The Over-Educated Nympho

When I was fifteen years old, I wasn’t popular. I didn’t listen to the right music, I didn’t flirt with boys the right way, and I didn’t have the right friends. I didn’t get the clothes right even though I was at prep school where we all wore uniforms, because I didn’t wear the right shoes or wear expensive jewelry to make up for the fact that otherwise we looked the same.

When I was fifteen, I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care. I was too busy studying to go out to movies or concerts, and I didn’t care enough about my looks to wear make-up. Besides, all the cool guys at my school told me I had ugly legs [the very legs that now rock a short skirt and high heels like they were meant to be rocked]. I told myself that I would never be pretty like any of the popular girls, so I should concentrate on doing well in school. This obviously did not help the popularity situation.

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Over the weekend The Marine and I went to the pool. For once the ratio of hot guys to girls was in my favor, which incidentally kept getting me in trouble. A group of extremely buff guys lounged near us in the pool, and more than once The Marine caught me trying to make the most of my peripheral vision (which I can’t, and thus the neck straining must have been what gave me away).

“Do you wish I looked like that?” he asked with a pout. He looked down at his rounded tummy and jiggled the sides of it with his hands.

What the fuck? I thought only chicks said crap like that. Annoying chicks. Not former marines with dicks the size of Oklafuckmehoma.

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Today the Village Voice “Naked City” blog featured yours truly in the weekly sex blogger spotlight. GO MEEEE!!! Must celebrate immediately with a couple orgasms and nipple clamps.

Check out the rest of the Naked City blog–it’s got some fascinating (and weird and awesome and WTF and NSFW) posts on it.

In the last several months I have lost fifteen pounds. Just, POOF! gone! When the doctor told me that yesterday morning I said to the scale, are you kidding me? Where did they go?! I patted my thighs, my ass, my tits. All present and accounted for. Did they slowly shrink without my noticing? No, not the tits! SAVE THE TITS! They were small to begin with! Oh holy cajones, just how big was my ass before?

When I mentioned this phenomenon to my coworker she whispered IT’S ALL THE SEX. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I just assumed it was because Girl Scout cookie season was over.

Less than twenty-four hours of a pregnancy scare was more than enough for me. Cramps came at three this afternoon, trickles of blood came an hour later, followed immediately by a half-naked booty shake while I was still in the restroom stall with my pants down.

HIGH FIVE TO THE OVARIES!

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My period is three days late. I may not be concerned enough to run out and buy a pregnancy test, but I am scared enough to mention it on the blog. I’m also hoping that by the time I get home from work tonight I’ll be bleeding profusely from the crotch, at which point I’ll sing the “I love my period” song and celebrate by throwing a handful of tampons in the air and drinking a bottle of wine.

There are a few WTF factors at work here. I switched to a new birth control about a month ago. Previously I had been on the quarterly period pill (i.e. period comes every third month) but it made me bleed every time I got laid or masturbated vigorously, which meant I was bleeding damn near all the time. One month ago I started a new pill, one that has a four-day period instead of seven-day. According to the little pills in the packet, I should have started bleeding a couple days ago.

Enter concern.

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I know I’ll meet Mr. Perfect-For-Me one day. I may be a cynic and a little bit of a bitch when it comes to dating, but I’m a sucker for love. Yes, I’m rolling my eyes at myself.

Sometimes I find myself wondering about him when I see a cute couple walk by or when I’m holding hands with my favorite brown-eyed distraction. I’m not ready to meet Mr. Perfect-For-Me yet, but I like to think about what him there.

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After I mentioned a weekend trip to Mexico, The Marine jumped all over the idea. He researched how to renew his passport (his international travel card from the marines expired recently), arranged for his coworker to cover him while he’s gone, and has told me many times how excited he is about “having his first real vacation in years… and with a cute girl who puts out.”

Awww. O how my pussy beats for thee.

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A couple weeks ago I thought to myself, wouldn’t it be nice to have a quickie on my lunch break one of these days? I mentioned it to Jazz Man during one of our weekly Monday Fuck Days, and he was all for it.

On Tuesday we texted back and forth, arranging to meet for some in-and-out in under an hour sex. Today I wore one of my favorite secretary-esque pencil skirts, high heels, and lacy thong underwear. All morning I anxiously awaited the clock striking noon, eagerly fantasizing about how Jazz Man and I would tear each other’s clothes off then devour each other in a storm of biting, sucking, and fucking.

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Three years (and one month) ago I started this blog. I’m embarrassed to admit I forgot my own blogiversary on June 14, but I could argue that it’s because I’ve been so busy getting laid that anything other than basic life skills fled my mind. WOO HOO FOR GETTING LAID! Wow, that seven and a half month dry spell sucked for all of us.

There are currently 950 posts and 8500 comments, and the traffic count is at 918,000. Over the last year my traffic has more than quadrupled. Two years ago the word “Xanax” showed up in half my posts, and yet people still kept coming back to read more. Now all is well, and I have no intention of going anywhere but up. We need to hear from the nymphos of the world, and an occasional burst of funny never hurt anyone. Unless you outed yourself to your boss, although I hear that’s how several of you were introduced to OEN in the first place.

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I made this quiz in order to help distinguish between a boyfriend (BF), a friend-with-benefits (FWB), a fuck buddy (FB) and, well, being a nobody. I included the nobody category because we’ve all been in that situation where someone is trying to shrug you off and you just don’t get it. As much as I’m getting sick of the phrase “he’s just not that into you” on television and in bookstores, it often needs to be said. Hell, I’ve been there. There’s so much grey area between each of these categories that I sat down to work out what is what for my own sake as well as others’.

Each answer is between 1 and 4 points. Many of the answers are very specific, but the point is the feeling/intention of the answer more than details. Add up all the points at the end and see where you fall on my completely arbitrary relationship scale. Please note that I just sat down and made this up. A lot of these questions are based on generalizations and stereotypes. I’m not a relationship expert, so don’t come crying to me when your answers to the quiz suggest that you’re a stalker. Although you probably are. Just sayin’.

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On Wednesday I got really excited about the idea of taking a weekend trip to Mexico with my friend. Once I went back to the office I found a great deal–$500 round-trip direct flight, two nights in a beach-front hotel, all-inclusive food & booze, and a buttload of “hidden” taxes and fees [a-hole assclowns]. Sweetie Pie and I emailed back and forth working out airport departure/arrival times. I mentally high-fived myself when she emailed back “BOOK IT! LET’S GO!”

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