The Beautiful Kind

- You see a fleet of bicyclists, all fit and in spandex, helmets, sunglasses, and you fantasize about having a bicycle gang bang - and you don’t even like riding a bike.

- You see a group of shirtless high school boys running down the street, practicing for track or something, and feel the urge to have a teenage gang bang with them - even though they don’t even have any hair on their chests yet.

- Teenage girls wash your car at the local gas station and you think dirty thoughts about the one with the red hair, tank top, and short shorts.

- You think lewd thoughts about your sexy Jewish vet, even as he diagnoses your cat with irritable bowel syndrome.

- You ponder playing doctor with your kid’s sexy Jewish pediatrician, even as he diagnoses her with an earache. And his kids go to the same school she does.

- You go to dinner with other moms and you stare at their cleavage and judge which ones are MILFs and wonder what their sex lives are like with their husbands…or others?

Sigh.

My guy has a new hobby - Japanese bondage. I asked if he might like to take up bonsai, but nooo. I think his latent boy scout tendencies are surfacing. I suspect this is due to him being chased by a bear (this kind, not that kind) a while back. Or maybe it’s because he’s a dom, and never really knew it until he met lil’ old me.

I guess it’s nice to find a hobby we can both enjoy - I have to admit I’m glad he didn’t suggest mountain biking or kayaking. Yikes - does this mean I’m not the outdoors type, but more of the string-me-up type? I can always prove myself by going on a hike and being trussed to a picnic table…

Soon The Beautiful Kind will be tied up in a wide variety of sexually compromising positions. I suppose hogtieing is a good way to keep this sub freak under control. And I’ve been curious about the whole bondage thing ever since I saw a documentary that featured an odd dyke in black leather who declared that bondage makes her feel incredibly safe and calm.

Also, I remember being turned on as a kid when I found my mom’s pulpy true crime magazines in the basement. The covers usually had frightened women wearing secretary-type clothes tied up, lying on the ground, a menacing man’s shadow cast over her. I’m going to have to start practicing my “scared” face, but I refuse to wear pink blouses and pearls.

I like the idea of being the focus of erotic art, for my pale breasts to be framed by rope and presented for worship and sucking. I also like the idea of being restrained and having to endure gentle kissing all over my body, but then also being lifted by the ropes like I’m a big fuck toy and penetrated by my glass dildos. What can I say - I like being used for someone else’s pleasure - it gives me a titillating thrill. Yes! I can always tell I’m onto something when writing about it gets me all smiley and squirming in my seat.

Anyway, I’d like to have a bonsai tree myself, except I would kill it, and those suckers are supposed to live forever. The only plant that thrives under my care is the aloe plant, which is a good thing, cuz aloe is good for rope burn.

Mimi is cute, small, and bent - a pink little macaroni. She’s my only sock monkey with a hint of fingerlings.

Here she is taking the train in Canada:

At the beach:

Cuddling with a teddy bear at a B&B:

Riding sidesaddle:

“I can’t wait for you to dom me.”

- me, to my guy, at a party, after three glasses of wine

Yes, it’s true. Sometimes insecure women don’t allow their men to hang out with The Beautiful Kind. Could be because I fuck everything and anything, and all my guy friends inevitably and recklessly suggest a threesome to their woman involving me (ooh I just love to be USED), but c’mon. I probably have better things to do than to fuck your hot stud (I’m so sure.)

{THIS PART OF THE POST REMOVED BY REQUEST.}

Coincidentally, another friend of mine (who lives in Colorado!) called me last night to get my opinion on a similar matter - his girlfriend has forbidden him from associating with a platonic female friend. He felt this violated his autonomy and was insulting. Um, yeah. This type of behavior will only cause resentment and make your partner want to spend time with their friend even more than before, and sets the stage for secret keeping.

I’ve observed two things when it comes to couples: Many claim their partner is their best friend, and many keep secrets from their partner - watching porn, cheating, eating junk food, smoking… I maintain that a best friend is someone you can share everything with. So ‘fess up, and if your partner can’t accept you for who you are, perhaps you shouldn’t be together.

Me: We need a toothbrush, packing tape, and enemas.

Him: I know why we need the toothbrush and packing tape, but what’s with the enemas?

Me: Well, you said you wanted to start experimenting with the butt plugs soon, and I want to be prepared. (This said right before turning the corner and bearing down on an old lady selecting denture cleaner.)

Him: Well, then.

Me: Fucking me with a butt plug in will be a very different sensation - we should both try it. (hopefully out of ear shot from the old lady)

Him: (speechless - I think he’s thinking “What have I gotten myself into?!”)

Me: Look, we’ve found the toothbrush and tape. We have a lot on our plate right now - do you mind if we table the anal play until next month?

Him: Works for me.

(Note: You shouldn’t use the solution that comes with the enema - it has chemicals you don’t need. Replacing it with warm water will do you just fine.)

Heads up: This is the right way to load toilet paper:

The #2 good reason for a divorce - loading the toilet paper the wrong way. “Under loaders” = underhanded, backwards thinkers
(Hm, that would make a good study - find out how the majority of Republicans and Democrats load their TP)

The #1 good reason for divorce - failing to replace it at all.

A study conducted recently revealed three interesting sexual behaviors of men and women:
1. When a man is presented with a picture of a naked woman, he focuses on her face first.
2. Women stare longer at heterosexual sex than men do.
3. Women who are on the pill tend to focus on the decor surrounding the copulating couple.

From the article:

Men went straight to the face and lingered awhile, but most of the women were more interested in the sexual activity. How much so depended on whether they were taking hormone-filled birth control pills.

Those who were, Wallen said, were interested in the overall view of the photos and “background” items like jewelry, but women not on the pill were more interested in areas normally covered by clothing.

I’m on the pill, and always notice the pile of laundry behind the posing pervert, or the stupid baseball cap or mom’s frilly curtains in the background. But doesn’t everyone? I mean, I’ve seen a porno that had five lava lamps sitting on the bedside table, which totally distracted me from the anal sex that was going on. Or take this picture:

When you see this pic, what is the first thing you notice?
a. the woman’s face (does that count as an Elvis sneer?)
b. the touching genitals
c. the garish motel bedspread, the guy’s chain, and his bad bleach job?

PS: This is the first dirty pic I’ve posted on my site. I allowed it for educational purposes, plus the guy’s pink worm is so slight and inoffensive.

“Are you enjoying my flaccid cock?”

- my guy, in response to me “boing-boinging” his weenie, as I’m amused to see it soft for a change

Definition of “sapiosexual” from Urban Dictionary:

sapiosexual - One who finds intelligence the most sexually attractive feature.

“I want an incisive, inquisitive, insightful, irreverent mind. I want someone for whom philosophical discussion is foreplay. I want someone who sometimes makes me go ouch due to their wit and evil sense of humor. I want someone that I can reach out and touch randomly. I want someone I can cuddle with.

I decided all that means that I am sapiosexual.”

I hate some words. Like “boyfriend” and “girlfriend.” Sounds so amateur. I also hate these words:

moist
slacks
coupon
sweepstakes
crisp
snack
cum (I cringe every time I spell it that way, but “come” looks so odd)
trinket
scrunchie

What words bug you out? A friend of mine hates the word “chutney” but I have no problem with it.

The other day I was shopping in a thrift store once again in a futile attempt to find jeans that fit my (apparently) grossly misshapen body. Since I came up empty handed and had already organized the children’s book section for them (I looove straightening books) I spent the remainder of my time there stalking two cute couples:

1. One couple was New England white trash. They were very smoked out with leathery skin, and probably looked much older than they actually were. The man wore a safety orange t-shirt, jeans, and work boots and had hair that looked like a rat’s nest. The woman was tiny and coarse and had a masculine face. From the way they interacted with the staff, it was clear that once a week they came to Goodwill in order to find slutty clothes for her to wear, and part of the foreplay was trying them on.

She would hang out in the dressing room and he would fetch her the shortest shorts possible, like from the kid’s department. She tried them on and they giggled and growled, and at one point, while modeling size two flowered denim shorts with ruffles that barely covered her non-existent ass, she said, “What do you think?”

I didn’t hear him say anything, but I heard her say, “Oh, I KNOW that look - you’re HUNGRY. Let’s get you home and fed.”

2. The other couple was younger, with developmental delays. She was tall and shaped like a triangle, and he was compact and led the way through the aisles. They were smarter than the average person in one regard in that they both liked to read. They browsed a revolving rack of mass market paperbacks, and I heard him say, “I’m looking for the best kind of books.”

“Mysteries?” she asked.

“No, ACTION BOOKS,” he said excitedly.

As the book rack turned and squeaked, he asked her off handedly, “Do you like your books to have a lot of love in them?”

I was trapped in unfavorable circumstances the other night and was made to watch most of the movie My Super Ex-Girlfriend. Within two minutes it reminded me why mainstream movies SUCK SO BAD.

At first I thought it was for kids, but when the two main characters started fucking in the air, I realized it must be geared towards teenage boys. Is Weird Science a better movie along this line, or is my memory warped?

I am just about sick of the stereotype that brown hair and glasses = unattractive geek and that blonde hair = instant goddess. While I’m at it, I’m sick of women who bleach their hair until it’s yellow or it looks like the top of their head is disappearing.

Anyway, Uma Thurman should be horsewhipped.

I’m reading a book called She’s Not There, a college professor’s memoir of what it’s like to be transgendered. Born a man, Jennifer Boylan felt female since pre-kindergarten, and at age 40 finally decided to make the official transition from male to female. Needless to say, this was difficult for her wife. An excerpt:

As a man, my sex drive frequently resembled a monologue by a comic book hero succumbing to an evil spell. “Must - have! Must! Trying - to - resist! Getting harder to- Must have! Can’t - resist!”

I’d been driven to such a delirium not only by the sight of breasts, but by the suggestion of breasts, even by the theory of breasts.

Now, when I looked at my own breasts, I had a simple sensation of, Well - there they are. My friend asked me, “What’s it like? What’s it like to have boobs?”

“It’s not like anything, ” I simply said. “They’re just there.”

He shook his head. “Man, you are turning into a woman. One thing about women, they have no idea how interesting their tits are. They don’t think they’re all that remarkable at all. I mean, when I’m with girls sometimes I just want to say, How can you concentrate on anything, looking like that?

“Sorry,” I said. “They’re great, but you know. The world doesn’t revolve around breasts.”

“Listen to you!” He shouted. “Of course the world revolves around breasts! What else would it revolve around?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Like maybe the sun?”

He looked at me as if I was a stranger. “The sun, yeah, right.” He sighed. “I wish you could hear yourself.”

“Sorry dude,” I said. “There are more important things in the world than breasts.”

My friend looked regretful.

“What?” I said.

“I’m trying to think of something more important than breasts.”

“How about family? Children? Relationships? Good health?”

“Traitor,” he said.

Do cheesy cliches get me hot? Was it all my squirming in my seat watching friends and family cry over highly personal feelings in public that made my crotch tingle? Was it the outdoor wedding in the rain that got me wet? I suppose a contributing factor was the potent green Brazilian cocktail with a name I can’t pronounce even when sober…

Regardless, my man and I left the celebration for a little of our own. As soon as we got in the door, we were yanking at each other’s clothes in the kitchen. I pulled the tie off his neck, even though it was the first time I’ve ever seen him wear one and it was rather sexy. (Ha ha to all you guys - why would you invent and perpetuate such a stupid accessory? Too bad for you it’s a turn on for women to have something to drag the guy around by) And ooh I just loove button down shirts…

We made it back to the bedroom for some hot mutual masturbation - me curled around his crotch so I could get a good view. Moments after he came before my eyes (thankfully not in them, ouch) I worked my g-spot into a frenzy and gushed all over the bed. I hadn’t done that in a long time, and it felt amazing, intense, liberating. I was so pleased that I was able to be that relaxed in his presence to really let loose. I love how it smells, brought my fingers to my nose to inhale the clean scent, then to his. “Smell this,” I commanded. It was new to him. “Feel this!” I crowed proudly, dragging his hand through the large wet spot.

I now pronounce us happy and satisfied.

- The Beautiful Kind

Yesterday I was on a US Airways flight.

I went to use my tray table, and this is what I discovered:

What the fuck?! Like I want a hideous hot pink ad for diarrhea blaring at me as I accept my ginger ale from the David Hasselhoffesque flight attendant. Bad enough I had to deal with his hair gel and the stupid Sandra Bullock flick they were showing. Speaking of, here is Sandra Bullock’s range of acting expressions: confused, baffled, perplexed, puzzled, hurt.

Here is my expression: outraged.

Me: This morning when you came, you said, “Ooh.”

Him: No I didn’t! I said “Oh.”

Me: No, it was definitely “Ooh.”

Him (sternly): I made the sound you would make when watching fireworks.

Me: Exactly. “Ooh.”

Him (more sternly): This better not go on your blog, woman.

This is very embarrassing for me to admit, but I still don’t own a strap on.

Um, what the hell is going on here?

Went to Graceland this weekend. Jebus it gets more and more expensive - this time it was $25 a person for just the house tour. But I HAD to let my daughter experience it - the tackiness, the built up fantasy, his life sugar coated, the pretentiousness of the recorded tour guide bragging about Elvis’s “two 8th degree black belts.”

Anyway, I only took one photo while I was there. One good thing about tourist traps is that you get to see a lot of bad tattoos.  My companion and I spotted this one in the Meditation Garden at the exact same time. He muttered, “At least she could have had a cute baby.”