Is It Ever ok to Lick and Suck Someone’s Toes off?


There comes a time in your sexually adventurous life when you come face to face with adversary and trepidation. It is when the man/woman you’re with asks you something that might make you stop dead in your tracks and go…”You wanna do what now?”

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Or worse, they might do it without telling you and you’re left lying there naked and vulnerable, trying to shoo them away nicely while trying to get back to the normalcies of sex. No one wants a surprise while they are naked. And once they spring it on you, the next 45 minutes are of you thinking about how awkward of a situation it was and why couldn’t I get this out of my head.

I used to think of myself as a, ‘try anything once’ kind of gal. I’m most definitely not a prude when it comes to sexual deeds. I like doing lots of things and there shouldn’t be any shame in that. If you feel comfortable, then go for it. But I have now come to the conclusion that I draw the line at a lot of weird shit. Peeing on someone is a drastic example but I could be faced with such a proposition and I need to know from now what I will and won’t do to satisfy someone. Just to clarify, peeing is something that I WILL NOT DO! So I guess my previous statement of ‘trying anything once’ doesn’t really apply. I don’t mind sex toys, dressing up in nurses outfits, dressing up in general, making up a persona and scenarios, being tied up, blind folded, games, foreplay, I mean the list is an extensively long one. However there is one thing that I have vowed to try and avoid, aside from  the obvious peeing one. And that is getting my toes sucked. Excuse me as I go vomit a little…

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Now I know that some people find it a turn on and probably fantasise about licking and sucking the toes off someone but for me it is a massive annoyance and hinders my mind while having sex. For example, I had a very delicious man come over with a very delicious penis and as he began to work wonders on a vagina that had practically wilted away from no action (my va-jay-jay is back to life now btw) he slyly lifted my legs up and perched them by his shoulders, so that my feet were near his face. At the time I didn’t think anything of it as I was more so concentrated on his magical penis. It was magical because I hadn’t seen one in aeons alright?! Then out of nowhere I felt wetness and cat-like liking on my toes. My whole body tensed and my face scrunched up so much, that I most definitely created new wrinkles to accompany the grand canyons that are already forming on my face. I pulled away so quick that all I could do was muster out a giggle/squeak combination. I wrapped my legs around him to pull him on top of me so I could quickly get out of that uncomfortable predicament.

Now, here’s the thing. For the next 30 minutes my mind was working over time, fixated on the act of toe sucking. Through it I thought, oh my god,  why didn’t I clean my feet with disinfectant? What if they tasted funny? Did he get a bit of fluff in his mouth? I didn’t vacuum my carpet in my room, so for sure there was fluff/hair/unknown particles stuck to my feet! My brain literally exploded. I of course am over analysing, being the woman that I am but at the time I thought, I will never see this man again due to the fact that my toes have stopped me from future rendezvous.

I have enough hang ups over my already asymmetrical, floppy, gloopy body. So to add toes to this scenario is unacceptable in my books! It’s bad enough that I fear of farting constantly while having sex. Yes people, I have a fear of farting during sex. All that pressure, thrashing and air being thrust up my poor va-jay-jay, I am utterly convinced that eventually it will build up and I will fart. It happened once guys! No joke, I farted during sex! I have been scarred for life. Can you imagine me preparing for an evening of sex with someone? I don’t eat. If I do, I eat small portions of plain tasteless shit like crackers. No spicy food whatsoever and I love spicy food by the way. I sacrifice my love of food to have a smooth, uncomplicated, awkward-free, fart-less sex life. On top of that, I take the longest showers known to man. If I could use Dettol all over myself in 200 degrees of hot water I would. I am petrified that a man will point out a flaw, or worse that something smelt off, or that my toes are rank. Therefore, I can’t possibly add toe sucking to my already cluttered mind. It just simply makes me cringe.

I know, you don’t have to say it, I am one crazy mother fucker. But if I am telling you about myself, then I can’t sugar-coat it. I must be brutally honest. After all this is me in the rawest form. No bullshit, no lies and no fake-ness.

Suffice it to say, the delicious man has stayed in contact. So I mustn’t be such a horrid of a fatty to him, which is a nice thought at the end of the day.  And maybe I will try and let go a little and let the poor man suck my toes if he really wants to suck my toes. I mean I can tell it’s a fetish of his because he keeps bringing it up all the time. He sneaks it into text messages and then tries during sex, yet my reaction is still the same giggling/squeak combination. I guess if I go with it then I will have to be pumped full of alcohol to the point of annihilating my mental faculties.

Guys, I don’t know. I really don’t know. Just thinking about the shear act of ones toes being violently violated by saliva is sending me into a tizzy. Nope. I can’t even talk about it any more. I’m done.

Wearing Granny…Human Remains as Jewellery

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Yesterday an article got my full attention to the point of having to stop everything that I was doing. If you aren’t aware of what I’m about to tell you then it might just stop you in your tracks as well. Here it goes…

Apparently there’s a company in Switzerland that takes your loved ones, cremates them at a very high temperature (obviously after they’ve died) squashes them down with heavy pressure and voilà the ashes of your granny turns into a diamond for you to wear! Can you believe that? Well, I for one could not wrap my brain cells around it.

For some reason it kind of freaked me out. I mean not totally, but enough for me to do some thorough research on the matter via my trusty investigator pal, Google. The more I searched, the more stunned I was, which was accompanied by sprinkled jimmies of intrigue. Turns out, England has this service as well… who knew! Apparently, from the look of things, there must be a pretty high demand out there to wear your loved ones ashes on you. Again, WHO KNEW!

Sites such as the Bored Panda and The Daily Mail have written articles about people who have actually done this procedure. There was even one guy who diamonded up his Momma and then took her on a road trip around the States.
STARmind(This would be my exact expression of my mind being blown. Side note: I love Star Trek more than life)

You know what, to each their own I say. If someone wanted to cherish a person’s life by wearing them as jewellery then who am I to protest about it. But for me it is not an idea I even want to entertain. I’m more of a cherish your loved ones through memories, photographs and videos kind of gal. Being able to look back at the memorabilia makes me relive the moment. It brings back the smells of flowers, freshly cut grass or even my grandma’s sent of home cooked food and rubbing alcohol. She solved everything that life threw at you with those two things. No joke. Lets just say, I was a fat kid waddling around with the scent of an eau de parfum of  rub o’ alcoholé.

The point is I like looking at images. I don’t think I can cope with a diamond that was once my granny or grandpa. Further more I am certain that I will not be doing this procedure to my own parents when they pass away. If I brought this idea to them they would lecture me, cry and say, what have they done as parents that was so terrible to deserve something like this. They both have a traditional Greek mentality. They want to be buried, end of discussion. I’m also pretty sure my mom would haunt me for the rest of my life through that diamond if I went through with it. So to avoid their spirits tormenting me I will stick to their wishes by getting them a nice plot somewhere together, side by side. My mom wants the side by side thing. My dad on the other hand, wouldn’t mind being on the other side of the cemetery. If he were allowed to voice his opinion it would be along the lines of  ‘Listen, I’ve heard her nagging for decades so I think I deserve a nice location somewhere in the Caribbean and she could go back to Ohio.’

Just for the sake of it, let’s say I went through with it and went and got two diamonds on a necklace, one of my mom and one of my dad. People will surly stop and say,
“oh what a lovely pair of diamonds you have around your neck! Where did you get them from?”
“Oh these, thanks. They are my parents.”
“Wait, you mean your parents bought them for you as a present, right?”
“Oh no, I mean they are literally my cremated parents compressed as diamonds.” Could you imagine the long pause and confusion. I think on the plus side, it would most definitely be a great conversation piece though.

The worst possible scenario would be if a guy I was seeing commented and liked my necklace. No actually, what’s worse is if I was about to do some 50 shades of naughty with him and he commented on the diamonds.
“Oh thanks baby. These are my parents. You wanna say hi before we fuck each other nasty?” And with that, the only 50 shades you will be getting up to is the 50 degrees of how flaccid his penis will be. Or playing the game of where’s willie? It will be so inverted up within himself that there will be no way of you ever finding it.

Here’s a thought people. What the hell would you do if you ever lost the jewellery? Would you be going round saying to people that you’ve lost your mom and dad?
“Help me look under the cushion god damn it! Find them! Oh no wait, I by accident flushed mom and dad down the toilet.” And there your parents go, right off into the Atlantic. Literally swimming with the fishes. You wouldn’t be able to tell people you lost them. So what would you do? You would get your sorry self down to a jeweller that’s what; buy two new diamonds and put those two bad boys on that chain and lie for the rest of your life. Sorry to say, but you are going to go straight to hell…

I know people have their own way of grieving and remembering the dead. If this is the new frontier then so be it. I mean it could be worse I suppose. I could have read articles about how people have started to taxidermy their loved ones. Imagine that! You go over to visit your friend to give her some flowers and say your condolences and there’s her grandma sitting right on the couch watching TV.
“Oh, I’m so sorry I thought your granny died. But clearly I made a huge mistake.”
“No silly, you were right, this is my granny! It’s the new thing that people are doing. Isn’t it great? We have such great conversations while we watch ‘Dancing with the Stars’. Boy does she love the fox trot.” I would pause after hearing all this and just when my brain slowly registered the fact that I am actually re-enacted a scene from ‘Silence of the Lambs’ is when I will politely excuse myself, quickly book a flight, pack up my shit and move my conservative ass to the Antarctic.

Huh, suddenly creating a diamond out of granny’s ashes doesn’t seem so bad after all. It most certainly isn’t the freakiest shit we could come up with now is it.

The Next Dan Bilzerian in The Making…The Pimpette

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Firstly have you seen Dan Bilzerian’s Instagram feed? If not then here’s pretty much the gist of it…

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You must be a little intrigued after seeing all that right? I mean come on, who wouldn’t be. He’s like the 21st century jacked up terminator version of Hugh Hefner for god sake! I must confess that I forced my guy friends to take a look at his feed. I send them his links and after they take a little gander at good ol’ Dan’s Instagram feed they then come back to me and are like…

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Their reaction is something that I can’t argue with. Most of his photos are of him living like a king with naked tits, ass and money in his face all day long. Ummm… Who wouldn’t want that! And with every post of a new super car, a new pair of tits, a vault full of money I can’t help feel the green eyed monster inside me growing and wanting to say with absolute certainty… “Man, why couldn’t I be a guy, so I could be like Dan.”
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Hold on ladies of the world I’m getting to it, so don’t get your panties all wound up.

Society loves bachelors. There’s always one in every generation. They seem to get the title of being elusive, of being untouchable. Women want to fuck them and take the money and men revere them because they want their life. But what happens to the “Bachelorettes” out there? They ARE out there you know. They I’m afraid, are seen as the ‘something must be wrong with them’ types. If they are seen with too many suitors they are unfortunately considered whorebags. How does any of that make sense? HOW!!? And why do we still think this way. I’m no better, I started off by saying earlier that I would rather be a man. What I should have said was that I’m going to be the woman version and better at it!

These women prancing around with nothing but fake tits and a veneered smile aren’t helping our fellow women! Dan and his female cronies are fulfilling the male stereotype to a tee. They are saying that it’s still a man’s world and women are still just the pretty props. It sends the message that the only thing women are good for is having great bodies, beauty and a willingness to be naked. If you’re like me who doesn’t really possess such qualities (because hello, I’m an average normal woman) then we are pushed to the side. Well, I say enough is enough!

I want things to change. I want to see a boss bitch up on Instagram with 50 naked guys doing everything from cooking her dinner naked to cleaning all her shoes….naked. Why must women settle? Can’t we build empires as well, without having a husband? Can we not have a slew of lovers and be open about it without getting chastised?! Jeeeeesssuuuss!

I would like to nominate myself. I mean, why not? I am more than willing to be the first female Boss to rival the likes of Dan Bilzerian. I’m serious people! But for my plan to take effect I will have to rearrange some things. For starters I would prefer being fit. A curvy voluptuous sexy lady yes, a chubby oompa loompa, no. I want to look good in all the Instagram photos! I am by no means saying you have to be like J. Lo or Kim K to get all the men. I could probably do it even being the Marshmallow woman that I am. All I would need is a whole heap of money (problem number 2 btw…poor bitch walking at the moment). If you have money then anything is possible.  Hell if I had all the money in the world then these hunks will be chilling, playing PS4 in my mansion waiting for my return. And once I did, they would tend to me like I was a 3 time blue ribbon winning all state cow. Like they should. (Yes, I referred to myself as a cow. Move past it and continue reading!)

I’m sure you’re thinking or more like screaming that I would be basically paying them to have sex. But I see it as a job, like a live in cleaner or an on call penis with perks. If they are cooking, cleaning, servicing (I’m the one they’d be servicing obviously) then they should get some monetary funds. After all they need to look amazing. Chiselled bodies need a gym membership. Glowing skin needs wholesome organic food. Hairless pecs needs a trip to the beauticians. Where they will also see to some ball and ass maintenance as well. I am not dealing with straggling wiry hairs. So you see I would pay them to be impeccably presentable in my presence, because I, like Dan, would need toplessness in my life. All the time. I would want their chest and abs on display 24 hours a day. I will however consider them putting on a shirt if we had to go somewhere fancy. Oh who am I kidding, I totally wouldn’t! It’s more likely that I would have them waiting in a limo out back somewhere.

Why am I saying all this? Because there should be women out there who are strong. Who know how to break balls if they had to. Who also know there is a way to be powerful and sexy while commanding attention without having to bear it all. We should be the lead characters in titles such as “50 Shades of Mrs. Grey”  Christina Grey, if you please! Or Maggie Gyllenhaal in the movie “Secretary” should have been the boss taking advantage of her male assistant. It could have been called “Assistant”. I’m flexible with the title, I know how men get. Me thinks they would have a problem with being called a secretary. ( side note: Maggie Rocks!).

I want to see a woman sitting on a couch while the hunks massage her feet and pamper her. I want to see them rolling around on the floor with a fluffy puppy on top of piles of cash while the woman is standing in the distance like the queen that she is. I want to see her in an elegant pant suit out in the city with a trail of hunky hunks by her side. Making sure they lay down before her so she could step on top of them to avoid puddles and dirt.

I think it’s about time that women were able to be like the Dan Bilzerians of the world. And I’m going to advocate for the equal rights in the art of being a Pimp. If Jay Z can eloquantly state “I’m a motha fucking P.I.M.P!” and have men envy him then I think it’s about time a female came up in the ranks.

Ladies and gentlemen may I present to you “The Pimpette”. A woman who built an empire on her own, who lives the high life and has new beautiful men by her side that can easily be disposed of in a heartbeat. Women will aspire to be like her. To be strong, sexy and smart. Who will have ambitions, hopes and dreams that they will shed blood, sweat and tears to pursue and eventually conquer. They will look to her as their beacon of light. A refreshing welcome to a great change. And what will become of the men? They will no doubt repect her. They will see the hunger in her eyes to be a strong boss and they will back down. For she is “The Pimpette” of a new era.

And what would my world look like if I was The Pimpette? It would look like a whole lotta this…

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Pimpette

It will be marvelous I tell you. Simply maaahrvelous. (Said in a posh british accent which is absolutely required when saying such a word. My accent is American so I can’t really pull off being refined).

 

*The two photos above were taken off the web, but the woman’s face in both is mine. A little bit of photoshop magic. Which I might add, is one of the greatest things ever invented.

My Parents Failed To Advise Me Better…

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Growing up can be tough especially if you are an only child. Therefore it is vital that you get the best advice out there. In the time before the phrase ‘google it’ was invented advice fell solely at the mercy of your parents. You had to close your eyes and pray that what they told you was sound enough to get you through the most toughest formative years of your life. Unfortunately in my case my parents where most definitely not doing their job properly. And I found myself in situations that I was not equipt to handle because my parents failed to advise me better.

My mom grew up on a farm on the plains of Ohio no doubt much like those girls from ‘The Little House on The Praire.’ And my dad grew up in what could best be described as a village on the tiny island of Cyprus in the mediterranean. He mentions from time to time that he only had one pair of shoes while growing up. A story that always finishes with… “and I came to America and conquered.” I would just like to say that I feel quite inadequate with my life’s acheivements (none to date) compared to my Dad’s. But that is another story. The two of them together equalled a tag team of village folk from the days of yester year. Where conversing about sex, where babies came from, periods, boys, personal grooming, money, and any other intimate important topic in life was just not the vogue thing to talk about. However, I am very well versed at every piece of cutlery used at a fancy dinner table as well as knowing one should never put their elbows on said table.

I would get the general lectures of you have to study harder, clean up your room, and stop wearing black nail polish. That last one came from my dad who thought it was the colour of witches or satan or something. Who knew with him. Other things such as crashing into cars was fine and hardly no reaction came out, but black nail polish threw him over the edge! That and if my mom and I started arguing when he was sitting down relaxing watching TV after a long day at work. He would go bananas. No matter what the case was I never got an explanation as to why I was told to do things. I just had to abide by what they said because they said so

“Babies come from a mommy and daddy.” I looked at my mom blankly as she tried to explain. Pretty much like…
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“It is when a mommy and daddy fall in love and after they get married they kiss and a little while later a baby comes. That’s it sweetheart.” she said as she looked down at me. I just nodded. At the time it was a satisfying answer. I was 6! What the hell did I know. But I can tell you, for the longest time I thought that if you kissed a boy a baby would come. Thanks mom for that one.

The lack of advice continued when I got my period for the first time. I was in the middle of my ice skating lesson. I told my mom that something felt wrong so she took me to the bathroom. As I looked down to my horror, I repeat, my HORROR! I thought my insides were dying and that’s why I had a murder scene in my pants. No one gave me a pre-warning! Nothing! I called my mom over and said “LOOK!!!!” And do you know what she did? She smiled and said “Oh hunny you are now a woman! Congratulations!” And then she hugged me. I was like WTF is going on?! If this is what being a woman was all about then I wanted no part in it. I later found out that I would get this fucking masacre in my pants ever month until I was like 55. And to top it off, those were the days of massive thick, ginormous pads. Imagine having such a thing down there. Every month I had to waddle around for 2 days like I was John Wayne, cursing god that I was a woman while trying to make sure that monstrosity stayed put down there. It was a disaster. It was only through school, a year later that I got the whole run down of sex, periods, babies and all that. My mom never discussed it again.

Aside from the major things in life, there were other things such as grooming that I had no clue about. I didn’t know when to start shaving my legs. I just started copying other girls in my class. When they did something then I started doing the same thing. But what no one told me was that I had to put soap and water prior to shaving. So my first shaving attempt resulted in razor burns and sore skin for several days. I’m sure you can just picture little me waddling around with sore red scraped legs.

I also knew that other girls were tweezing their eyebrows. But of course my mother was not there again to save me from my over plucking addiction. To top it off I would always finish the look by using tiny scissors. After hacking my way through them the final outcome looked like a spikey crew cut. I was officially the G.I. Jane of eyebrows. Butch, hairless, and a candidate for the military; sounds fabulous doesn’t it.  If only I was brave enough to find an old photo to show you guys. This whole eyebrow bullshit has now resulted in a lifetime of penciling them in. They have yet to grow back properly FYI… I suppose I shouldn’t even talk about my attempts to make my va-jay-jay look better. I now make it look as presentable as possible, quickly turning off the lights and hoping for the best. I opt to distracting my potential suitors by moaning and smacking my boobs around. Men seem to not be able to focus on several things at once so I use that to my advantage. And if all else fails I play with their ugly balls…

I had to figure everything out on my own. And as I figured things out I also had to alter my already skewed ideas due to the false tellings from my parents. To tell you the truth, I am actually really fucking surprised that I made it this far. My upbringing was that of leprauchans, unicorns and rainbows. I wasn’t aware that people could be mean, or about boys trying to get in your pants, or about money, or about tweezing, or waxing or keeping your virginity. I was floating around like a little oompa loumpa thinking the world was all roses. I obviously am not like that anymore. In fact I’m at the complete other end of the spectrum now. A synical old bitch.

My parents are still there, avoiding conversations and pretending that all is right in the world. Ah, what can I say… I love them to bits. How could I not! Even if they did really stunt my development. Being the naive slow kid was not a good look, let me tell you.

What Would the Child You Once Were, Think of the Adult You Have Become?

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I read this question a little while ago on my twitter feed. It was a photo of half a boy’s face tied to half of a man’s face; implying that the boy grew up to be that man. The question was sprawled out on either ends of the photo and I paused for a while after having seen it. I guess I thought that it was a really good question to ask oneself. What would the child that I once was think about me now? Would she be disappointed? Would she be annoyed? Or would she be accepting and forgiving as she realised that life never really turns out the way that you had planned? After asking myself these questions I knew deep down that the initial reaction of the girl me would have kicked me up the backside and might scream her lungs out. The girl me would be pissed and she would want answers.

When I was little I was a pain in the ass. My parents no doubt wished that they could lock me in the basement at times but unfortunately for them in the mid to late 80’s it was starting to be deemed unacceptable to beat your kids and shove them in a basement. So I tormented them. I wasn’t completely horrid. Honest! I was just very carefree and liked to dream. I can remember there was this tree that grew to the side of our house in New York that I would climb and just sit there for hours. I would watch and observe everything. The cars passing by, the families out and about and the general life of a normal suburban neighbourhood in Long Island, New York. I truly loved it there and when life gets a little tough nowadays, I look back fondly and know that at least my childhood was that of kings. My mom was fucking psychotic back then but when it came to playing with the kids on my block (there were 20 of them) she would let me play all day, come and eat dinner, and off I was back out there until 9 at night. Summer was my favourite time of year there because it wouldn’t get dark until late and all of us kids would stay out to play basketball, roller hockey, two hand touch football, and any other game we could think of. It would be bliss for any kid to experience such a childhood.

Even though I might have annoyed my parents they still raised me with manners and kindness and I would always abide by those when we were in public. I actually loved going to school because I was everyone’s friend. I was cool with the popular kids and I was always nice to the ones who were not the chosen ones. I remember one time my mom wouldn’t let me sleep over my best friend’s house on a school night which I had already said yes. So I had to go back and tell my friend that I couldn’t come. I could see her get mad but all she did was walk away with another friend. As she decended the stairs I poked my head over the railing and heard her say ‘God, she is such a Bitch.’ And even though I thought that that was a harsh thing to say (I never swore back then, I mean ever) I forgave her in my mind right then and there and never confronted her. I was always nice to people, always seeing the good in everything. And I always went above and beyond the call of duty. I was not only fiercely loyal, I never used to say mean things about people. Because even back then I knew their secerts at home. I knew that people were the way they were because of things that they couldn’t control. That their home life might not have been that of fairytales and unicorns. So I knew that it was always better to take it, move on and always be loving and caring.

When it came to me and my ideas of what I would be like when I grew up all I knew was that I was going to be married at 24 and have 2 or 3 kids by 27. I went from wanting to be a vet, a lawyer, to finally wanting to be a teacher. And my passion was ice skating. I thought I would be able to do that forever.  What I didn’t know was that photography and films played a vital role throughout my life due to my grandpa (who I called Dedo) and my mother (who was writing screenplays). And that was when I fell in love with the idea of being on a film set or a music video set. Writing started to take a more dominant role in my life and this was surprising because I was in the slow class for writing. I would always mix up the b’s and the d’s. So boy would turn into doy and that’s when my Mom would yell at me. She was an english theatre major after all. I would like to think that it was because my first language was Greek and that’s why I was slightly fucked up. But I practiced, I bettered myself and I always wanted to try my hardest. I was never the brightest or the cleverest. But I had a zest for life. And I knew that I was going to be something wonderful someday.

If that little girl who thought she could accomplish anything through kindness and dedication saw me now I think a tiny tear would trickle down her face. It’s not that I’ve spent these past years with regret. It’s because I wasn’t able to get to where I wanted to get to. To be a creative person and be in a job that is highly uncreative slowly starts to chip away the spark in you. I think she would see a woman who became broken. A woman who still has a tiny bit of hope left but that it might not be enough. She would see a meaner woman. A woman who has become slightly closed off, who doesn’t give herself to others fully and whose kindness has diminished throughout the years. She would see loss and confusion in my eyes. She would see envy and jealousy. She would see my open wounds left by those that I gave my soul and heart to. She would see pain and loneliness and she would see sadness. But even with all that she would see a woman who has become strong. Who has fought to get back on the right path. A path to finding happiness. And she would see a tiny flicker of light still shinning in the depths of my eyes. There is still fire left in me.

I think little me would have a mix of emotions if she met her older self. But I think she would see that even though I might have lost my drive and way for a few years, she would know that it was only a phase. She would be proud that I haven’t lost all hope. That I haven’t closed myself off completely and that kindness does come out when people deserve it.

Yes, things that I thought would happen or who I would caring on being have changed. My outline of achievements have altered and faltered. My goals when I turned a certain age have not come into fruition. But life has happened and people and circumstance change the course and outlook you once might have had. People can hurt your ideas, your dreams and your wanting to love and be kind to others.  But I think little me wouldn’t be completely disappointed after she delved deep into my soul. I think her initial reaction would be harsh and brash. Yet after the initial shock wore off, she would see that life is what has made me. That I have become more focused again and she would know that all hope is not lost. She would pat me on my back with a cheeky little smile and say you are exactly who you were meant to be. She would stare deep into my eyes that look darker than hers and she would come real close to my face to inspect every crack and wrinkle that has formed throughout the years of stress. She would take a deep breathe and finally say ‘ I like you. You didn’t turn out so bad. Remember, you are me and I know we can do anything.’

Being like Goldilocks – Finding a penis that’s ‘Just right’…

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Where oh where did men get this idea that us women want the length of a football field and the width of the General Sherman? Not quite sure what a General Sherman is? Well, here you go…

The General Sherman

Or even an Adansonia Grandidieri, which looks more like an ugly penis than the General Sherman does….

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Either way, my point still stands that men have this notion that we want a tree trunk inside of us. I can’t imagine anything more visually horrifying and physically painful than the idea of shoving a tree trunk up my va-jay-jay. Just the thought makes me cringe. We are looking for a decent size like Goldilock’s mission to find something that was ‘just right’. Men, it is important to understand that it is most definitely not the quantity but the quality that makes us swoon. We want to be wooed, stimulated and be thought of first. We do not want to do all the work while you get satisfied and us to lay there afterwards, watching you sleep while thinking of ways to get you out the door or more like punching you in the junk ” accidentally”.

Now, I understand that some of you men are not that well endowed. Well, who cares. Own it. Don’t over compensate by being the biggest dick on the planet because chances are your store will go under due to the lack of repeat business. Instead, know that if you can learn how to satisfy a woman than she will stick with you for a very long time. I was once with a guy for 2 years simply because he knew what he was doing. In all other departments, he was a complete selfish douchebag. It’s sad to say that if it’s great sex women will be sticking around. Because like men, we too go a little crazy when it comes to having a good thing. And more to the point a penis who knows what it’s doing. We will even start making up excuses for a man’s shortcomings (no pun intended). ‘ Oh he forgot my birthday because he has been so stressed about work, Oh he didn’t realise that me not getting the promotion upset me, Oh he’s just tired’ and other stupid shit that we might tell our friends along the way. No matter how you spin it, lady you have officially become hypnotized by a cunning cock. And unfortunately there ain’t no spell that can break that trance.

When going through the process of finding a mate, us women take a lot of things in to account before we drop our panties. I, for instance like a man to be assertive, funny and packs some balls below the belt. I most certainly mean figuratively, no lady wants big ol’ gigantic easter eggs attached to her man. They absolutely don’t do anything other than slap and bounce off your ass and va-jay-jay while having sex. Which feels like you’re being hit with two mushy melted stress balls. Evolution most certainly had enough time to invert those nasty things back up into the man and just leave the penis itself. But no, we still have to play with these squishy things and pretend they turn us on while making moaning sounds as we are doing the  job down there. They don’t call it a job for nothing you know! Squishing them in our hands while saying ‘ Oh look at these big juicy manly balls, I wanna suck these balls’ is just a snipet of what we have to do for our man. For the record no woman wants to suck on some squishy grapefruit sized balls that also happens to have straggly hairs here and there on them. Oh dear lord I think I might gag right now. Side note, I once had a guy that had tiny hairs around his penis with one longish rogue one taking centre stage. Imagine going down there and finding that surprise with your mouth. I never got up so quick in my life. I also wanted to triple bag that thing before he stuck it inside of me. No joke, my mind was fixated on the scraggly hairs and a new fear arose of me getting hairs up my va-jay-jay. Yeah I SAID IT!! Now you too can gag along with me.

Finding the right sized penis that’s attached to the right man is no mean feat. And I’m affraid that you are going to be kissing a lot of wonky lopsided frogs along the way until you find Mr. Right or Mr. Right-size. This quest isn’t for the weary and faint of heart. You will be faced with so many different obstacles along the way so you must be prepared to weed them out and move on.

You will be faced with tiny ones, who thrust so hard you feel like you are helping the earth move on it’s axis, which is not the right ‘making the earth move’ kind of vibe you are looking for. God bless those tiny penises. They will do there darndest to move you to an earthquake of an orgasm. But all that thrashing and swaying will make you feel like you are out to sea. So if you go down that route just be sure to have your sea legs ready and to be on  the safe side pop a motion sickness pill in your mouth before your turbulent ride through the bermuda triangle begins.

You will be faced with penises that veer off to the left or right which will make you feel like a new hole is being created down there. Certain positions will be unattainable and slightly uncomfortable. You might just have to take charge and ride it sideways. Left to right, right to left.  Or more like slide to the left, slide to the right.

You will be faced with the General Sherman sized penis where upon you might burst out into tears on the shear size of that goliath bad boy. This is when I say get your breathing right like pregnant women do when they go to a Lamaze class. You think I’m playing. But a big ol’ goliath sized penis ain’t no joke. You will find yourself pacing your breathing while bracing yourself for impact. Heee heeee hoooo hoooo-ing until sweat trickles off your forehead resulting from fear while tears form in the corner of your eyeballs all because the force is just too strong. You will loose your Mr. Miyagi zen concentration, your poor va-jay-jay will be broken and you will end up waddling slightly the next day. There is a reason why those porn ladies should be praised a little bit more for the grueling job that they have to do. And some of those bitches have two or more gigantic goliath sized tree trunks that they have to satisfy. All I can say is, no thank you to that.

You will also come in contact with the pesky turtle penis. What is the turtle penis? Well, just like when a turtle gets scared and reverts back into it’s shell a penis will do the same thing and deflate. One time I was with a guy that just couldn’t get it up and when he finally did, it was like a Thomas the Tank Engine  rhythme ” I think I can, I think I can” going a bit faster and picking up steam when his little buddy stayed the pace. You should have seen the look on his proud little face. It was a look of champions. But then when we attempted to change positions it deflated again. This happened at least 8 times. We attempted sex 3 times properly. You do the math.  My patience was shot, I was not into it, I of course didn’t get any pleasure out of it and I was ready to chop it off all together and solve both of our problems in one fell swoop. Now, don’t get me wrong. I know it happens to the best of penises. But it only happens once in an evening maybe twice if he’s super nervous and can’t relax. Not every time he tried to stick it in me. Let me tell you, at that moment the woman isn’t thinking about your flaccid penis. They are thinking, shit, I must look like a fat fucker that is melting this guy’s penis right off. Then we start thinking that we should have gone to the gym more times that week, and why did we have to have those 3 brownies and why we couldn’t just say no to that burger and fries and so on. This is what’s actually going on in our minds all the while you are prodding us with your limp member. Fellas, no matter how hard you try and shove that thing inside our hole it ain’t going to get in there. At that point it will feel more like a visit to our Gyno with all the prodding you are doing down there. So please, just call it a night and save us the trouble of us having to whisper gently in your ear and say ” It’s ok baby, it happens to all men that many times. It’s no big deal. Let’s just watch a movie or something.” We might however try the first two times to help your fella out by going down there ourselves and getting the job done right. But if it’s still deflated while I’m pulling out all the stops AND licking and squishing your balls around, that’s where I call it quits. Let me tell you, sloshing a floppy dick around in your mouth is a whole different set of skills. I’m not going to lie, I sometimes do find it a fun challenge to try and get it as hard as a rock, almost  like working for a gold star and being labelled the top of the class. But honey, after 8 times I’m not really caring if I was failing at that point. I got shit to do, like sleep.

This brings me to the other extreme. The dreaded, peek-a-boo penis. The one that barely enters to say hi and just comes prematurely. Peek-a-boo, I’m done. While sometimes it would be nice to think, shit I’m just that hot that I can make a man come right on the spot, I can assure you that that thought process does not even compute properly in my brain. I most certainly never think I’m the shit. So I am left lying there once again stroking his hurt ego, whispering ” It’s ok baby, it happens to everyone. Don’t even sweat it.” I now, don’t even bother with this anymore. I am old enough to tell a man, this was a one time opening (literally) and my va-jay-jay will not be reopening for business any time soon for the foreseeable future. It’s not harsh. I just don’t want to waste my time anymore. I am looking for the perfect one (or close to it) remember? I don’t have the patience to see if it might learn new tricks. At this age you should have aquired enough tricks up your sleeve to get the job done right.

Now ladies, once going through all the different frogs out there you will be finally face to face with one that ticks all the right boxes. Not too big, not too small, not too crooked, not too thick, not too hairy and definitely not too thin. When you find the right one, you might even look at that bad boy square dead in it’s eye (see what I did there? Ha!) Hold it firmly in both your hands while your eyes widen with joy as you act like you have found the holy grail of penises. Ladies, you might even look at it like it’s the prettiest thing you have ever seen. And don’t gasp, but you will even want to suck those big juicy sweaty balls. You will do everything in your power to keep that great penis around. Some women go crazy over it and of course don’t know how to handle themselve once they find the right one. Don’t worry if your man is an asshole in all other departments, eventually those dick tinted glasses will wear off. Trust me, I am speaking from experience on that one.

Life is all about trial and error at the end of the day. It’s about learning from our experiences to find out what works for us. We are all indivuals with different tastes. What’s one woman’s goliath penis could be another woman’s perfect pretty penis. It’s all about finding your ‘just right’ companion that fits for you. Come to think of it, Goldilocks only had to go through it three times until she found the ‘just right’ one.  Damn, that bitch had it easy!

Pelfies or Delfies, how about neither…

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Taking photos has become like second nature to us all. We take so many photos that they have all turned in to one big ball of blurry colours. It’s obviously easier nowadays due to this phenomenon of what they call the smartphone. I sometimes want to smash mine, which for me, is like an annoying family member you can’t get rid of. A few words come to mind in association with my phone. Glued, attached, fastened, just to name a few. One time I forgot ‘my precious’ at home and not only was I paranoid, nervous, incomplete, but I also got an overwhelming sense of uncertainty that, even though I am a human being who can think on my own without the aid of any electronic devices, has now suddenly been rendered useless. A defective blubbering moron; all because in my head I thought I lost contact with the outside world and most importantly that I missed out on important calls and texts. Here’s the thing. Hardly no one ever calls me because I’m not so important. It would seem I’m only a queen within my own mind and nowhere else. Yet here I was, phoneless and lifeless, the world as I knew it was caving in all around me. Now, do you know how many people got in contact with me for the whole 11 hours I was away from my phone? One! Yes, one person. And do you know who that person was? My mom. Need I say more.

Since we take our phones everywhere, we are able to constantly whip it out and take photos wherever we are. Here are a few examples: The park (you didn’t get enough pictures of grass) clubbing (you needed yet another one of you and your friends puckering up to the camera or if you’re super drunk, your middle fingers) road trips (taking a picture of a random road sign that is exactly like the one on your street back home) restaurants ( you simply have to take a picture of what you’re about to eat, I mean come on!) and of course we can’t forget a selfie. This word was the most used word of 2013 and is still being used like the air we breathe. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have been doing selfies since before they came into fashion. But I do at least have the common decency to make it seem like I am in the company of someone taking the photo. I do not understand the ones where you stand in front of a mirror and take a photo of yourself looking at yourself looking into a mirror. But hands down, my most detested selfie of all time is a, let’s call it a pelfie and for those raunchy males out there, a delfie. Are you now questioning what I’m blabbering on about? I am talking about men who simply love to take a picture of their beloved little “friend”, their penis. They then have the audacity to send it to the girl that they are chatting with. What is the difference between a pelfie and a delfie you ask? Well, a pelfie is a more subdued photo of a flaccid penis. They just take a picture of it flopped on top of their balls. A delfie (deriving from the word dick + selfie) is a fully errect penis with them holding it in their hands. If there was a caption to accompany this photo it would be ‘It’s right here, come and get this bad boy’.

Men, I completely understand that you are ruled by your one and only true love. I totally get it. It is something that us woman have come to accept and tolerate since the beginning of time. But in all honesty, do you really think women love receiving pictures of penises? The quick answer to that is no, we do not. I have lost count with how many photos I’ve received of man’s best friend. I could literally open up a photography exhibition with the amount of penis photos I have received throughout my dating life. Here’s the thing. I do not ask for these photos. I do not even wish to receive these photos, yet some how my phone beeps and lo and behold a penis pops up on my screen. Men, women do not want to receive these surprises on their phone. In fact we would much rather get a photo of some sexy abs or a cheeky smile while biting your lower lip. Those are the things that turn us on. Do you honestly think that penises are attractive things to look at? I’m sorry to say, they are not. And don’t get me started on wrinkly scraggly balls! Those things need to be kept under lock and key. I’ll let you in on a secret. We like the lights off because we don’t want to see your manhood in all it’s glory. It is not because we are ashamed or shy with how we look naked. Ok, maybe we are but your penis out ranks our fears of being naked with the lights on. It is bad enough to be constantly bombarded with men all day long adjusting, fixing, rearranging and scratching their balls in public. But to then send a delfie on top of all that is just pure madness. We, as ladies, like the idea of what a penis can do. So when we fantasise about a man, the penis is the last thing we envision. It is more about the touch, feel and scenario that gets us going. We are most definitely hardwired differently then you men.

So what is the solution? To stop sending Pelfies, Delfies and Balfies (ball shots). Yup, it’s that simple. Instead send us photos of you playing football, or a cute photo of you working hard at your desk, or even one of you cooking. That way we can then fantasise about you being all sweaty after you winning that foothball game, or throwing all the papers off your desk and picking us up forcefully while we go at it on said desk and lastly sitting at the dinner table while we devour the wonderful food you’ve just cooked for us. Oh, right, I missed out on the sexy scenario of the last one. Well, to that I say a girl has got to eat and for your informantion, we want a man who can take the time out to do something for us without getting sex as the dessert. Dear holiness of the devine right of women, now that would definitely be the best fantasy of them all.