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.

I had a weird dream last night. Normally I dream about work, which in itself is weird but at least they never inspire a blog post first thing in the morning.

I dreamed that I was in a house somewhere with a couple other people from my everyday life. While I was in a bedroom reading, Handsome Nerd stumbled in without a shirt on.

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I saw Handsome Nerd Saturday night. I hadn’t seen him since the wedding months ago which finally got us some closure [this post has links to all other Handsome Nerd posts] on all the weirdness, at least so it seemed.

Earlier that evening Barbie had received a call from her hubby Ken asking if we wanted to meet up with him and his friends at a neighborhood bar. I didn’t expect Handsome Nerd to be there.

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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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The Halloween party I went to last night was fun, but sadly it left me unsatisfied without a dick to lick, and on top of that THERE WAS NO CANDY.

Although I got hit on several times at the party (I can’t decide if it was the superhero cape or the itty-bitty-mini-skirt), all were fruitless. Not for lack of trying, because I hit on a couple guys and that got me nowhere.

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.

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Last night I had a dream about Handsome Nerd. Although I can’t recall the details, I know it ended with us kissing and his hands working their way down.

I may have woken up a little bit excited. With a finger at a very ungodly place for a Sunday morning.

What the fucking fuckety fuck FUCK?

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Last night I went to a tarts-and-vicars costume party. I did my best to dress as a high-class tart, you know like one of those fancy $7.99 gourmet fruit tarts you can only buy in places called patisseries. I’m no cheap tart, bitch.

So I know what you’re all really wondering: did I get laid?

What an absurd question. Oh, of course I got laid, my pervy little love buttons! I have such fantastic luck getting laid when I go to parties. Seriously, every time I walk into a party all the guys and confused straight girls flock to my bootyliciousness and proceed to compete in winning my affections.

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I have to admit that I’ve been thinking about making a follow-up call to Sexy Venezuelan, since he never called me back. I would say something a little sexier than hey just checking to make sure you’re not dead and slightly nicer than have you found your balls yet? because I have an extra pair if you need them. Or maybe I could go the old-fashioned route, i.e. call and hang up six times until he gets so irritated that he calls me.

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As far as hoping that Sexy Venezuelan calls me back, I think it’s time to call it dead. Damnit. He was so pretty.

Whatever his reasons for not calling back–he’s too scared to dial the fucking phone, he got a girlfriend, he thinks I’m a lesbian, he doesn’t like boring ol’ white girls (but look at my hips!! THESE ARE NOT THE HIPS OF ANY ORDINARY WHITE GIRL)–it doesn’t matter.

At first I thought that I’d wait a week and try a follow-up call, but given some recent events I think it’s best to move on to a nice piece of man-meat that will bite back. It is getting really damn old being the one who does the pursuing, as I demonstrated to great lengths with Handsome Nerd. I’m losing patience with guys in general. As much as I understand the many reasons a good guy may not call someone back he is attracted to, I’m getting really tired of this crap. MAN UP FOR FUCKSSAKE.

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This afternoon at work I checked my cell phone and saw that I had a voicemail. I entered a mild state of panic because my friends know not to call me during work hours, which meant this must be someone random. Oh sweet merciful CRAP what if it’s my gynecologist calling with my test results to tell me I HAVE CROTCH ROT?!! She said she’d only call if there was a problem!! WHAT IF THERE IS A PROBLEM WITH MY HAPPY PLACE??

Immediately I checked my voicemail. “Hey, uh, Vix, this is Handsome Nerd…”

WHAT?!!

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Today my friend Barbie asked me if Handsome Nerd had called me back yet.

Nope. I haven’t gotten so much as a hang-up since I called him Thursday night.

“Does Ken have his number? I’m not entirely sure it was Handsome Nerd, because it was one of those generic voicemail messages…”

“Um,” said Barbie, “I think he got your message.” She paused. “I have news.”

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