. He’s a mama’s boy who knows how to treat a woman. ie like a princess who only accepts presents that sparkle.”
I will admit I’ve had some bizarre criteria myself–must aspire to be famous B&W photographer, plans to travel to every famous foreign art museum, cooks large gourmet meals while singing Italian operettas in a perfect accent, doesn’t mind my excessive and often creative cursing. I fully admit to my former dumbass-ness.
Every morning I take my dog on a 30-45 minute through the park. Being Texas, it’s fucking hot here, even at 8:30am. By the time we got back I was covered in sweat and the dog was dripping wet from playing in the fountains. For the last week, BF keeps hinting that “boy, that dog sure smells bad. It’s about time she had a bath.” And I say uh huh and ignore him. But the dog really is beginning to stink.
So many people have asked me which is better, casual sex or relationship sex?
Well I like both! They are entirely too different for one to be better than the other. Both can be awesome, both can suck. Part of it is you get out of it what you put into it–although of course you can only do so much if your partner is just. pitifully. embarassingly. bad. In this case of course hopefully he isn’t your boyfriend because you ain’t gonna rush home to THAT.
I have had lots of casual sex with many types, ages, and races of guys. I’ve also had lots of relationship sex–roughly five years’ worth spread among three serious boyfriends.
Pro’s and con’s are mixed in. I just typed these out as I thought of them. Often the good and the bad are the same. Weeee, that’s what makes sex so damn interesting.
TZZ TZZ TZZ goes the goddamn alarm at 7:00am this morning.
BF gets up at 7:13 to shower.
I slowly wake up, finger-comb my hair into something remotely normal-looking, and wait for BF to come out of the bathroom smelling sweet and soapy. He comes out but goes directly to the dresser to put underwear on and then disappears into the closet.
I silently groan. That means no sex this morning. Mornings are the most likely time BF will initiate sex, but half the time he doesn’t because he’s running late for work, or tired, or wants to work on this latest computer code thing, or wants to look up something on the internet, or some reason more persuasive than a naked chick in bed. How terribly rude.
Waiting a few moments, I climb out of bed and close the closet door behind me and BF to keep the dog out. He raises an eyebrow as I go down on my knees. Immediately he sighs in happiness. One hand strokes my hair. Quickly he comes and smiles back at my own grin.
Who the fuck thought that these would ever be in opposition? BOYFRIEND vs. BLOG.
It’s not an ultimatum, but it is a dirty fist fight in a back alley somewhere.
The main reason I started this blog was so that I could relive my previously wild single life of fast men, fast fucks, and a faster OEN. The reason I feel I need to RE-live this is because I am no longer single. I have a boyfriend, which of course is very very very limiting when it comes to acquiring stories about one-night stands and salacious sex. Thus the reason for writing and telling about my former single life.
This issue is a huge pet peeve of mine because I see and hear it everywhere–
Guy wants girl who’s nympho
Guy gets nympho
Guy has sex with nympho
Guy thinks nympho is whore
Guy no longer likes that girl is nympho
Guy brags to other guys that girl is nympho
Guy tells nympho “not tonight honey I have a headache”
Nympho beats the shit out of guy with baseball bat
Upon creating this blog I was thinking of the friends I should email to tell them that after two years of harassment/encouragement to start a blog I finally have, I realized I don’t have that many friends. At least not friends who I know well enough to inform them of www.theovereducatednympho.com, since many of them are more of the acquaintance-level classmates and former co-workers, most of whom do not care or actively do not want to know about my sex life. ????
I talk about other things too. But of all the things I plan to talk about–relationships, recently moving in with my boyfriend, feminism, finding a job, work, books–sex is by far the most interesting. Although this is probably fascinating to people who randomly stumble upon me via the “next blog” button, most of my friends/acquaintances/relatives would feel alienated if not deeply disturbed. Like when my brother turned fifteen and I gave him condoms “just in case”. He was completely mortified. He hissed at me and closed the door behind us and said “I don’t need these! I go to an all-boys school! I don’t even KNOW any girls!!!” And then promptly threw the condoms behind a row of books on his shelf where they probably still are years later, expired and sad and unused.
*18+ Only Please*
I'm Vix, a 27 year-old Texan. After 18 years of private education and 3 degrees, I'm trying to leave the corporate world behind to become a sex/humor writer and novelist. I'm sexy, funny, ugly, raw, and entirely real-- because there's more to me than being a blowjob queen.
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