On a day when I could barely hold it together, when I needed support as much as I needed air, I called a friend to tell her that I had left my short-lived second marriage. She then, who had urged me to give him a second chance during a rough spot in our courtship, turned on my husband with a vicious attack.
She called him a narcissist, a term I didn’t fully understand at the time, and compared him to her ex.
That guy? She had told me he was a monster.
I had to get off the phone. It…
Random thoughts to keep me from thinking how long it’s been since I’ve had sex.
As the pandemic rolls on, I’m fixated with the obvious question: will I ever get my hair cut again?
Next to sex, hair is our nonstop obsession. But since the pandemic changed every aspect of our lives, I’ve also given a lot of thought to my life without sex.
It’s been well over ten months and counting (lots of counting) since I last had meaningful contact with an appealing member of the opposite sex. …
I can count on two knuckles of one finger the things my mother told me about sex. (And frankly, I can think of better things to do with that finger. But I digress.)
First, after dinner one night when I was about thirteen years old, she described “the curse.”
She caught me at a time when I was so freaked out as the only girl I knew who hadn’t had her period yet, that I was secretly afraid I’d been born a boy.
So our awkward conversation wasn't exactly breaking news.
As with our first mother-daughter talk, I excused myself…
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had great sex since the beginning of the pandemic.
Because that’s all I get when I hunker down with my techie playmate. Some of the best Os ever.
Haven’t you? If you don’t know how to get yourself off, oh my. You should do something about that. I mean, you can find great articles about self-pleasuring that will do the job, but basically, get yourself in a room by yourself, and start touching yourself. Yes, down there.
You’ll know when to stop. Trust me. …
Tell me again why I don’t live in the Netherlands? Oh, yeah. I don’t speak Dutch.
Because if I did, I’d be putting an ad in the paper. With the government’s approval. If you haven’t coupled up, they’re telling their citizens to get a sex buddy.
Either that or get down with your own sweet self.
Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of that. I’m not one of those lucky ones who followed the Boy Scout dictum: Be Prepared, and hooked up with a live-in honey before the world fell apart.
Now that we’re starting to go out and about…
See that smile? That’s me. Well, not actually me. But she could be me. Close enough for government work.
I was trying to get that glow from meditating. She may have it, or is it just what looks like the beginning of a baby bump? In that case, that’s definitely not me. Now, if she’s been into the chips and dips or the cookie jar because she’s tired of trying to be the queen of isolation, I get it. The COVID 15.
Otherwise, that blissed-out, everything’s right with the world grin? Yeah, I know where she’s at. …
Pro tips for would-be perverts.
In a way, I couldn’t blame him. The weather and all. It was one of those sweltering days in the summer when there’s nothing to do. Too hot to play ball or running games. No beach nearby. Other kids had parents who sent them to camp. So what else was left for this guy to do but diddle the little girl next door?
And my mother? She’d had it with my whining that my sister wouldn’t let me play with her toys, with her friends. …
If only I were into the kinky stuff. I mean, fun and games with a can of whipped cream and a balloon won’t cut it when you need to cover your face during sex. Not if you want to come out alive.
So we’re all gearing up for our release day, when the Feds lift the quarantine restrictions. Or the states. Or whoever ends up swinging the biggest dick.
I thought I was prepared to go it alone, but not for months and months.
I’m self-sufficient as the day is long. I can gut a fish and change the oil in my car. The burner on my gas stove wasn’t firing and didn’t want to call a repair guy to break my quarantine, so I figured out to unclog the jets by myself.
And I know how to fire up my old workhorse of a vibrator. I’m rocking this shelter-in-place with my waistline and my mental health intact. At least so far.
So what do I need a man…
Single mom, double divorcee, running toward life with the scars and medals to show for it. Writing it all down, spelling be damned.