The Over-Educated Nympho

[Note: I’m posting this on November 19th, two and a half weeks after I originally wrote it. And the irony is that in the very first paragraph I wrote about whether or not to post and I made it sound like I had finally chosen to post it. Two and a half weeks ago. Which I did not. But I am now. You can read why here.]

I’ve thought and thought about whether to post this or not. Because it comes off as desperate and lame and needy. I don’t care any more. The more I write the more I see that it’s the posts I almost delete that are the ones most worth reading.

When I saw Dr. Barbie recently I asked her if Ken had talked to Handsome Nerd and asked him What the fuck, dude. Ken said Handsome Nerd gave him the same spiel that he gave me and it sounds like an excuse, but he doesn’t know what for.

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Being naked has never bothered me. As a baby I screamed if fully clothed. Most photos of me before the age of five I’m in various stages of care-free undress.

As a teenager I got naked with my first boyfriend as soon as it no longer felt slutty to do so. I proceeded to continue getting naked with him as frequently as possible, enjoying walking around his bedroom buck-ass naked with his boner as the reward for such comfort in only my skin.

In my first one-bedroom apartment where I lived by myself in New York City, I frequently walked around naked, even on the coldest nights when I could feel the chill from the window with my body still a foot away.

I have always been all about the naked. It’s natural. Easy. No problemo there.

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Somewhere in the excitement of my upcoming threesome I forgot to ask myself the obvious question: am I bi-curious or bisexual?

Not that it really matters. And besides, if I had to label myself I’d have to go with one of the all-time best lines from Sex and the City: “I’m a tri-sexual. I’ll try anything once.”

HELLS YEAH BABY. My girl Samantha knows what’s going on.

Many many people over the years have asked me if I’m bisexual. I guess over-sexed girls tend to be more likely to be bi? Or something? Or maybe there’s just a big fat FREAK written across my forehead.

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It’s official. I have a date to meet Handsome Twosome and Pretty Twosome this Saturday night.

They’re taking me to a real steakhouse. Some quaint and fabulous one which is located nowhere near an airport. I think Handsome Twosome felt bad about my chain-restaurant experience last week, and Pretty Twosome just really loves red meat. My kinda girl.

My father left town this morning. Last night I got home from work just as Dad was finishing up an executive summary for his consulting job here in town. We decided to go out to a fancy Asian restaurant for dinner to compare whose day was more boring.

We ordered Japanese beers, an order of spare ribs, and took our time eating and talking. Dad told me about his consulting job. I told him about my fantastically boring and unsatisfying day at the office.

Everything is always so easy with Dad, unlike with The MOM. She’s… I don’t know. I feel like I always have to try so hard to impress her, to prove myself. As what I don’t know.

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