Search Results for: "4 am girl"

Noodle and I are gonna give The Neighbor a double blowjob.

Posted on by

38

Ok, not really. Read on, friends. It’ll make sense in a minute, I promise.

Boundaries are something I’m chewing on. Sometimes I have good ones, like, for example I turned down a possible foursome and a for-sure fucking with Kevin last night — he always complains I’m too athletic of a lover. I don’t have time for that bullshit. Usually, though, I have bad boundaries, for example with The Neighbor.

Last night I asked him to hit balls with me and my softball team and he said yes, but at the last-minute my team backed out. I offered for it to be just me and him, but he opted out. Then I realized that the new girl on my team, a petite girl with a brash, yet ineffectual personality was still in. I asked if she’d still want to practice with just me. She said yes. When I told TN, he said he was, once again, “in.”

Now, I don’t know if it was because there were now three of us (sort of a requisite for a good practice) or if he’s stuck in some parallel universe where hitting on my hot, young teammate is ok. I didn’t bother asking, but instead decided to just sit back and observe.

On the car ride over we discussed her. “Maybe she just needs a good fucking from me,” he wondered out loud. I rolled my eyes and called him a fucking dick.

“Please, TN. I don’t fucking care who you want to fuck, but keep it to yourself!”

“If you don’t care,” he leveled at me coolly, “Then why don’t you want to hear it?”

The classic trap. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. That sparked an odd, prickly exchange for the next hour laced with aggressive sexual innuendo. It saddened me to no end. He was playing some angry game with me and instead of telling him it hurt my feelings and to stop, I stooped to pick up the proverbial ball.

We decided to play catch while we waited for Hailey to roll up on her bike and while the balls flew I told TN that I didn’t like us like this, that I wanted to be nice, that it took too much out of me. “Ok, so say 3 nice things about 4 am girl.”

I went mute.

“Um, ok. She’s not on welfare,” TN cackled as he caught a ball and I racked my brain for something else. “She’s never murdered someone -”

“That we know of!” interjected TN.

“Ok, so that doesn’t count.” We continued to throw the ball as I went through trait after trait. I thought, “She washes her hair – no, can’t prove that. She does her taxes – nope, can’t prove that either.” Loudly I say, “She pays the registration on her car,”

“Nope, actually, she doesn’t.”

“Ok…” The ball continued to make thwacking noises into our gloves. I couldn’t even say, “She rescues dogs,” because she spent a fortune on some weird hybrid dog from West Virginia, a thousand plus miles away. What a fucking waste. “Ok, she has rich parents!”

We stopped throwing and came closer. “I’m sorry. I can only come up with two. Could she say 3 nice things about me?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, she –” and he suddenly broke off and clammed up.

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind,” and he resolutely refused to carry on.

It was mysterious to me why he forced me to do this little exercise and I resented it. It was bad enough in the car. What the fuck is going on in his head?? Just then, Hailey rolled up and to his credit he was the consummate gentleman. He didn’t even look sideways at her — those lascivious glances were reserved for me.

They’d met briefly once before after our first game when she and I were going to sub on his team. She’s 10 years my junior and looks like I did in my early 20s: athletic, small-busted. She’s petite where I am substantial. I like her, though think she’s rough around the edges, a little too insecure and a lot clueless.

We headed to the diamond with our gear and started warming up. TN took the mound, Hailey lurked in left field and I stretched at home. An older Hispanic man in a white tank top and khaki Dickey’s lounged on the bleachers behind home base, his elbows on his knees. I could smell his Axe body spray and wondered if he was looking at my ass.

Then, with glee and skill, I hit ball after ball, right over shortstop into left field as TN pitched to me. I wore a short black skirt stretched taut on my round bottom, Converse dusted in dirt, and a shirt that read, “Neither Here Nor There”. My smile never left my face.

Hailey ran and ran in the outfield, then headed for home to hit. I coached her from behind the pitcher, “Don’t take your eye off the ball! Follow throw with your swing! Make him pitch to you!” She made some cracks, but was inconsistent. I broke into a sweat from running from right to left fields and smirked as TN and I made dirty banter on the pitcher’s mound out of her earshot.

Then I pitched and he hit deliberate line drives as my young teammate flailed around in the outfield and tried to throw the balls back in to me. She was a sad little monkey caught in our crossfire in more ways than one.

On the way home we chatted amiably enough, our anger at one another seemingly shelved. I felt good about his overall behavior during practice and my red face and sweaty back filled me with energy. I told him Noodle was coming to see me this Friday. “I’m gonna take her to dinner and drinks then just come back to my place to drink and hang out. I want to spend as much time as I can with her.”

“Oh cool,” he remarked remembering I’d told him about her a few months ago. “How long is she staying? She’s a man killer, right?”

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous. Just one night. I’m thinking of taking her to one of my favorite restaurants.”

“Your favorite sushi place??”

“Oh hell, no, I can’t afford that!”

“What if I took you both out? Could I get a double blowjob?”

I’m pretty sure I laughed, but I felt slapped again. I don’t know what I have to do to get him to stop with this bullshit. Yell? Scream? Storm out? I was going 75 on the highway with the windows down. I’m sure he wouldn’t have felt much if I’d pushed him out of the car right then.

But I’m cooler than that — as always, so cool. When a normal woman would rage I roll. “I don’t know if she’d be down, but she might be. I’ll ask her.”

He tensed in his seat. “Really??”

“Yeah, sure, why not? Just a double blowjob, right?” I had visions of Noodle and I on our knees, our tongues lapping at his huge, turgid length, our cheeks brushing against each other, our breasts pressed against his knees, and then abruptly stopping and asking him to leave. “Nothing more.”

“Yeah, just a double blowjob.” He was getting more excited, I could see. “Maybe a double-double. Like two! No — I couldn’t do that. That’d make me a John. She’d really do it? Well, it’d sort of be like dating, you know, because of dinner…” his oral internal dialogue only served to push me further into an angry corner. Did he really think this was a good idea?

I parked and he put my hand on his erection. I stroked it kindly while I fumed, angry at both of us. We unloaded and climbed the stairs. He set my cooler down in my darkened apartment and left. I immediately texted Noodle to tell her.

She’s probably right about that last bit.

Of course, it will never happen. I simply couldn’t handle it. Also, Noodle has no desire. She loves me more than some cock.

The only reason I went with his suggestion was so that I wouldn’t have to get mad. That’s right. So I wouldn’t have to get mad. My aversion to anger is practically a pathology at this point. But then I did get angry. Alone. I yelled at him in the shower and continued to yell as I got dressed. “I don’t have to justify why I don’t want to hear about the women you want to fuck!” I said loudly to his imaginary face, “It’s enough that I don’t want to hear it! Why not tell Justin or Aman? Why do you think telling your ex-lover who told you she was in love with you 2 months ago is a good idea?? You’re a fucking dick! Stop, stop, stop!!”

I don’t want to hear angry musings of his on how he wants to fuck this chick that I know or that chick that I know, or hear mean sarcasm drip from his mouth. I don’t want to call him names or talk about the tall hot guy on his softball team. I don’t want to feel defensive every time an attractive girlfriend comes over when he asks me about her, his eyes alight with interest.

I want to feel safe and loved again, gentle, Me. I can’t handle even one evening of erosion between us. It kills me.

I considered asking him to come over so we could talk, but decided I need to do this on my own. Like learning he lied to me recently I’m letting this tip the scales. Talking to him about how I feel about his insults and verbal assaults on my ears will only set me back on a path to him. I need to block that path. I need to find a new way around this.

I felt so good Sunday and it’s receded after one shitty little night. He’s never treated me this way before and I’m a little hurt and a lot confused.

We’ll see if Noodle gets to meet him this Friday, but a double blowjob will not be happening.

Not having orgasms or sex has cleared my head.

Posted on by

36

My head, it’s clear.

My phone chimed Sunday morning to tell me The Neighbor and 4 am girl  broke up.

…

Saturday night he was on my couch seeking support and counsel. He was depressed and confused. I sat there with cheap white wine on my breath wondering what I was supposed to do.

All I could say was that no matter what, it’s always rude to ignore someone’s texts. He saw I was hobbled.

I wanted to help him, truly, but where could I go with this? My enmity for her is open and, well, there. He’s fucked if he wants me to decode her bullshit.

We talked some more about his childhood and his current patterns. Eventually he declared he was feeling much better and he thanked me. I told him I was probably the best thing ever. He agreed, but asked that I not make him repeat all that he loved about me. I think it pains him.

I promised with a shit-eating grin I wouldn’t, took a swig of my wine and leaned back into my pillows. “I need to tell you something.”  He looked at me expectantly.  “I’m not going fuck you again unless you don’t look for anyone else. It’s not fair to me, to you, and certainly not 4 am girl.” He said ok.

He stayed a while longer then eventually stood and thanked me, hugged me warmly.

I was relieved to have sex off the table and went to bed smiling.

Sunday, after sharing his news, he came by for a hug, left to run errands, then offered to buy me and Peyton ice cream. I privately shook my head in wonder, but told him, “Strawberry,” anyway.

A few hours later in the pool with friends and my baby someone cannon-balled in front of me. I shook the water off my beer can and waited for the jerk to surface. It was him. Quel surprise.

“Where have you been??  I’ve been trying to bring that ice cream over for two hours!”

“What??  I told you I was going swimming.”

We played in the pool for hours, laughing and playing catch as we always do, then climbed the stairs to our apartments and he brought over his frozen treat. Peyton gobbled it up on the balcony and shouted down to Downstairs Neighbor, “TN bought me strawberry ice cream!” I pantomimed that TN and 4 am had broken up by pointing upstairs and breaking an imaginary twig in my hands.

DN guffawed and quoted Jabba the Hut, “This bounty hunter is my kind of scum…fearless and inventive.”

At 10, TN texted. I was busy kissing a precious face and sticky fingers. When I was done he came over, nonchalant and relaxed. He lay with me on the couch, Frank Sinatra crooned overhead.   This time I had cheap red wine in hand.

I watched and waited while we talked and slowly, shyly let our limbs touch.

He asked how my promise was going. I said ok. Then he slipped his hand between my legs and watched me shiver. My hands trembled and I licked my lips.

I told him I was steadfast in my pledge, though my friend had already folded. It felt good to be in control of myself for a change, I told him. He smiled and nodded. “You don’t have any kind of rule right now, do you?” I asked as I snaked my hand up his gym shorts. I’d been trying to avoid looking at his chubby pink meat which would occasionally slip into my view all evening.

“Nope. You’re the only one.”

“Good.” I stroked my hound beneath the slippery basketball shorts and purred that I was a hound master. TN raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true. It’s always done what I wanted when I wanted. You, of course, were another story, but my hound, it always listened.” And as if to answer precum drooled out its hole and strung a line down to his belly.

In the end, my mouth and pussy steered clear and instead I watched him work his magic cock, his hand a peach-colored blur, until he spurted out thick, white globs of jizz. I bent over and licked his belly clean and tickled him when I dipped into his navel to get its little pot of cum.   It was delicious.

He moaned and chuckled. “You have cum on your cheek.” And so I did.

…

Don’t be disappointed in me. Nothing has changed except I was right. He admitted she was horrible in bed. He can’t get over me. We are like magnets. Throbbing, wet, ridiculous magnets.

I still have two days to go on my promise and a second date tonight. I will not re-enter this dating purgatory with TN unless two things happen: overnights and exclusivity. Period.

Which, essentially, is me saying NO. He will never agree to these conditions, but for me, I can’t lose; it will feel like standing on a hilltop with a breeze and the warm sun on face for me to set my declaration. “No, you can’t have my sweetness unless you take care of the rest.”

It’s been a liberating few pleasure-free days.

20120827-171930.jpg

Sometimes I wonder if these are see-through when wet.

I won’t lie to you. Even when I want to.

Posted on by

43

I started this blog 7 months ago in an attempt to wrangle my life back into something resembling balance.  I didn’t have an idea of what that looked like, I just knew that having sex with up to 4 different men in a single week wasn’t it.  Would it look like having 3 steady mean in my life?  One?  Would it mean I was celibate, or, possibly that I rushed headlong into an alternate lifestyle altogether?

I didn’t know.

All I knew is that I was melting away under the friction of my life and something needed to change.  So I stopped adding men at the rate I was and for many months I concentrated on only the original 3: Jason, Phillip, and The Neighbor.  Sure, I went on the occasional date here and there, but my standards for accepting an invitation went up many fold.

Since I started this blog I’ve slept with 7 men, a considerable reduction to my previous numbers; the previous year had me at 25 lovers.  My experience with TN, my new relationship with my exhusband, my continued work in therapy, and this blog and my connections with you all have drastically affected how I view my self, my body, and my heart.

There are some things I know to be true about me that I’d like to put out there.  First, I am a good person — an exceptional person, really, if I’m to believe some — but I don’t believe it.  (Well, I believe it some of the time at least.)  It’s this disbelief in my own worth that plagues me like cancer.  It infiltrates my heart when I need to be the strongest and I am drawn to those on occasion whom aren’t the safest.

Second, I view my body as my own playground; I give it freely and often and with no regret.  I get great pleasure by giving pleasure and am able to distinguish between me and her, that woman whom everyone wants and finds desirable.  She is alluring, confident, and potent.  She is everything a man ever wants her to be.  While, me, I am sensitive, loving, and vulnerable.  My therapist believes she is hurting me.  I’m trying to cut her some slack.

Third, I need to reconcile these two parts of me, so incongruent and seemingly at odds: the soft, vulnerable, serious, loving side with this playful one.  Some of you believe I need to demand respect, others think I should be celibate.  You all have an idea of me and wish for me to move to this part of the video game landscape or to that one.  You see where this might be headed with TN or beefy, but nerdy, or maybe you just hope for the best.  I’m trying desperately to blend my natural drive to connect with people with the fear of also being wholly myself.  It’s not a matter of just doing X to achieve Y.  It’s more like some pages-long equation ending in F$*!.

My childhood taught me that to be myself meant certain rejection; love became equated with being who they wanted me to be.  So, that’s what I do today: I am whoever they need me to be and I feel loved.

I slept with TN again Wednesday night and again Thursday morning.  I’ve been afraid of writing about it not because I feel like it was wrong, but because I know many of my readers do.  I’m ok with it, frankly.

Tipsy from celebrating with my friends Wednesday night I came home around midnight because he’d promised to vacuum for me.  I was to knock when I got home.  I did, but there was no answer.  I tried the door and it was open.  We have a long-standing agreement that if the door is unlocked it’s code for, “come in.”  So I did.

And I found him asleep in his dark room buried under white peaks of down.  He invited me under the covers and we cuddled and I fell asleep in his arms.  I woke up later hot and peeled off my summer dress and tossed it on the floor, went back to sleep.  I woke up a couple of hours later to his hands sliding over my hip and thigh and dipping below my white eyelet panties.

I thought, “Oh, fuck.  I shouldn’t be doing this,” not because I truly felt that way, but because of what my readers would say and then I put it all out of my mind and let his fingers enter me and stroke me.  I watched him mount and enter me bare and beautiful and felt him slam away inside.  He lost all control in less than 5 minutes and exploded inside of me.

I couldn’t stop giggling. He was aghast and mortified.  “Hy, I’m so, so sorry.  That’s never happened to me before.  That felt like less than 2 minutes.  I usually go 35.”

“Well, well, well.  Looks like TN is a mortal man, after all,” I said into his chest.

“Hey, I’m an extraordinary man masquerading as an ordinary one,” he chuckled back.

“Sure, whatev.  Welcome to the real world.”

I played with his chest hair and made him take back his apology.  “If you could choose between cumming 5 times or me cumming in under 2 minutes, which would you choose,” he asked.

“The latter.  Hands down.”

“Really??”

“Yeah, totally.  Because it never happens.  You just lost control, completely.  Nothing hotter than that.”

We fell back asleep and moved to our sides of the king-sized bed.  I slept fitfully, my dreams laced with pinched, unrequited love and body pillows subbing as hugs.

I woke up to soft, morning light wrapped in fluffy covers with him sleeping soundly beside me.  I reached out and stroked his hip and reached around to his hanging sack and walked my fingers up his shaft.  He was hard.  As usual.  I gripped it and moved my hand.  He didn’t stir.  I sat up and bent over and took him in my mouth.  His breathing remained even, his mouth gently hanging open.

I pushed his left shoulder down, forcing him on his back and he smiled and stretched as I spread his legs and knelt between them.

“You’re the only man I know who sleeps through a blowjob.”

“Mmmm,” was all he said.

I took him in my mouth again and reveled in his taste.  He moaned and thrust up into my face.  Then I climbed up on him and leaned over him, letting a nipple drag across his lips as I positioned him at my entrance.  I bore down and sat up, proud of my body as he eyed me hungrily through heavy lids.

I rocked back and forth on him and felt him in my throat.  I started to cry out and whimper.  His hands were by his head as he let me set the pace and pleasure myself with him.  He had a delicious grin curve to his mouth.

I came and drenched us with my juices and leaned forward again and he took a breast in his mouth.  I gripped his headboard adding more of my handprints to the amber-colored wood.  I wondered if Downstairs Neighbor could hear the banging and if 4 am girl would notice the handprints next time she was on top in the daylight.

I climbed off and took him back in my mouth and worked him like putty.  He shot his load deep down in the back of my throat after a minute or two and I curled up into the nook of his arm.

I’ve decided to not talk about what it is we’re doing with each other.  One, it’s none of his business why I’m doing it.  I’m fucking him because I want to, not because I think it’s going to change anything; two, I don’t care if it goes away again.  I’ve already lost him; and three, it won’t make a difference.  It seems obvious we’re a pair of goddamned idiots who can’t keep our clothes on around one another.  It’ll end when one of us steels ourselves to the other.  I’m using him as much as he’s using me (if that’s even what’s happening).

He is a good man, but he’s fucked up.  Just like me.  I don’t seem to be able to extricate myself, but I also feel impervious to more damage.  I am a contradiction, I know.  It is a privilege to be with me and to know me, yes, but I also can do whatever I want with myself.  And right now, I feel like fucking this kid.

I also don’t feel like doing much else with anyone else.  Beefy, but nerdy has a shelf-life.  The other men I’ve met haven’t held my interest enough for a second date.  I am ok with this.  I understand that so long as I remain entangled with TN I am keeping myself from finding someone else, but I also feel safe from looking.  This is a holding pattern.  Not purgatory, but a rest-stop.  I’ll stop with TN when I’m fully ready.  Obviously, I’m not ready, yet.

I’m afraid that I will lose half my readers because I won’t do “the obvious.”  Well, the obvious on this side of the screen is much, much different from it is on yours.  I’m trying to lead a life that makes sense to me and sometimes that looks utterly backwards.  The journey to the destination is rarely a straight line, as they say.

TN subbed on my softball team last night, it was the playoffs.  We won our first game, lost the second.  He stayed late and hung out with me and my friends and then he vacuumed my apartment for me when we got home.  In my white panties, of course.

And as a reward, I spanked him and fondled him and he even gave me a few swats back.  I’ve never experienced a relationship like this before.  It’s confusing, unfulfilling, thrilling, complicated, sweet, tender, and wrong.  It has all the major components of what an intimate relationship should be according to my wiring.  I will be hurt only inasmuch as I want more and I no longer do.  Not from him.

Last night I dreamt that he was with me in a green playing field.  I had on a white tank top, no bra.  My sister was there and my relationship with him was a secret, but he pushed the limits and outed us.  He sprayed water on my shirt to expose my breasts in front of her, he held my hand as we walked up to a nearby brownstone, and pushed me against a wall and kissed me passionately.  I tried to roll out from under him — my sister would never approve — and I tried to understand his behaviors.  On the one hand, I was thrilled, on the other, I was mistrustful.  “I want to see you naked.  Tonight,” he’d said.  “I want to be with you.”  He might have even said he loved me.  But I couldn’t believe it.  His words and actions have never meant truth and I awkwardly walked away, the sun in my eyes and my heart pounding.

My life is dissolute.  I am a contradiction of feelings and needs and wants.  I don’t know who left these bruises on me because three men this week had their hungry mouths on me.

Whodunnit?

But I’m ok with that.  It’s not a reflection of how little I love me or respect me.  I’m different from most.  It’s a reflection of how I want to play right now, how I want to interact with my world.  I trust my instincts to know I’m leading myself somewhere, even if you really want me to go left and all I’ll do is go right. I know that I fluctuate between what I should and shouldn’t do.  No emotion is stable, ever.  Not love, not anger, not sadness, not even resignation or determination.  New things happen, new thoughts occur, new energies are found and so the direction changes much as a river bends around boulders.

This chapter of my life, all documented here in, as you all say, raw and gritty detail is that journey.  The journey of my dissolute life and my healing heart.  I’m glad you’re here with me and I’m even glad for The Neighbor.

I get help from my friends.

Posted on by

18

I’m going to go out by myself later and I asked for advice from one I trust implicitly.  I have this feeling that 4 am girl is coming over tonight to stay with The Neighbor (he’s been over at her place four nights in a row; it makes sense she’d come tonight).  And I want to be scarce.  SCARCE.  Or just so drunk I don’t give a fuck.

The texting took a turn for the worse. All my fault, naturally.

20120814-185206.jpg

20120814-185222.jpg
>
20120814-185053.jpg

20120814-184912.jpg

I can’t figure shit out. And still I’m talking about it.

Posted on by

22

Thursday night The Neighbor and I fucked each other’s brains out.  Friday night I went out with friends and stayed out all night.  I came home at 10:30 am and TN’s car wasn’t in the parking lot.  He’d stayed out all night, too.  Saturday he came home around noon and his car was there when I left with my baby to stay the night at a girlfriend’s.  I got home this morning at 9 am and his car is gone again.  I know his general habits well enough to know he was with 4 am girl.  And I just can’t figure out why.

I can’t roll my eyes enough at myself, trust me.  Nor can I identify what it is I’m feeling.  It’s not that gut-stab I’d have felt 5 weeks ago, it’s more like a pinch.  I think back to all the supportive comments I’ve gotten — particularly from Ella and her similar story  — and I realize that my head is still in my ass.  I can’t make sense of the nonsensical.   It’s impossible.

Can a feathered fish explain its existence?

I have to accept reality and walk away.  He doesn’t want to be with me.  That is his message to me.  Mine to him is similar, though I ache for it to be different.  I won’t be with him if he has ridiculous deal breakers.

For me, Thursday night was simple inertia.  We’d both been drinking, 4 am girl had been out of town for a week and a half, I hadn’t found anyone with whom I wanted to lay with, and we both wanted each other.  It doesn’t prove anything except how stupid we both are; that I have few scruples and he may have even less.  Nothing has changed.  Dissolute, indeed.

I’m trying to come to terms with feeling smug.  When I realized he’d stayed with her Friday night I felt amazing. This morning, seeing his car gone again, not so much.  I want to throw up a little on the one hand and hold my head high with the other.

I imagine that he still hadn’t had the official “Let’s be exclusive” chat with her, which is why he was willing to put that gigantic cock inside my pussy Thursday.  Perhaps they’ve had that chat over the last couple of days.  Who knows?  I also imagine that he finally understands, viscerally, my intense, nearly all-consuming desire to keep sex between us going when we were together: because we’re so goddamned good at it.  His inexperience always felt like a shackle.  If he only knew, I thought, then he would want it as badly as me.

Both 4 am girl and TN have said she’s a prude when it comes to sex.  I can only guess at what that must be like for him to go from me to that.  Like eating at French Laundry to then munching on a dinner for two for $20 at Chili’s.  It’s why I’ve avoided most men since him, it’s why I stopped fucking everyone but him eventually.  Mediocre sex just wasn’t worth it.  I only wanted to eat at the 4 star restaurant.

I once told him I hoped I haunted him.  That when he was with her he’d think of me.  “She doesn’t taste like Hy,” “She doesn’t sound like Hy,”  “She’s not moving and writhing and crying like Hy.”  He’d laughed at the time because he hadn’t fucked her, yet, but I hope my words are burrowed into his lizard brain like a weevil today.

Does this make me a shit?  Sometimes I think it does.  Other times I just throw up my hands and say, “Fuck it.  I can’t help any of this.”

It hurts less and less every day that goes by.  Every time I see TN slip up and lose his iron-like grip on his self control I heal a little.  I’ve never taken pleasure in anyone else’s discomfort before, but somehow seeing him struggle helps me.  I feel less crazy, less alone.  That it’s not just me, he feels it, too.  He’s told me that his biggest problem right now is his feelings for me.  I’m thrilled to know he has them even if he is working to shove them out of his heart.

New men don’t hurt, either.  Beefy, but nerdy and I are hanging out again on Monday and we have plans for him to bury his face in my tits.  Seriously.  I can’t wait to feel his hard, hot skin under the pads of my fingertips.  I’ve never been with anyone as muscle-y as him before.  Or as tatted.  I hope to god I like what’s between his legs, too.  Wednesday I invited some hilariously irreverent and somewhat cocky 27 yo to meet me for drinks.  Don’t ask me how I learned this, but he claims to be well-endowed.  We’ll see.  And this weekend one of my oldest and best friends in the entire goddamned world is coming for the weekend.

Beefy, but nerdy really liked this pic.

TN can have his girl.  I’ll be fine.

It may seem like there’s an obvious prescription to fixing my life, but I assure you it doesn’t feel that way.  I am confused, determined, thoughtful, selfish, and a life-long masochist.  This is the best I’ve got.  And I swear I’ll try harder to not talk about it in the future.  I just can’t figure shit out and it drives me nuts that this riddle seems unanswerable: how do you recover a lost heart?  Surely there’s an answer out there, and I bet it says, “Don’t fucking live next door.”

[Don't forget to vote for your favorite blogs!]