The Beautiful Kind

Twice in the past month I’ve dined out with grown men who have stunned me by ordering chicken fingers. I managed to keep from busting a gut, but I swear the next time it happens I’m going to scream at them to grow the fuck up and eat eggplants and mushrooms already. What’s with these underdeveloped palates?

Fine, you can have your stupid pizza, but can’t you give the poor chickens a break? All the wimps eat chicken, which is the equivalent to vanilla sex. BOORING. (And oh my god, do you know what the other staple is for these immature souls? No, not catsup. RANCH DRESSING. And maybe Big Macs.)

Food writer Jeffrey Steingarten wrote in his book The Man Who Ate Everything about how he overcame his picky eating habits upon accepting a food critic gig. He says that if you eat something about a dozen times, you eventually acquire a taste for it. So quit embarrassing yourself and branch out already. I have some matar paneer and blackened tempeh ready to shove down your throat.

I think it’s so weird that if I have a computer problem at work and I pick up the phone to call the help desk, I end up talking to someone who lives in India.

Not only that, but there are loads of Indian people working there. I like to walk around and pretend I’m in another country, especially when I pass the foosball table around 4pm and a bunch of them are gathered around it, cheering.

And it irks me that the cafeteria doesn’t serve Indian food, sucks for me, but the Indians bring their lunch and eat it at their desk, and it torments me when I walk by because I want to steal it from them and that wouldn’t be nice. Curry smells much better than catsup.

How to fucking score:

1. Have a hot occupation, such as, say, doctor, where you go around performing heart transplants.

2. Have a sexy accent cuz you speak three languages and lived in the Middle East and Europe before you came to this godforsaken midwestern cowtown.

3. Cook an amazing Persian dinner for your date by candlelight.

4. Swear on a stack of bibles right up front that you won’t kiss your date. Then later admit you’re an atheist. In front of the fireplace.

5. Have a swank pad in the city.

6. Work out a lot.

7. Ply date with good red wine.

8. Pull out secret weapon - open the pantry door to reveal CEILING TO FLOOR EUROPEAN CHOCOLATE.

Yeah he fucking scored. Duh.

One time I brought this cute guy over to my house for sex on my lunch hour. I told him to wear as many clothes as possible so I could have the fun of undressing him. So he got all dressed up and even wore a tie, and ended up looking like a character out of Reservoir Dogs. It was so campy I wanted to do it somewhere besides the bedroom, so I picked the ugliest room in the house, the one with the beat up leather couch and wood panel walls.

I had my fun undressing him, working off his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers trembling with impatience, stripping him of his undershirt, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants…

We got naked on the couch, and it was all good for about two minutes, until we started sticking to the couch. I noticed he was keeping his distance from me as much as possible, while still trying to keep inside me. He started sweating on me, and it went from hot to awkward in under five minutes. Finally he wilted and we accepted the fact that the couch was attacking us, and we switched from panting to laughing and ate lunch naked in the other room.

I haven’t sat on that couch since.

She makes a lot of comics. Cuteness.

Tricks to a good blow job in 10 steps or less:

1. Great conversation topic. Before you put your mouth to good use, ask him what he likes so you know what to lay on thick and what to avoid. Does he like his balls licked? Teeth? Lots of suction? Strong head stimulation?

2. Take the tease trail. For example, start by kissing the guy, then slowly heading south, kissing and licking his nipples, chest, belly, thighs, balls, shaft, then head.

3. Open your damn mouth. I keep hearing from both men and women about these women with small mouths who can’t get the job done. Despite what you might think, my mouth isn’t that big, and I can stuff something substantial in it. Though I can’t fit a soda can in it like I saw one woman do. That’s impressive.

4. Like it, love it. I also hear about women who get tired or a sore jaw and can’t finish. I think that’s because they’re not doing it right, and they really do consider it a job, not a pleasure. You need to get the mindset that you want the cock, to devour the cock, to worship the cock. Focus on it, don’t think about what you need to get done tomorrow. Get wet just from sucking it, hearing his moans, feeling his hand in your hair, knowing that you are giving him intense pleasure and attention.

5. Get a grip. A gentle touch won’t do much for most guys. Don’t be wimpy about it; his cock is used to being manhandled. You can get pretty rough with it.

6. Hand to mouth ratio. Make sure your strokes are long enough - catch the base of his head as you work your fist up and down, while focusing your mouth on the head, licking, sucking, fucking it with your mouth. Use the other hand to play with his nipples, ass, or yourself.

7. Party tricks. Ball licking, eye contact, rimming, deepthroating, these are all good techniques to employ, but the most important thing to keep in mind if your goal is to make him explode is keeping a consistent, steady rhythm. Of course you should mix it up until you’re ready for the home stretch.

8. No ick factor here. Go ahead and make those weird noises - gagging, moaning, slurping. And let the drool flow, it makes good lube.

9. Jackpot. Ooh you made him cum! Now don’t be cum shy, it’s part of the fun to play with it, dribble it out of your mouth, let him have a taste. (One time I had a guy tell me, “Cum is for the ladies.” He’s lucky I didn’t punch him.) When he cums, give him a break, stop the stimulating, but don’t retreat - stay with him, savor the afterglow. When you do back off, do it slowly and gently. Oh and you don’t have to swallow it - I only swallow the ones I love.

10. Yeah baby, you’re a goddess. Now repeat as necessary.

Punky is the baddest monkey of the bunch. He’s constantly teasing the girls and causing trouble.

But along came Megan and suddenly, he’s tongue-tied and smitten. And ooh she knows it and is alll over him.

Be afraid, Punky. Be very afraid…

I recently lost a fabulous sex partner to the circus (I love a guy who wants you to ejaculate in his face and borrows your dresses), so I’m on the prowl for new amazing experiences.

Here is who wants to fuck me:
Everyone (what do you mean I have delusions of grandeur? Come on, it’s practically true.)

Here is who I’m actually considering. (Careful, you play with me and you might end up in my book, especially if the sex is really good or realllly bad):

1. a man in his 70’s (my current oldest sex partner record is 52) (and this isn’t just any old guy, this is a writer, a woodsman, a man with passion and verve…)
2. a 20-yr-old college kid (I swear they keep making ‘em younger and younger…)
3. a hot woman with a penis (beautiful transgenderness!)
4. a big, muscular, hung-like-a-horse black man (I’m not usually into guys who can pick me up and carry me around, but hey, I love contrast)
5. an exotic Persian doctor who will cook for me and buy me shoes
6. a guy who wants me to pee on him (hell yeah I’ll piss on you! but don’t piss me off)
7. three hot couples

WHO should I do first?

Is it illegal? Blogging While Intoxicated? As if I wasn’t enough of a Bitch Goddess…

Today I walked into the bathroom at work and discovered a turd the size of a newborn child. I HATE seeing other people’s poop. Well, ANY poop really. It reminded me of that essay David Sedaris wrote about his traumatic, too-large-to-flush poop encounter.

I know you come to this site to read about smut and/or ogle my panties, and that you only tolerate the sock monkeys, and that you didn’t sign up to hear my work horror stories, so I’m sorry to put this on you, but I have to. I don’t want to have shit-filled nightmares. And I couldn’t very well bitch about it at work, since I might well be sitting right next to the baby shitter. >Shudder<

I promise the next thing I post will be dirty in a very different way.

…Joy to the fishies in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me…

I started my new corporate hell job this week. I wore a “Jailhouse Rock” Elvis pin and told my new co-workers it was to celebrate his birthday (January 8.) But in reality, it was to acknowledge the fact that I’m now serving a sentence. I admit, I’m guilty of the crime - wanting a paycheck. God there are so many things I want to buy - glass dildos, sock monkeys, Day of the Dead dioramas…

Anyway, this new job is blowing my mind. There are so many acronyms flying around that some have double meaning, which is confusing much in the same way it’s confusing that in the Greek language there are masculine and feminine versions of numbers.

You need a password for everything. You practically need one to go to the bathroom. You have to lock your computer everytime you leave your desk. You can’t keep a calendar on your desk or people will know your whereabouts. Cameras are prohibited. Everything on your computer is monitored. You have to wear uncomfortable shoes. Worst of all, there are 2000+ employees there, and out of the 100 or so I’ve seen so far, not a single one is fuckable. How lame is that?

To make it even more surreal, each person I meet reminds me of a celebrity or person from my past. One woman looks like Aly McBeal. My co-worker looks like Oprah. One woman looks like Dr. Ruth. My boss resembles Data from Star Trek, minus the weird eyes.

I keep having these horrible urges to scream or smear poop on my face or go to lunch and come back with a swastika drawn on my forehead and act like I don’t know it’s there.

Can I keep it all in my head? Can I use my inside voice? Should I live it up extra hard when I’m not at work to make up for the fact that I sell my soul eight hours a day, or should I resort to wearing a butt plug at the office as a secret declaration of my perverted insanity? Are my seemingly normal co-workers already plugged and that’s why they all act happy? Am I not in on the secret? Maybe I’ll ask right in the middle of our training session today…

Check out Rusty. As you can see, he loves the Argyle Jungle I made for him, feels right at home.

But look! He has a serious aversion to stripes.

He’s so damn cute and shy…