A watched iPhone never beeps with a text that saves your faith in humanity.

Having given this some thought, and having STILL not heard from this guy…

I had sex with a person I liked, and who, at the time, I honestly thought liked me. Not LOVED me, not falling for me, but like…we could be friends.

THEN he started fading away. We haven’t had sex since.

So, that’s not this guy keeping me around to get his dick wet, not any reason for me to feel slutty. That’s a relationship that started, was fine for a few weeks, then…ended? I guess? It’d be SUPER great to be sure of that. I don’t think I’ll be convinced until we get to the weekend and he’s still radio silent. (We had tentative plans.)

I WILL actually be hurt if he just ghosted. Not BADLY, but I slept with him because I thought we were at least THAT cool. Like, hey, I swallowed your semen — show some goddamn respect.

But I can handle “ghosting;” I’ve been on the other side of that. Nice person, fine in bed, but just not for me, but I’m a little bitch who can’t just say that, hence the fadeaway.*

That helps.

*For the record, though, it DOES feel shitty and I’ve tried to learn to be a goddamn grownup and tell people. It sucks, but it’s not THAT bad. Tell people. Don’t be a dick.

Stay-Classy Singleton

I keep it classy on alllll the Internets:

Wax on, whacks off

Re: @yvettestjames blowjob class: “I already knew HOW, but it’s like knowing how to fight & then getting a chance to train with Mr. Miyagi.”

Better living through blowjobs

There was a woman in the blowjob class who brought along a notebook that said on the front, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”

That’s probably totally what Ghandi had in mind.

No dick left behind

So weird, I was just thinking the other day that I should take some sort of class to improve my skill set and better myself, to bring more value into my life and, really, into the world.

So I guess this came (heh) into my life at exactly the right time. It’s like the Serendipity of blowjob classes… It’s Serendickity. (I’ll stop now.)

Fellatio Fundamentals with Yvette St. James: 

A plea for smarter sexism

Much like the people who make disgusting jokes about Chris Christie’s weight, we need to knock THIS shit right the hell off.

I’m not even following this clusterfuck election closely. But I know there are plenty of joke-WORTHY aspects of Hillary’s campaign without resorting to easy blowjob jokes from a nearly 20-year-old scandal during her HUSBAND’S administration. And I say this as a supporter of the easy blowjob joke. I just like the jokes to be, um…FUNNY.

How are we STILL slut-shaming a woman who made a bad call at age 22, or attacking Hillary for it, rather than placing the blame on Bill Clinton’s raggedy cheating ass? I know there was plenty of that at the time, and maybe there are Internet memes to that effect now. I just happened to see this today, and have seen others like it, and they flip my bitch switch.

Sure, Hillary’s potentially bringing that philandering fuck back to the White House with her, but what do I care where HIS cock has been if SHE’S President? If he’s off banging interns, that’s more time for her to get shit done without him trying to hillbilly-man-splain international affairs. (Because clearly he’s more concerned with domestic ones — HEY-O!)

I guess because none of these dipshits are going to fix ANYTHING, EVER, maybe it’s just all one big joke at this point. But damn…get better jokes.

P.S. Donald Drumpf is the exception. Please let us all continue joking about him. Hair. Voice. Delusion. Have at it.

Blowjob interns.

And with her first sentence, Gillian Flynn basically dares me not to devour this book in one sitting. (It’s a standalone short story, so it’s only 62 pages, but still.)  Also, I am terrible at handjobs, because they put the “dick” in “ridiculous.” You HAVE hands. I have a mouth. It’s WAY better. My hands are like my mouth’s slacker interns — they help my mouth along and fetch it coffee and stuff, but we don’t trust them with the really important projects.

Feminist as fuck.

Last night I went to Margaret Atwood’s booksigning at the Philly Free Library. Look at me, all feminist and intellectual and shit. Classy as fuck, right?

Um, yeah, leading up to the event, I was having this hilar-balls group text with friends…

Friend 1: “What kind of classes should I teach at the sex boutique besides oral sex?”
Friend 2: “Something about body confidence in the bedroom? Toys, why to use them, different ways to incorporate them.”
Me: “Confidence for sure. Maybe consent? Intro BDSM? Handjob Blandjob?”
Friend 1: “I’m the WORST at handjobs!”
Me: “That’s because they’re not a real thing.”
Friend 1: “That’s shit you do on your own. I’ll never be as good.”
Me: “Right? I hired you to use your mouth. I HAVE hands.”
Friend 1: “I could probably teach a class about how to incorporate toys into coupled sex.”
Me: “Yes. Because I have no idea. Well, wait… There was that one time. But nothing I did with that asshole counts. (To be clear, I did nothing to his asshole. He was just a shithead who brought a toy.)”
Friend 2: “I like giving handjobs…but only if they don’t take forever.”
Friend 1: “I’m terrible at them, hate doing them, always have, always will.”
Me: “I like a happy man who’s not looking to put things in my butt. If he needs a handjob, I’ll DO it, but I just feel like I could be more useful.”
Friend 2: “Agreed, but sometimes my knees are sore and I need to change it up. (Sorry, is this too much?)”
Me: “Yes, we clearly have a “too much” threshold. 🙂 Also, my hands and wrists are FUCKED from phone/computer use, so handjobs hurt, AND I’m bad at them.”
Friend 1: “Handjobs take forever. At least with a blowjob I can incorporate my hands to give my mouth a rest. I’m hardly ever on my knees. I just move around if I’m uncomfortable.”
Friend 2: “Eh, sometimes they take forever, sometimes not. And I prefer BJs, and prefer my knees (good angle for all involved).”
Me: “Anyone else really want dick now? (Now, see, THAT’s too much.)”
Friend 2: “I do. Husband should thank you both. (I see your ‘too much’ and raise you.)”
Me: “Ha! You’re welcome, Husband.”
Friend 1: “Boyfriend will also be benefiting from this conversation.”
Me: “Meanwhile, I’m at a feminist booksigning. No dick in sight.”
Friend 2: “Maybe there will be literary dick?”
Me: “Heh. Maybe. Or bar dick afterward.”

Residual effects of being raised by the Wakefield twins.

OK, look, I try my best to be all body-positive rah-rah. I’m working on it, and I do think I’m…cute. I do OK — I’m not hideous, I give enthusiastic blowjobs, and I don’t make my men watch The Notebook. So yay, me.

But sometimes… Goddammit, there’s a woman in my office I would make a weird Twilight Zoney pact to look like. She’s tall, but not TOO tall, and lithe and blonde and her hair is perfect and her nose is adorable. She’s a woman you’d watch The Notebook for, just so you can sit near her and bask in her beauty. In fact, maybe I just use that Notebook thing as a defense mechanism to compensate for my averageness. And oh, God, what if my blowjobs are enthusiastic but AWFUL?!

Ugh.

I know, I KNOW. I’ve already told myself that we’re all special lady snowflakes, blah blah blah. I understand my brain is not currently accepting logic — all those Sweet Valley books I read as a kid can still infiltrate occasionally. In the time it took me to type this, I kicked that gremlin in the face, put on some lipstick, and charged ahead like the fine-ass lady I am. Still not 100% on my blowjobs, but…men keep letting me do it, so I can’t be THAT bad at it.

Will wed for Swedish home furnishings.

I’m still in bed under a mountain of blankets — LIKE AN AMERICAN. But I’m listening to a Louis C.K. bit where he says, “Who wants to blow their husband? You want to blow a guy you’ve been dating. And he’s mysterious and you suck his cock and go home. Who wants to blow a guy and then go to IKEA with him?”

Um…*raising hand* That’s, like, my dream. You come here right now and add pancakes to that equation, you’ve got yourself a bride, my friend.