too smart and too horny for her own good
While going through clothes in my closet, I found all sorts of goodies. The wine bottle of Menage A Trois that Handsome & Pretty Twosome gave me our first night together. All the sexy nighties I forgot I had–and can actually use now that I’m getting laid. The best find so far, something that I’ve been missing for a year now–my strap-on!! YESSSSSS. Who’s naked booty-shaking now? I’m ready to rock out with my cock out. HELLS YEAH.
I am moving tomorrow. Because I wasn’t nearly as close to being done packing as I should have been, I only worked a half-day. Since coming home, I have been somewhat frantically packing. The thought of my father pulling up to my apartment tomorrow and seeing that I’m only 75% done (again) and getting mad (again) and threatening never to move me (again) is reason enough to skip work (but not tell my father, I don’t want him to think I’m irresponsible of course).
For anyone who has ever questioned whether I really have attention deficit disorder or not, you would have no doubt that I do if you sat down and watched me pack for twenty minutes. Some common traits of A.D.D. are jumping from task to task to task, difficulty focusing, and generally wandering off (my ex-boyfriends can attest to this–they constantly lost me whenever we went shopping, even if I wasn’t buying anything).
Judging from the comments and emails, yesterday’s post on the daily panty report rubbed a lot of people the right way. Which has me wondering–I think it’s time for a series of panty polls:
It started a while ago. The Marine and I were getting hot and heavy, so I started sending him sexy little text messages like thinking of you naked or Ive been wet all day or Im wearing a black lace thong under a tight pencil skirt.
The Marine is one of those “so what are you wearing right now?” types. I had never actually known anyone who said that outside of TV. When I first sent him a panty report via text, he went crazy. When we talked on the phone that night The Marine specifically said he liked getting a “panty report” and would be awaiting daily updates.
For the last two weeks (fine, five days) I have been packing to prepare for this weekend’s move to a new apartment complex. It will be cheaper, smaller, and in a great part of town. I’m excited about the move, although I will be much more excited once the shit is over.
Although the act of packing sucks big donkey balls, it is fun to find hidden treasures buried deep within my piles and piles of crap. A long-forgotten children’s toy that looks suspiciously like a vibrator, several necklaces, discarded g-strings, a mini-Oreo advertisement that a dear friend sent me, black leather pants–that fit!–and then there are found items that stir up a shit-storm of emotion.
Last night I had a wedding to attend. Yesterday afternoon, I started writing a post complaining about how I like weddings less each time I go to one. Yada yada I fell asleep and woke up just in time to drive to the wedding out in the suburbs.
I knew two people in the entire three-hundred person wedding, who were the bride (a coworker and my newest friend) and maid-of-honor, which of course meant they would be too busy to talk much throughout the evening. Although I had invited my friend Sweetie Pie to attend so I wouldn’t be lonely, she came down with a nasty cold and had to stay home. Great, I thought to myself as I drove to the church. I didn’t want to go to a wedding in the first place, and now I have to go to a wedding where I have no one to talk to for five hours. I hate weddings.
The wedding was a bit on the country side (big hair and Southern accents as far as the ear could hear), which meant I stuck out like a slutty city girl. The pastor had eyed me suspiciously as I walked toward the door. Was it the spaghetti-strap dress or could he tell that a non-believer was entering the house of god? It took all my self-control to keep from rolling my eyes at him and hissing Do you really think I want to be here when I could be fucking some hot guy all night long? I hate weddings.
For those who don’t read the comments, several questions about Jazz Man, The Marine, and sex have come up enough times that I decided to post my response here:
The other day The Marine said that we should take a cruise together this summer. At first I fancied the idea (five days of fucking, eating, and drinking? oh HELLS YEAH), but the more I thought about it the more I started to worry. Would this be of the Love Boat variety or a Booze Cruise? Was he thinking something romantic or simply something fun? What does this MEAN?!
Today the nagging voice in the back of my head (not the one that sounds like my mother, but one that sounds like a cracked-out Disney cartoon character) finally got to me. It was time for the “we need to talk” conversation. Ugh, I HATE those. Isn’t the point of having a non-boyfriend/non-relationship so that I can avoid all the usual “where is this all going” crap that clogs up the sex between skid marked underwear and fights over whose turn it is to scrub the toilet?
I mean seriously, how complicated is it? I want sex. I don’t want to talk about my feelings.
This afternoon The Marine talked me into enjoying a couple hours together in the pool at my apartment complex. We loaded up a cooler of beer and left it at the edge of the pool so we didn’t have to get out of the water.
Between beers The Marine wrapped my legs and arms around him and then walked around in the water like that. He told me stories, I giggled, and we both enjoyed having someone fun to hang out with. During one of the many times I had my arms around The Marine’s neck, I saw a figure waving from a nearby balcony.
The other night while I was packing I watched an episode of Sex And The City where one of the characters is completely grossed out when a guy tries to kiss her after going down on her. She tells this to her friends, they all go ewwww and discuss proper sexiquette. They even admit to there being a double-standard, because if a guy wouldn’t kiss a girl after she blew him, she’d be pissed.
Please allow me to ask WHAT THE FUCK?
De-hacking help is on the way (oooh, I’m shaking my fist at the hacker and thinking VERY unladylike things). Now that my latest presentation the management training program for work is over, I can relax and enjoy the triumph of a job done well ohhhhhhhh except I have to start packing. So while I’m distracted, here are some posts from the archives to distract you:
A week and a half ago my dear friend Barbie graduated from medical school. I attended the ceremony with her family and hollered obnoxiously when she crossed the stage. I remember years ago when she was applying to schools, and then I remember the afternoon when she told me she had decided on a specialty. The way she talked about it was much like a girl falling in love.
Now Barbie is moving on to an amazing internship/residency program 1500 miles away. She left a week ago with a U-haul full of boxes, her husband in the car next to her. Even though I am so proud of her for all that she’s accomplished, I can’t help but hate her a little for leaving.
*18+ Only Please*
I'm Vix, a 28 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.
This
work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. © 2005-2008 through the United States Copyright Office. In other words, don't steal my shit.
© 2008 Over Educated Nympho | Thanks, Private and Private | Barthelme theme by Scott | Valid XHTML & CSS | RSS: Posts & Comments
