The Over-Educated Nympho

If you haven’t already, you need to read Part I before reading this. No jumping ahead, asshole–the titillating and teasing in the first part is just as hot as the good stuff. Be warned: this post still isn’t finished.

Army Cowboy drove the three of us back to my apartment, which was only a couple minutes away from the bar.

I’d like to say I was all suave as we walked from the parking lot to my apartment, but in my head I was totally doing a full-on booty shake, complete with twirls. I got two boooys I got two boooys I am so coool I am so coool! It’s a good thing people can’t read my mind, otherwise there’s no fucking way I’d ever get laid. But I was chill. I can hide the goofy girl inside when there’s an orgasm or six on the line.

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I took a vacation day from the office today so I could work on two of my many super-secret writing projects. I’ve gotten a lot done–and that includes sleeping in an extra hour and spending three hours at my favorite bakery/coffeeshop. Hey, that was a working lunch. I have the food and coffee stains on my notebook to prove it. That splatter of french onion soup right there? That was immediately after a moment of brilliance, mind you. Note to self: am not talented enough to direct spoon and write at same time. Will end up with pen in mouth and soup all over oral sex notes.

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Today was my annual review. Shit, have I really been here an entire year? New Big Boss only told me about the review yesterday, which did not leave sufficient time to come up with a bunch of bullshit to write down on my self-evaluation form.

I was nervous as fuck.

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To Whom It May Concern:

I am very happy that you like my blog and you have been reading it every day for two days now. I am very grateful for your help in psychoveranalyzing my mental dysfunctions based on all five posts you read (three of which were about blowjobs, the other two you skimmed looking for dirty pictures). Most of all, I am honored to be graced with your offer of “cumming to TX to rock my wrrrld.” Except that I’m lying.

Sadly I do not have an Intern George to send out to cuddle you in his delicate yet masculine arms, since clearly you are reaching out to me for something larger than yourself. But I do have a half-eaten turkey sandwich. Perhaps I could send you that instead? It’s got mayonnaise on it. Yum-yum in the tum-tum!

xoxo [redacted]
Vix
________________
To put things in perspective on how NOT to win over a nerd-turned-nympho over the romantic environment that is cyberspace (although I think it is safe to say that the majority of these apply to any girl whose MySpace profile doesn’t include photos showing off her fascination with contortionism), here are some general guidelines:

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It’s come to the point where I have so many writing projects “in the works” (as long as they’re in the works that means they’re not in the fucking bank) that I have decided to take a vacation day on Friday. To work.

Taking a vacation day so I can work. I would say that’s really fucked up, but then again this is what I did the last time I took a vacation day in the name of writing, which is a pretty pimpin’ way to go.

The conversation with my boss went like this:

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It happened a week ago, but I haven’t been able to face it. My TiVo broke.

I’m heart-broken. But we were together for so long! We got along so well! I LOVED MY TIVO SO MUCH! How could my TiVo do this to me?!

I LOVED YOU!!! I WAS NOTHING BUT GOOD TO YOU, AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO TO ME?

–weeps over the discarded remote–

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The break-up was eight and a half months ago. I haven’t talked about the actual break-up that much. The aftermath, the random memories that pop up–these I have mentioned as they crept into my mind because talking about them is the only way to get them to go the fuck away.

Today I had the movie Prime playing as background noise while I moved in and out of the bedroom with laundry and the vacuum cleaner. Suddenly a familiar scene snapped me to attention as if someone had smacked me in the face.

I left the laundry on the floor and sat down at the edge of the bed. Rewind. Princess Dog lay down next to me with a reassuring paw on my leg (how do they know?!). Play.

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Apparently there is a rumor going around my office that I am a lesbian. Hmm. News to me.

Okay, fine, I’ve gone bush-diving and I can’t wait to get between a sweet set of freshly-shaven legs again–but my coworkers don’t know that.

“Are you serious? The guys in your department think I’m a lesbian?” I asked New Girl. It was Friday night happy hour at a Mexican restaurant near the office. We were very happy.

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The other day I stopped at a Burger King for dinner. I don’t eat fast food very often because if I’m going to eat crap, I’d rather eat sugary or chocolately crap. Lucky Charms at dinner, for example. Colorful, simultaneously soggy and crunchy, and three bucks for an entire box that won’t leave my car smelling like french fries for a week.

But I was damn hungry and far from my two flavors of ice cream waiting for me at home. Burger King it was.

I ordered one of the meals. Chicken strips, onion rings, Dr. Pepper, $4.32.

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Okay, I’m ‘fessing up. This post is the reason I got, um, side-tracked last night. After reviewing the notes from my old journal to prepare for this, I only managed to write one paragraph before the overcoming whirlwind of sexual memories knocked me on my ass and forced a vibrator into each hand. OKAY?! Want to know the secret to masturbating for two and a half hours, without any reading/viewing material? Real-life memories like this.

It was me and two guys. Two hot guys. Like hottie hot McHottie hot. And to top it off, they were from the country. I tell you, it’s like it was right out of Penthouse. Except way better because it happened to me, and before then I thought things like that only happened in $9.99 porn.

This is the sexcapade that was mentioned in my interview in Maxim. The crazy sexcapade which I somehow forgot to mention to my ex-boyfriend, according to him. Hmm. Quandary.

Note: this is my ONLY story that starts “So I was at this bar..” I’m not into the bar scene (because normally I bomb out and run out of dignity before I run out of cash), which makes this night all that more triumphant. And I have to warn you, I didn’t finish this post. As you regular readers know, when I’ve got something good it takes me a couple posts to get it all out. If you don’t want to be teased, it may be best if you hold off on reading this.
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In just the last week and a half, I have moved from being #16 on Google for “how to give a blowjob” to #9 (and 10). I’m on the front page for how to give a blowjob!!! GO MEEEE!!

Oh my goodness, I’m –fluttering hands– I’m so flustered! –dabs eyes– I would like to thank “Steak and BJ Day” for all the traffic –tears streaking down face– and all the pretty penises in the world that inspired me in sooo many ways, and –flutters hands– the Brit who taught me the fantastic three-point contact technique, and, and –swoons–

Okay, I get a trophy or something, right? I should get a trophy with an erect penis on it that says I am #9!! HELLOOOOOO? WHERE’S MY FUCKING PENIS TROPHY?

I’ve been horny as fuck lately, and the strong scent of my own pussy isn’t helping. So tonight instead of writing a post I masturbated for two and a half hours straight. No lie.

I came more times than I can count, my wrist hurts, my fingers will probably smell like pussy for the next two days, and I’m wishing once again that I’d gotten my clit pierced the day I turned eighteen.

This is why in spite of all the sexism crap we have to put up with, it still rules so hard to be a chick.