Tag Archives: comic-con
It’s probably not ideal that I embrace this double standard…
You guys, Waffles Guy is trying to cocktease me! We’re going out again tomorrow, and I’ve been flirting, but he’s all “We’ll see,” and “Time will tell.”
Oh! Oh, honey! That’s adorable! But…hm, how can I phrase this politely…?
I look like Tina Fey’s and Zooey Deschanel’s chubby love child. (I call it “Fey-schanel.”) I have big boobs and bigger daddy issues. I’m pretty sure I can catch a dick anytime I want.
That’s not bragging, because it would be the wrong dick — there’s no ego trip in knowing a random dude would shove himself into me halfheartedly in a townie bar’s restroom. But I believe it’s within my scope of feminine wiles if I were so inclined. (Even better, lemme take my cleavage to Comic-Con and quote “Firefly.” I’ll be married by the end of the day.)
Besides, I’m not hinting at SEX, Presumpty Dumpty. I would just enjoy some kissing. I’m actually terrified to have sex, because it’s been so long I’m worried I’ll be terrible at it, or freak out mentally. So I’m perfectly happy to put off intercourse, but it’s pretty important I know I turn you on, and that your hand gets in my panties pretty soon, ‘kay?
Good talk. I’d high-five you, but I shouldn’t be able to, because WHERE have we just decided your hands should be…?