The Over-Educated Nympho

All day at work I kept anxiously checking my cell phone for missed calls, in case she called with what I hoped would be great news. Something along the lines of I CAN’T WAIT TO MAKE SWEET DIRTY LOVE TO YOUR NAKED BODY, COME OVER AND DO ME NOW.

Meanwhile I had a knot in my stomach and saw big penises and pussies everywhere I looked. The stapler on my desk. Penis. My travel coffee mug–pussy. The forsaken banana in the break room. Fucking sonovabitch, someone show me some mercy here. How the hell am I supposed to get any work done with things like that lying around the office?

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It has been fifty-eight days since I last had sex. This does not bode well for my aspiring career as a sex columnist.

I have a girl friend–a married girl friend–who has made it known that she fancies my legs. And my ass. And she’s done girl-on-girl before (throughtfully arranged by her hubby). This fine husband of hers who “somehow” manages to work as long as I get to watch into every conversation we have.* Sounds like my kind of guy.

I have kept this little gem of possibility tucked away for some time. Well before there were fifty-eight days, and actually before I was even single. The potential has been safely stored in the recesses of my perverted mind, growing each time I saw this couple. Oh I should also mention they’re cool as hell. I’m interested in both of them for their bodies and their minds. Their dirty dirty minds.

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Many sides make up who I am. No one side is more dominant than any other, none are fake (which is why I just barely pass as “polite” in the corporate world, and that is with my big fat mouth clenched shut and my fingernails digging into my palm), all are significant in my identity as a whole.

I’m not talking about this like someone with multiple-personality disorder, but as a normal person with different sides/faces/personas she shows the world depending on the situation and her mood. I’m moody as hell (normal for people suffering depression, my therapist tells me. thanks, buddy. Can I get a discount on my session for such nuggets of wisdom?), which is just one reason I am cursed by being so utterly charming.

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What does it take to turn a boy into a man, if it’s not living on his own and holding a real job, an important birthday, a magical kiss, or being bitch-slapped and told to grow the fuck up already?*

I’m just as interested in figuring out what does it take to turn a girl into a woman? Being able to weed out the boys from the men? If that’s the case then I still have a looong ways to go. I’ve only recently started figuring out the differences go far deeper than age or number of serious relationships on one’s dating resume.

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With each new guy I dated, I was always waiting for that magical first kiss, the one that (I’m told) sends tingles down your body and makes you lose yourself in that precious moment.

I have never experienced a first kiss like that, or any kiss. I am told it happens, and not just in the latest clearance-sale chick flick. Or maybe I’ve never felt that happy feeling because I’ve never been in love. I thought I had been with my last boyfriend, but maybe not.

Orgasms and being in love follow the same line of questioning: “Have you ever been in love?” “I’m not sure.. I think I have.. once…” “Then you haven’t been. You’d know for sure if you had.”

Well, shit.

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The first time I had sex, I remember lying there afterward thinking that’s IT?!

I felt like sex was some huge world-wide scam, that everyone made it out to be this great big thing, and then the reality is that it sucks. I didn’t feel fulfilled or closer to my long-term boyfriend. I felt screwed.

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The iBuzz is one of the newest and most creative gadgets on the sex toy market, and it’s a pretty damn cool one. It was only a matter of time before someone made this fine accessory for the iPod (although it works with any mp3 or cd player). According to the front of the package, it is The music-activated orgasm machine! Plug in and turn on for vibrating fun. YESSIR. I WILL GET RIGHT ON IT, SIR.

On the back of the package: iBuzz vibrates in time to your music so you can get off while getting down. Right. Cute. I can totally see that nerdy guy from Dodgeball/Mac commercials saying that while winking and giving you the double-guns. Not that I wouldn’t totally sleep with him. (I heart geeks, okay? So shove it.)

Here are some photos. The first is the official one taken from IntimateGifts.com, the next two are ones I took of the actual product before I tore into it:

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According to the latest stats on my affiliate page of IntimateGifts.com, I have made $60 in commission! Thank you to the eight people who have made orders and done their part to contribute to the $150 incentive for a sexy pic.

I’m working on the final draft of the iBuzz review right now, so check back later for that. I know many of you are anxious to hear all about the best iPod accessory to date! (haha double meaning.. date… BOB… okay nevermind it was funnier in my head)

Yesterday was my first day working in the new department. For my exit review Former Big Boss and Former Cool Boss took me to lunch. We had all filled evaluations of my performance, so we put them side by side and went through each ability or quality that would probably contribute in a couple months to whether I’m worthy of a raise (you can bet your fucking bacon burger I deserve a raise. And some of your french fries, too).

Need to work on scheduling tasks by priority… good at multi-tasking… good at client relations (my eyes went big at that one, because I have yet to find a nice way to tell the client I ALREADY TOLD YOU WE CAN’T DO THAT, YOU IDIOT), tends to show up late for work… (please don’t ask about night time activities please don’t ask about night time activities you would SO FIRE ME if you knew about my night time activities), self-motivated and needs little guidance… takes initiative… rarely but can be very thick-headed… need to start learning managerial tasks (how am I supposed to learn anything managerial when I’m the department pee-on?), fairly reliable… solid knowledge base… all that sort of crap you see on an evaluation form.

As I was man-handling my ginormous hamburger, Former Big Boss turned to me in a very serious yet endearing way and told me, “by far the best part of working with you is that you have such a positive attitude.”

Say fucking WHAT?! ME?? A POSITIVE ATTITUDE? HAVE YOU MET ME?! I’M THE EVIL SPAWN OF SNARK AND SPITE. I HATE MY JOB AND I DON’T TRY TO HIDE IT BECAUSE I WANT EVERYONE TO SUFFER IN THE BLUE GLOW OF THE COMPUTER SCREEN WITH ME.
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I’m 3/4 done with the review for the iBuzz. I just, um, need to test a few more things… gotta make sure the five-orgasm rating wasn’t just a one time thing.

Check back later.

Update 1:30am

Another eighty minutes of testing later (after the initial test-run) and it still holds up. The review is fucking long and I’m not done and I’m tired as hell so I’m sorry my beloveds but the review will have to wait till tomorrow.

Every other day someone is begging me for a sexy photo, even just a little bit of belly button or leg. I’ve been considering it for a while, and now I am finally giving in–but as an incentive.

For every $150 I make in commission from you buying sexy goodies through IntimateGifts.com, I will post one sexy photo.

I promise it will be of yours truly, and it will be good. There will be no head shots, but everything else is fair game. Sorry, no X-rated stuff. I may be all about the dirty FUCKMEHARDER sex but I like to maintain create the illustion of a certain level of class.

So there ya go, my beloved readers, I’ve got photos waiting and ready to go. Aaaand conveniently enough Valentine’s Day is less than one month away. Couples, buy a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for your significant other (they do have goodies for men), and singletons like me–well, stock up because you’ll feel a little less sorry for yourself on National Single’s Awareness Day if you’re cumming for the sixth time.

The other day I met my friend Dr. Barbie at a coffeeshop where she studied and I “worked” (meaning: I blatantly checked out all the nerdy-cute guys from behind the safety of a notebook). I may be a complete social retard in a bar, but the coffeeshop scene is where I’m in my element. Nerds, intellectuals, and closet freaks, all pumped with caffeine-scented pheromones.It was prime time so every table was taken. My eyes scanned across the room several times before deciding on one guy in particular, who was conveniently seated at two o’clock. He had a good view of me, I of him. A very nice view. Mmm. Diggity.

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