Hunting the rare and elusive uniporn

Holy shit, you guys. I think I’ve found some sort of porn holy grail.

Lots of kissing; equal and enthusiastic oral for both parties; no spitting; normal-shaped woman with the cutest tummy curve and a great ass; reasonably attractive man with a big yet non-threatening dick; enough talking/sounds to convey appreciation and a good time being had by all, but no obviously fake, exaggerated noises or commentary; perfect line walked between request and command from both participants; dude moaning a bit in her ear and grabbing her ass, hips, shoulders, neck, and hair; believable-enough orgasms (multiple!) for the lady; and his first move was to bend her over.

And I am just enough of a narcissist to be really into the fact that the woman moves and sounds like I do.

It’s like a unicorn of porn — it’s a uniporn.

Ahem… Um… So… I have to go, uhhhh… take care of a few things… It’s pretty important…

(Hey, you fix bad days your way, I fix them mine.)

Which chakra is my vagina?

Interesting choice, yoga studio gift shop.

Though I suppose a well-oiled lady garden is one way to achieve zen.  

Escape: Plane and Simple

I’m pretty excited to be taking a vacation that requires a plane, and leaving all my bullshit behind — if only for a week, and if only metaphorically, since my bullshit lives in my brain and actually travels quite well. I checked, though, and there’s no fee for emotional baggage on domestic flights. Score!

It’ll still be good to get away, particularly to get away to anywhere warmer than here.

So I’ll see y’all soon, assuming more pleasurable climes don’t claim me as their own. 

See also: fuck you, winter.

I’m probably not the only crazy person on OkCupid.

Oh, OK. So I can be messaging back and forth with a perfectly nice guy from OkCupid, and inadvertently say something that reminds me of my ex, then of That Guy, then back to my ex, and now I’m crying?

Sure, yeah — I am absolutely ready to be dating, even casually. It will not end badly at all. 

I understand this is how I move on, and I’m sure a time will come when it doesn’t feel like cheating, but…not so far. 

I could blame PMS, but I think I might just be ready to embrace my obvious destiny to die sexless and alone.

We’ll just add this to the therapy list. That woman is earning her money.

I do not like “Wham bam, thank you, ma’am.” I do not like it, Sam, damn.

OkCupid emails you a little preview whenever you get a new message.

Aaand sometimes that preview is all you need…  
There’s two fucking feet of snow on the ground, shitheel. I’m not going outside for anyone’s dick.

To his credit, his VERY first message said, “Hi I am sam how are you doing​,” so he was totes chivalrous about it. The hotel thing came two minutes later. As I suspect he would.

(Also…”I am Sam?” Nope. Nooope. I didn’t even change his name like I usually do because it was just too good.)

Fat-phobic or fat fetishist?

I woke up to a photo-less OkCupid guy’s FIRST message to me:

“Hey…Would you be willing to gain a little weight to please your man if you were in a committed relationship?
— Steve”

Well, Steve. First off, thanks for the flashback to that “Family Guy” episode where Peter stuffs cake down Lois’s gullet because he decides “fat sex is the hottest sex.”

But also, my OKC profile includes photos of my already-weighing-quite-enough body, because men love asking if “curvy” is code for “obese,” so I like to just get my mere “overweight” out there up-front.

So I can’t decide if Steve wants me bigger than I am because he wants more to love? Or maybe he wants me to say obesity is disgusting and that I am a superior, health-minded individual who would never fall prey to The Fats?

I have so many questions, Steve.

It’s not TECHNICALLY masturbation…

It’s freezing in my office today, and my hands are particularly cold. So I’ve been sitting with my left hand between my thighs while my right hand works the mouse (not a euphemism).

But I AM also bopping along to shitty pop music. With my hand between my legs.

I am a professional.

Also, though…I’m not gonna lie, it doesn’t feel BAD. But it’s really just to warm my hands.

Mostly.

Like 80%.

My memory is just fine, Facebook. THANKS.

You know those Facebook Memories where it shows you what you were doing on this day however many years ago?

The one I just saw might as well have said, “Ha ha, remember that time you were about to fuck up your whole life? MAN! Good times,” and then punched me in the stomach.

Eat a dick, Facebook.

All things considered, my life has turned out pretty well, but damn — between careers and homes and relationships and assholes, that was a lot of progress to process before I even finished my coffee. This probably explains why I’m so hesitant to change very much in those realms right now.

Unless Robert Downey Jr. calls. Then all bets are off. And so are my panties. (Joking. I would never have on underwear if I were anywhere NEAR Robert Downey Jr. I would always wear dresses and trampy nightgowns and go commando, so he could have a 24/7 all-access pass.)

Oh. Well, OK, then, Cupid…

I debated posting this because I wouldn’t want people posting verbatim bits of MY OkCupid profile online, so I try to take that into account. I don’t know if I’m successful in walking the line between harmless mocking and being a giant, judgy bitch, but I try.

HOWEVER.

THIS is not judging. THIS is documenting an impressively bold and insulting leap in logic in a guy’s self-summary: So, wait, just because I don’t want to spend my life with you and your shitty kid, I must only be looking for some serious deep dicking?

I mean, yeah, dick would be good. Dick would be amazing, actually. Mmm, dick… AHEM… Sorry, what? OH, right — indignance. Goddammit, dick isn’t ALL I’m looking for!

You know what, though? I wish him the best of luck finding a nice, proper lady who wants to be a stepmom in a long-term relationship with a man who casually implies women are whores.

“Hi! My name is [huh?], my name is [what?]…”

My username on OkCupid is SmugWrites, but with my actual name.

The first line of my profile is, “Hi, I’m Smug.” (Actual name.)

So obviously I get a message this morning: “Hi I’m ben,what’s your name?”

Half an hour later, Ben sends a follow-up: “?” (Yep. Just the question mark.)

I reported this to a teacher friend who summed it up nicely: “Ben doesn’t read for comprehension.”