To all prospective boyfriends and/or lovers:
Please include a short note as to why you think you would be suited for the position. Attach your CV and current photos of your cock, body, and face (if you’re willing).
Send info to: email@example.com
Who I am:
I am a single mom to one adorable school-aged child. I’m 39, almost 40, and I have a broken heart. Sometimes I drink too much, sometimes I smoke too much; I rarely exercise enough. But I take care of everyone I know really well. I’m the planner of the bunch, the one who reaches out to everyone she knows to grab a drink or invite over for dinner.
I breathe in the seasons and once believed I was a mermaid. I could sleep on the dirty hay of a horse stall if allowed. I love makeup as much as going au naturale.
I’m a little plump, but very athletic. No one has worn me out, yet, though I might have begged them to a time or two.
I lose my temper quickly with the animals and my kid when I’m worn down to the nub, but I’m quick to apologize and explain why mommy was acting crazy. I rarely lose my cool with grownups and am actively looking to change that, so beware.
I don’t like sweets and drink my coffee black. I sleep on my side and often fitfully. My favorite flowers are lilies and roses and — of course — hyacinths when they’re in season for that week or two in March.
I’m a skilled cook and can make almost anything taste great; eating out is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Mmm, fucking wine.
I need a lot more attention than what one person can give me; I have no interest at this time in giving up my online social streams, but know that once committed, I am faithful with my love and my body. Just don’t ask me to stop sending tit pics or harmlessly flirting online.
I’m smart, level-headed and deeply understanding. My friends rely on me for everything and I have been fought for a time or two.
I’m ok financially, but not at all well off. Staying home to start a family and finish grad school decimated my career, then the divorce delivered the final blow. I have a modest 401k that I’ve had to sell some of just to make ends meet, and this after selling all my shares of stock I was awarded in the divorce. I am determined to use my graduate degree to support myself and it has been a slow and painful journey to financial solvency. I’m so so so close.
I’m also sometimes too gruff or not alert to someone’s shifted mood, particularly if I’ve had too much to drink (which is rare).
I am a loud talker. Very. And that happens with or without alcohol. Everyone will hear us talk, but I won’t care unless you do and then I’ll be very quick to apologize so long as you don’t chastise me. Chastise me and we will have a problem.
I’m an extrovert which means I need to be around people to recharge and fill up. If you’re interested in my personality type, look up ENFP. It’s a pretty accurate description and I’ve read them all. I really, really have a thing for all you damn introverts. I handle you perfectly.
I’m also shy.
I have deeply rooted issues connected to opening up and trusting. Recently, my heart was broken and I ignored every gut instinct I had to hit the eject button because I loved him very deeply. I have been steadily discovering that I am all sorts of fucked up from it. Like soda in your nose.
I never make love, but I can fuck like an animal.
I’m an artist and an exhibitionist; I’m sensitive and cry during movies and sex and sweet exchanges with my baby.
I want very badly to wake up to a man whose warmth towards me spills over like a fountain. Who has ideas for things we can do together, who takes me to brunch and asks if he can stay for just one more hour, who buys me gifts or makes the bed; who calls at random times to say Hi. I have a very bad track record of attracting men who are not available to me and so I may push those of you away who might actually be capable of such a thing. Please, bear with me. Tell me I’m being stubborn or closed off. Maybe I’ll look closer and clear away the cobwebs mistrust from my heart. Or maybe I’m just not feeling it. I promise to be honest with you if that’s the case.
I tell filthy jokes and cuss like a motherfucking sailor. I’ve read lots of literature and The Game of Thrones and enjoyed them all equally. Writing is in my blood; I am, therefore I write. I can’t not write any more than a bird cannot fly, nor a fish swim.
I have a complicated relationship with my mother which is often very problematic for me. I love her, naturally, but don’t expect us to be the Cleavers when you meet my family. You’ll like them well enough, but you’ll see what I mean when I say, “Well, they’re different.” And when you meet my kid you’ll see an angel on earth and if you don’t, well, you can go fuck yourself. Seriously.
I live in a little teeny apartment with a bunch of animals and a small person, but my home is my castle, my safe place. You’ll feel really comfortable here, too, I bet. Everyone always does.
I’m sure I’m leaving some things out that might be important to know, so feel free to ask.
Who you are:
Some line-items: you must be between the ages of 30 and 50 and someone who can afford dinner whenever we want and maybe a weekend getaway or two; a guy whose sexual appetite meets or exceeds mine; a guy whose cock needs a Magnum condom or just misses it.
You don’t vote red and don’t like guns unless it’s at the range; you have never used a racial slur. You don’t believe a woman’s skirt was too short and therefore she asked for it. You don’t have problems apologizing and you’d rather gnaw off your arm than lie. You are going to or have gone to therapy. You would never strike a child and you understand the socioeconomics of poverty and how it relates to race and gender.
Most importantly, I’m looking for a man who gets me.
Is that guy you?
Hyacinth J. Jones, Broken-Hearted Anonymous Sex Blogger at Large (And Her Tits)