The Over-Educated Nympho

I’ve met many guys who have named their cocks. Sometimes the name is normal, or at least not weird, and sometimes the name is very very weird. I shared one of my favorite WTF stories as the Friday Fellatrix on The Fellatrices blog, a site dedicated to all things blowjob. I figured I’d mix it up by throwing in something funny among all the hot and sexy.

Check out my latest post, Marco? Polo!

For those of you have encountered many a strange wang name (or named yours something special), please share it with us in the comments over at the Fellatrix site.

Last week my parents decreed that Saturday be a family day. This wouldn’t be a big deal if my brothers and I didn’t live all over Texas, which is one big-ass fucking state. We are all driving to the city where Big-Little Brother lives and spending the day together. It would be as lovely as a field of sequin-covered leprechauns except for the fact that I’M TRYING TO GET LAID. Tonight, specifically.

It has been seven months of diddly fucking squat plus two weeks of playful teasing, and I refuse to let a game of Monopoly with my family jeopardize my shot at multiple orgasms with a guy whose tongue is capable of uncanny ability.

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It is always awkward to watch anything sexual on tv with my parents, but it’s hard to avoid unless the only thing you watch is The Cosby Show. It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke, two people kissing, or a full-on sex scene, my ears turn bright red and I stare up at the ceiling.

It has been this way since I was ten. Back then it was because oh my god the lady on tv just said the word penis IN FRONT OF MY PARENTS. Now it is more out of horror that my mother may have to ask me what a t-bag is, or worse–that she may already know what it is. Or what if–shudders–she not only knows what it is they’re talking about on tv, but has actually done it?

The whole realm of sex becomes mortifying. My mother is not allowed to know what double-dildos are for.

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As a nympho I receive many propositions from guys who promise to rock my world, pleez me up and down, make me feel like a woman, you name it they promise it. Sometimes the email simply says something like “hey baby im six feet tall, blue eyes, 180 lbs, 8″ of pure man, and can make you cum all night long.”

Aw, how sweet. Nothing woos the pants off a girl like an email filled with such dazzling displays of poetry. Good golly gosh, call me bedazzled. The guys who are nice enough to appeal to the over-educated side of me will also mention their IQ. Let’s not forget the real geniuses out there who fill their emails with six-syllable words that I’m pretty sure are not being used or even spelled correctly.

Wow. The pants are practically flying off my crotch in excitement.

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I have a pimple on my crotch. Ick. And I just got peanut butter all over my keyboard. Son of a bitch.

Those two things are unrelated. Really.

One night in high school I came home from my boyfriend’s house and went to my parents’ room to tell them I was home. Dad looked at me curiously and then reached out with his finger and tapped a spot on my neck. My eyes widened.

“What is that? Looks like you have some toothpaste dried there, sweetie!” He chuckled at my silliness and rubbed the rest of it off my neck.

“Oh yeah. Right. Toothpaste. Thanks, Dad.” I hugged him good night and ran for the bathroom.

That was so not toothpaste.

Lately my job as a cubicle monkey has sucked a big hairy set of low-hangers. I’m pissy and would love nothing more than to throw my feces at a deserved target. I joke with my friends that if my boss were a boyfriend, this is the time we would “need to talk,” which would probably lead to “I think we need a break… like, permanently” and finally it would come out that “it’s not me, it’s you.”

Except at a point it stops being funny because it’s true.

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This is the concluding post about the Halloween party I attended recently. Please read this and this first, otherwise this post won’t make as much sense.

I assumed that was the end of WGF for the evening, having been sent back to the Cave of Creeps where aspiring dirty old men are kept until they reach full maturity/level of creepiness and are then released into society where they can feast their eyes on bare skin and innocent souls.

Aaaaaand then about twenty minutes later WGF came back, now obviously drunkety drunk drunk. Even the piñata on his back was droopy.

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This is a continuation of the post I started about the Halloween party I attended over the weekend.

A quick recap of the previous post, which you should read if you haven’t already. It makes this story that much more weird.

The three guys who hit on me were the classic guys every girl runs into at a party: the douchebag, the clueless guy, and of course the guy who has temporarily forgotten that he has a girlfriend.

I seem to have a bad track record of attracting guys who are afflicted with the “girlfriend? what girlfriend?” syndrome. I have no interest whatsoever in cheating or cheating with someone on a significant other, although it pisses me off that the single guys I meet are not nearly so straightforward. Fuckwits.

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Some days I’m feeling sexy and so I write about blowjobs or threesomes. Other days I’m feeling funny so I write about dating or the skeeze-bags who want to buy my underwear. On a really good day I hit the snark just right and out comes pure bitch-gold. Then there are the times like tonight when I find myself ankle-deep in shit water in my bathroom.

As if standing in shit weren’t bad enough, it was my own shit. MY SHIT IS NOT SUPPOSED TO TURN ON ME.

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On Friday a bunch of us went to a bar after work. While driving over it occurred to me that Sexy Venezuelan may be there. I knew Hot Brother would be, and they’re friends with a lot of the people on the email list that went around that afternoon.

Just in case Sexy Venezuelan was there, I made sure I looked good. He had not returned my call from Sunday and it was beginning to piss me off. Time to prepare myself: let my hair down, check on The Twins (keep up the good work, girls!), and recite my mantra: I am not nervous! I am too sexy to be nervous! I am NOT NERVOUS!

It didn’t work.

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I just called Sexy Venezuelan. I’ve been thinking about what to say to him on the phone ever since we exchanged numbers on Friday. Unfortunately I have also been thinking about his hot naked body writhing under mine, which probably did not help the bad jitters I had prior to calling him just now.

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