Men I've slept with...Actor Edition

I have regrown the sense of exhibition I need to write this. Well, that, and I'm horny. I can't bring myself to masturbate while on the rag, so I am dragging out this old blog again.
I have known Actor for awhile. I never bothered with him before that night, as he is the kind of guy who
1. refers to himself in the third person.
2. puts a "the" in front of his name when he says it.
I never understood college actor types, or rather, the college theatre programs that breed them. I imagine a Stuart Smalley type support group on crack. Anyways, Actor is short, with pale skin, dark hair and eyes. He is a nugget of a man.
Boyfriend and I had just broken up, and I was still telling myself I was not looking to get laid while fantasizing about getting reamed by revenge dick. We ran into eachother unexpectedly at a sports party, that to this day I am convinced I was invited to as a joke. (Sports no, Shoes yes.) We ended up making out three hours and two bars later. When he pulled me onto his lap, my inital fear of crushing him was quickly replaced by shock at his huge dick. We decided that I needed to go home with him. While we waited for the bar tab, we chatted about our mutual friends. (All actresses.) I figured that he had slept with them all...later on I found out that I was right. It reminded me of Law Student. When I asked him his "number" he told me that it was none of my business. I never slept with him, partially because of that. But with Actor, it made me all the more determined.
We snuck into his bedroom, afraid of waking up his roommate. We kissed as he peeled off my clothes. I was terrified that my puss smelled sweaty, and I froze up when he tried to touch my spiky calves. And, when my bra came off, I was worried that he would think my D's were droopy. Even when I prepare for sex with matching underwear, silky legs, and a bare fresh cooch, I still worry about my tits.
I reminded myself that I was in bed with a man, and got to work on his pants. I always go for the pants first. Disrobing a guy by myself always seems too romantic. Plus, I wanted to suck him off for a little bit. I do it because I love the weight of a cock in my mouth, and because I'm good at it. I feel a need to make my mark even with guys I don't like. When I felt the taut vein ridges in his cock with the tip of my tounge, I stopped. He took off his shirt, and pulled a condom from a purple (?) velvet (!) box on his nightstand. I stretched out on the bed, showing off my rib cage. My boobs settled into soft orbs with the nipple perfectly centered, a shape Boyfriend liked to stroke in the morning, calling them "his Jell-o molds". Actor took my ankles and spread my legs. When he settled himself on top of me, I put my legs down and around him. (Noting that his heels touched my shins.) His traps flexed as he pushed his way inside of me. His cock reached all the way to the back. I was greatful for it's thickness and length. He hurt me as he thrusted, and he put his hand over my mouth as I gasped and screamed. It turned me on, which made the screaming worse.
I guess I am like a porno chick, as I scream from the moment I'm stuck. He put me on my knees, and fucked me from behind. He asked to fuck my ass, and despite his politeness I refused. He felt good right where he was. I relished the sensation of cool air on the hot juice that had trickled down to my thighs. I felt deliciously dirty, like I was sticking it to Boyfriend as hard as Actor was sticking it to me. Even though I thought I was being uninhibited, I was not comfortable with Actor like I was with Boyfriend. I asked Actor if he would be offended if I rubbed my clit. I did not tell him that I wasn't going to come without it....even though he had the dick and the stroke I had longed for.
We switched back into missionary. I felt my pussy spasm, and I dug into my clit even harder. I was determined to push all the thoughts out of my head and ride out this orgasm for all it was worth. My back arched, I could barely hear him say, "That's right, come baby." over my screams. He kept on fucking me for me. I wished that he would hurry up and come.
Fifteen minutes later, he collapsed on the bed beside me. I didn't really want to look at him. We shared a ciggarette, and I slunk out the door. We didn't even trade phone numbers.
Since then, we have run into eachother at parties, never mentioning my O face, or the unfortunate tattoo on his stomach. Boyfriend and I got back together, and he still does not know about Actor....or the men that followed.

New Cock-ette

So, reader(s),

My super-girly ablility to overinflate the mundane has been off-kilter lately. But I've been Bradshawing my ass off as of late, so lets see whether we can milk 1,000 words out of my question-palooza:

Craigslist:

1. American girls looking for European/Exotic guys. Are they just in love with the idea of an accent because they hate themselves so; and inadvertenly exploding the envelope on the whole "easy American girl" stereotype? Or are they just fat?

2. European/Exotic guys looking for American girls. Are they really the exotic letharios that the WE network says they are; or is the phrase "Wants mairrage for U.S. citizenship" really a French/English cognate for "easy ticket to the land of plenty poon" like I think it is? Or are they just fat?

3.Missed Connections. Clever, tech-savvy declarations of admiration; or cleverly worded bait for "dress up in my dead blonde fiance's wedding gown" obsession fantasies? Or are they just gormless fatties?

Threesomes:

1. Lady-types, Have you ever asked a woman in the ladies room to show your husband her dress? (Clever husband, have you asked the dress girl to twirl for you?) Maybe you should. It's a level of game that I did not know existed, and I don't know whether call myself a victim, or be proud to be double teamed from that angle. Either way, I did'nt get what was up until I walked away; and if I fell for it, tons of other girls will.

2. Fantasizing about a newly discovered hot bartender during the deed with bf, most defs not a hot bartender. Innocent fantasy, or death knell? Or, just a way to get more free drinks, with which to get fat?

07' O' Late

Dear imaginary reader,


I am sorry for neglecting you. I wish I had more time to tell you all the hilarity that has been going on in the past *numbermumble* days. I'll make a list for you. It will be easier to read, and I am not drunk enough to not care about your precious fascetious retinas.





1. New Years. I am morally opposed to anything NOT FREE. So, I was fairly delighted when I found a free James Bond 007 themed....blah blah blah. Free Booze. That's what really matters. However, the poor little rich kids* that were there had their A game on. How do I know? The skinny bitches had Sheila the carb lover guarding their champagne stash. With her unfortunate ass**. I did'nt get drunk enough there. But I was plastered enough by two. Which awkwardly brings me to...





2. Bullshit couples. I know I don't have much bitch room here, seeing as I am in fact 'be-coupled' . But lets be serious here, people. (ha, person) I had a call from an old*** friend Let's call them Meana and D'oh. They are perfect for eachother. And by perfect, I mean astounding Death-com 5 levels of insecurity. When they reach critical mass, they fuck. I'm sure D'oh is the kind of guy who stops mid thrust and demands Meana proclaim her love for him, or he won't finish her off. Other than that, every few months I get phone calls from Meana that begin with "D'oh is going away for the weekend. So, since I hate being alone, I was thinking we could hang out." or "D'oh is having dinner with his family. He said I was allowed to go to Applejack tonight. So, do you want to have some drinks?" As with most of my friendships, I accept the invitation. Not because I am so desperate to hang out, I know it will never happen. (It's usually at this point that I realize that I am out of vodka, and so I make plans to drink that evening with some other witless prat.) She will turn around and call him, and bitch for hours. She'll no doubt be pissed because he has'nt asked her to marry him, thereby forcing her to have a life. I say yes so that in a few months she will call back...and mention something about voluntary house arrest.

3. Threesomes. Don't get your moose knuckles in a tizzy, reader. It's not as exciting as you think. If #2 does not apply to you, stop reading and message me about #3 instead. 'Cause I got nothing. I digress. I cannot believe how many times bf**** and I have gotten hit up for threesomes in '06. (six times, ironically. four guy offers, two from girls) Bf is pissed that chicks don't offer more. He says it has something to do with the desperate state of men and the soulless non-cum sucking-ness of women. Whatevs, bf. He may have a vague, superficial point. But I think a more in-depth analysis will reveal that women think more thouroughly about their sexual decisions than men do. Not to say that men are whores...just more visually/easily stimulated. Women have a plethora of reasons to accept or forego sexual invitations. It's unfortunate (HA! I don't really believe in that adjective. However, I do believe that my pussy is made of gold. Emerson said something like "the desire of gold is not for good... it is for benefit." See? My puss=gold) that most of them are manupulative.
Anyhoo, more shizz later. It's so late, I am in danger of falling prey to infomercials.

Besos,
c



definitions:


*poor little rich kids- this is best defined as a syndrome. You, dear reader, have no idea how much money it takes to look so poor. Ski bibs, pussy flavor saver beards and earrings made from ferrel hog droppings aside, poor little rich kids are best served under the influence. And by under the influence, I mean being drunk off of the Patron and prostitutes they buy you just to keep whatever extra appendages you have focused on them long enough to hear exactly why "a five hundred thousand dollar condo and a bentley convertible as a congrats (rehab) grad! gift from Daddy does'nt really mean love." Just Kidding, rich kids! I love you(r money) !



** Unfortunate Ass- It's not just genetics that lost your lucky number...It's god. We are talking biblical, epic proportions of porridge ass. If I can call you Cheese Mc HailDamage, Fritters Mac Goop, or Butt n' Slop, chances are you have one of these. The same goes for combinations of the afformentioned monikers.

***Old- Self induced state. Most people I know choose this out of fear of being alone, or herpes (I kid. They already have it). But we all know that the truth is that they don't want to worry anymore about being fat, or the excitement of/potential rejection from someone new.

****bf- Boyfriend. Keep reading for definition development.

Pseudonyms, Pseudo-me

I've recently broken up with MySpace. It wasn't easy, as MySpace was like heroin to my vanity. But I knew I made the right decision when my godparents mentioned that I came across like a dick-crazed party girl on my site.Really, I live a bit of a closeted lifestyle. MySpace gave me a way to keep in touch with like minded people, and friends; and a platform to subversively vent my opinions. Or so I naively thought. Platforms are for shouting. Subversiveness should be clandestine by nature. The two obviously don't mix. After the breakup, I began to long for the stench of my opinion on the Internet.So, here I am again. I won't be disclosing any real names or locations in this blog. But I will be covering parties, hilarious encounters, and of course, what I really think of my boyfriend.