пятница, 29 ноября 2019 г.

Exorcising Your Ex


So you broke up months ago, called it quits, said your goodbyes… At that moment, something happens. It’s called a “break” up for a reason- emphasis on “break”. The intention is to break off from the person who you have been seeing, end the relationship-not change the status of the relationship like a Facebook profile from “in a relationship” to “it’s complicated”. Why, on God’s earth would anybody willingly change their relationship status to “it’s complicated”? Really it’s not complicated, it’s a choice, and it’s yours. Once you choose to breakup, then “break” it off completely. Holding on to your ex and that relationship can be toxic and does get “complicated”, and usually involves more hurt, confusion, and resentment.

Trust Your Intuition


 It’s so true there is nothing more telling than your own intuition. If you were unhappy in the relationship, suspected cheating, thought he was controlling, didn’t think he would be a good father, provider, head of the household-whatever the calculated reason was that you ended the relationship, is without a doubt a VALID reason. And that reason you left is NEVER gonna change, no matter if you downgrade your relationship to “it’s complicated” or “friendship”, all you’ll find for sure is that those issues will still be there, and downgrading the relationship to feel those issues less does not make them go away… Just masks them for a while. After a breakup your emotions sometimes get the best of you, you forget what reasons you had for leaving, you miss him, you remember the good times, you are left questioning your motives. Left wondering if your love is enough to overlook those issues… STOP right there. This is exactly the thinking that leads to that “it’s complicated” status that so many of us willingly adopt. Once it’s over-it’s over. Once it’s broken- it’s broken. It will never be the same, and like Humpty Dumpty it will never be put back together again. Trust your instincts, trust your intuition, cut ties-breakup.

Move On

The sooner you cut ties physically(no phone calls, text messages, emails, candid conversations over coffee), the sooner you will heal emotionally and be able to close the door. But the more you allow him to stick around your life, remind you of the good times, beg for you back-the less you will trust your original decision to leave and the more complicated it will become. It may be hard at first, you may be lonely, you may miss those early morning text message saying “I love you”, or those bedtime goodnight calls… But trust me a couple months of a little emotional discomfort is better than dragging it out for a couple of years claiming, “it’s complicated”. Give it up, stick to your guns, cut him off, get him out of your system-Move On!

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четверг, 28 ноября 2019 г.

How To Make A Man From Texas Want You – Texas Men Made Easy

I’d been lonely for a very long time, and any mention of my love life made me feel deeply unhappy. If you’ve ever been a situation like mine, then you must know how it is to badly want to know how to make a man want you. I’d used to think that I knew my way around this territory, but then I was suddenly plagued by the feeling that I had no real insight into Texas men whatsoever. After trying to understand things all by myself, I’d finally come to the conclusion that I really had no idea how to make a man want you.
As a woman, I was deeply unhappy that the romantic aspect of my life was meeting with such an absence of fulfillment. After a while, I began to do some research, and I sought out the advice of people who were in a situation similar to mine. To my surprise, many women were concerned with the question of how to make a man want you. I’d been ashamed to admit that this was exactly what I wanted to learn, but I had an easier time of it after finding like-minded women. After all, everyone wants to be loved, and there’s nothing wrong with openly stating the desire.
In these discussions of how to make a man want you, one product I heard mentioned repeatedly was a program known as “Men Made Easy.” After hearing so many other women speak about how this really helped them figure out a solution to their problem of how to make Texas men want you, I decided to take a look at the program myself. After all, I didn’t feel like I had very much to lose; like I said, I was quite unhappy, and I really wanted to know how to make a guy want you. I was almost ready to take any lead whatsoever.
If Looking for Texas Men Try Loveawake Gallery

Well, given my state of mind, I was really surprised at what I found. The program was a pretty simple e-book, and it really didn’t take me much effort to understand it. The advice seemed both foreign and intimate to me—not as though I’d really learned something; more as though I’d remembered something I already knew. But at the same time, I also knew that nothing except this particular manual could have really made me remember. The thing was specifically designed for women wondering how to make a man want you, so it spoke to me in exactly the way I needed to be spoken to.
I could definitely understand why the “Men Made Easy” program had been spoken of so favorably by so many of the other women who were in the same situation as me, wanting nothing more than to know how to make a guy want you. The e-book gave me some rather profound insight on the psychology of men and the psychology of women, as well as what happens when these two different psychologies interact with each other. Among other things, I was shown that how to make a man want you is relatively the same whether you’re talking about dating or marriage—so, whatever level of commitment I wanted, I could use this knowledge within my life.
Well, after I took this stuff to heart, my dating life definitely picked up, and my life situation changed completely. Over about a year, I dated a series of three Texas men for a few months each, and I was completely astonished at how closely their actions and reactions came to matching the descriptions of psychology laid out in the “Men Made Easy” program. But what was even more amazing to me was that I was able to use my knowledge to get the results that I desired. I was scared of being manipulative at first; but then I decided that all women are playing the same game of how to make Texas men want you, and it was nice to know the rules.
After that year was done, I finally found the person who I now think of as the love of my life, and I’m still with that man to this day. Needless to say, I’m not lonely and unhappy anymore. Kara’s “Men Made Easy” program more or less revolutionized my life. I’m only sharing this story with you all just in case any of you are in similar situation to the one I was in before. I know that if anyone had known how to make a man want you, I would’ve definitely wanted to hear from her.
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вторник, 26 ноября 2019 г.

Is Racial Profiling Good For Our Multiculture

Rarely do I get involved with political topics, but I’ve been thinking about the multicultural environment in Arizona.  Honestly it has me irritated.  I’ve always known that Arizona is conservative state with it’s own wild west justice.  From Tent City in the desert heat to John McCain, Arizona is a different place in my book.  So when I heard that Arizona is planning to enforce their own immigration law, I was a bit shocked to hear the details.


The part that disturbs me is that the proposed law encourages racial profiling.  I didn’t grow up in the era when racial profiling was a popular tool for law enforcement.  It has been on the decline during my life.  But I’ve heard the horror stories and I’ve watched some suspicious law enforcement activity.  So I don’t understand how anything good can come from this new law.

I understand that the citizens of Arizona are concerned with rising crime rates and they feel that the illegal immigrants are the cause.  But is that really the cause of the problem or is it the excuse?  I’m sure if you use that mathematical equation, the crime rate should be low in areas like Little Rock, Tulsa, Salt Lake City or Nashville.  But that’s not the case.  What about all the immigrants from other countries?  Isn’t there a large number of immigrants from Europe, Asia and India?  Does this mean that the only safe people are blonde blue eyed people?  I’ve never heard of a blond blue eyed person complain of racial profiling.


So why am I writing about this?  Well there will be plenty of innocent people that will fall victim to this legal way to racial profile.  I’ve met plenty of biracial people who have a Hispanic/Mexican appearance.  Alpha Boy was one of them when he was younger.  I’ve spent a lot of time in South Beach/Miami area and I always get profiled as Cuban.  I’m not sure if that’s because the color of my eyes or the bright ass colors of my cloths.  Either way, nothing good can come from it.


I’m wondering what group of people in America has the largest chance of dealing with racial profiling.  I’m would guess that interracial daters deal with racial profiling more often.  Not just because that’s the topic of IDW, but because it’s true.  For years interracial daters have dealt with harassment from law enforcement. Recently I heard a story from a friend who was stopped by the police and they asked his wife if “he” was her pimp.  I almost fell out my chair laughing, but it’s still happens in 2019.

So I want to know how do you feel about the proposed law?  Is this a good thing for the multicultural environment that we are attempting to cultivate in America?  Or will this set us back 50 years?
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The Thin Myth: The Early Years

The Thin Myth is the idea I dreamed up that if only I were thinner, than the world would be my oyster, as long as I chose grilled fish instead.  The “thin myth” started very young.  As I stated before, I was not a huge child, just a little chubiniski.  My weight was such a point of contention and anxiety in my household.  In the late seventies and early eighties, it was difficult to get “plus-sized” kids clothes.  They did have “huskies” for boys at places like JC Penny or Sears, but nothing for girls.  I guess we were not supposed to exist.  I would have gladly worn boy’s jeans if it meant my mother would stop sighing whenever we went shopping.  My mother and grandmother would make me clothes and I remember feeling so guilty that I would make so much work for them because I was not like other girls.  I remember standing on a chair in my grandmother’s living room while my brother was outside playing so she can hem my dress.  I remember her winkled face crinkling even more as her mouth frowned and her brow furrowed and her saying, well, I guess I have to let out the seams, again.  I remember standing in my t-shirt and panties feeling as vulnerable as ever with hot tears welling in my eyes willing them not to fall.  I remember putting on my shorts and a tee-shirt (probably with either a kitten or a unicorn on it) and riding my bike around the block over and over by myself to exhaustion.  I rode until my tears were replaced with sweat trying to somehow put as much distance between myself and the humiliation only to loop back again to the scene of the crime.  Later at dinner, when I finally had to go inside, I only consumed the number of forkfuls as I had years on earth, seven.  To my memory, this was my first crash diet.
My weight kept me back from so many activities in my life.  It was not even that my weight prevented me from doing anything physical.  What it really came down to was embarrassment.  I played basketball in fourth grade a bit, but because I was too afraid to ask my parents for new sweatpants, I quit.  I actually kind of liked the game.  I did do Girl Scouts.  Even though I did not take it very seriously nor did it “cure” my social awkwardness, the Girl Scouts it did help me be a bit more social and teach me some about nature, service to others, and how to sell some cookies.  Yeah, let’s take chubby girl struggling with her weight in an ill-fitting green skirt and have her sell cookies.
The Thin Myth continued throughout my childhood and teen years.  Even thinking about it now, how many clubs I did not join, how many activities I did not do, and how many heartbreaks I endured because of the iron clad belief that I was not good enough the way I was and if I only got my weight under control, everything would be okay.  I remember in eighth grade I did not go out for student council because I was afraid people would make fun of me.  As if being on student council in middle school is not humiliating enough.
As I have described so far is how I discriminated against myself.  I have told you how my shame and fear of anticipatory social anguish kept me back all those years.  I could tell you some sad stories about how other students, family members, even teachers would tease, berate, and bar me from activities because of my size.  Once again, even if I look at pictures an when I am very honest with myself, I was NOT obese, just not thin.  I am not going to tell those stories because to start with, they paint me in a very negative light.  Second, they are just too painful to bring to mind let alone write on “paper.”  Giving them any more oxygen to those memories just give them that much more power.  Those painful weight-related memories loom in mind like a scary black blob eating up all my happiness.  In my adult years, with a lot of therapy and self-help books, the monster is somewhat contained, caged in my memory like the boogie man, but that doesn’t mean you still leave the closet door open just in case he escapes.
The problem with the Thin Myth is that it is, unfortunately, true.  Overweight people face bias in the workplace, in society, in dating, and overweight kids face bias even from their own parents.  See the attached articles if you don’t believe me.  And if you don’t believe me, look at yourself.  Have you run across a fat kid and wonder, even in well-intentioned kindness, “What is wrong with that kid?” or “Why aren’t the parents doing anything?”  Or do you watch an obese person at a buffet and watch what they are eating and make sure you don’t choose the same thing in the mortal fear that you too will “catch the fat”?
I have forgiven the little girl I once was.  I see what was under my control and what was not.  As an adult, I am trying to make better health choices, although vanity is still a factor in my “reinvention.”  I would like to get to a healthy weight so I can live a fuller, more active lifestyle. I would also like to be in a place where people look at me and not my weight.  I would like to be in a place where people do not make judgments on my character based on my weight.  But in the meantime, I am not going to sit on the sidelines of life waiting for the magic number on the scale to tell me now is the time to enjoy life.  Right now I have to put on stiff upper lip even if I have wobbly upper thighs and face the world in the body I have now.  You have no idea what kind of courage it takes to walk around in a big body unless you have lived in one.
For more information on weight bias and the affects on the child, please see below
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What does a girl gotta do to get some April Freshness?

I had a major breakdown over laundry.  I literally cried over laundry.  First week in the new place and I was all ready to do laundry in the washing machine located just outside my door.  I had gone to Wal-Mart (yes, Wal-Mart… I amnnot too good for Wal-Mart) and bought laundry detergent all ready to go.  I am an independent woman!  I can make it on my own!  But I come back to find the washer in the apt
building’s hallway is half full of skuzzy water.  I came back to the bedroom and started whine, wince, and I might have even cried just a little.  My new boyfriend looked at me trying to figure out what color of crazy I was going to be today. He just didn’t get it.
For reference, I just officially signed over my part of the
house just the day before.  That did end in tears.  It was sad.  I lived in that house with my husband for eight and a half years and I walked away.  All that comfort and security was gone.  I was leaving a good man that I am not even all that angry with, but we both know that any hope for a romantic or family life together is long past dead.  But still, it was difficult.  I would not wish that moment on anyone.  It was harder signing the house over than it was signing the divorce papers.  The divorce was documenting the end of a partnership and I knew that was over.  But signing over the house was signing over my home… my heart.  Home is where the heart is and my heart is broken.  My
house is gone.
And this is where the new boyfriend got a little hurt.  I was whining about my old house, my old washing machine and the comfort of convenience of the washer and dryer was a symbol of everything I walked away from.  I then suggested that maybe I should have gone to Florida after all.  I wouldn’t have a job right away, but I could
have lived in a “family” set up with my dad and stepmom and I sure as hell could have done laundry.  He got really hurt by this.  He was like, “what am I, chopped liver?”  Of course, he didn’t say
this because he is not a stereo-type New Yorker circa 1955.  He was more like, “You would crawl back to
your loveless marriage, run away to your Daddy’s, walk away from me, for what?  Laundry?  Because you are too good for a
Laundromat?  He had a point.
The thing about the new boyfriend is two things:  He is blunt and he will not abide by my
mediocrity.  He will not allow me to settle.  This will probably get us into some arguments, but we are both passionate people who passionately love each other and an argument about laundry will not finish us.  Besides, he’s an attorney.  He argues professionally.  With a man like that, you have to expect to have a few fights.  I know if I do not hold my own that I cannot hold his attention. Lucky for us both, I know how to push back and how to hold on.  I’m not going to let a catch like Gilley go so easily. J
So, I carried my laundry two buildings over to a free
washing machine.  I can’t help but feel
like this is a step back.  I had superb
HE front loading state of the art washer and dryer on pedestals. These machines
would not only wash your clothes, they could cleanse your soul!  I know we paid a pretty penny for them and I
hope my ex appreciates them.  I miss them
like crazy.  I told my brother about the
breakdown and he understood in a way my boyfriend could not.  It is a step back.
In big cities like New York City the Laundromat can be
humbling, but it is also seen as just another chore.  Hardly anyone owns their own home or have the
space or inclination to have washer/dryer hookups.  Laundromats can even be trendy in big cities
or college towns complete with coffee shops, Wi-Fi, and trendy people folding
their designer hipster clothing finding love during the rinse cycle.  But I do not live in a sitcom.  This is suburban Indianapolis where Laundromats
are populated by the young, the poor, and the immigrant.  I know that sounds snobby, but it is
true.  I am a 35 year-old, educated,
professional woman.  I did have a house.  I did have status and comfort.  And I lost it.  It is a shock.  Don’t judge me.
I called my brother, and he felt my pain.  He understood what a shock it could be to
wake up one day in a strange place in an apartment with a cat beside an
interstate and you have no idea how you got there.  Scrounging the apt. for change to do laundry
is sobering.
I went down to visit him and he allowed me to do laundry in
his very own HE front loading machines with softened water.  He has no idea how blessed he really is.
There are things to consider when you don’t have access to
washing machines.  Questions that you
never thought you’d ask yourself.
How many times can I “recycle” jeans before they absolutely
need to be washed?  (about 4 times)
How dirty is “dirty”?
The “sniff test” has a whole new meaning.
Reds and darks can be washed together if everything is on
cold, right?
Is underwear completely necessary?
I will love again.  I
will own a home again.  I told my bf if
he is serious about me that I care more about HE washing machine than a fancy
diamond ring.
Truth be told… I kinda want both.  I am saving up already to purchase a new house.
I will love again and I will again do laundry in my own
home!  I believe in LOVE! I believe in
ME!  I believe in laundry!  As God as my witness, I will never scrounge
for quarters again!
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пятница, 22 ноября 2019 г.

“God Made Adam First” or “Revelations in the Mirror While Naked”

In the effort of “research,” I have been reading up on other blogs.  I am researching for both content and style.  I am also looking to see the “other side” of my story.  Ignorance really is bliss.
I have stumbled upon a few blogs about gay married men or gay men that have recently been divorced.  These blogs are insightful, revealing, a few of them well-written and researched.  However, by the fifth or sixth one I read I started crying.  Do not get me wrong, most of these gay men speak highly of their wives.  They speak of their strength, kindness, and mostly of their discretion.  Because they are either still married or divorced quietly, none of these women, according to their own blog’s account, made a big fuss over this whole “gay business.”  I too divorced quietly but then moved several states away because I could no longer bear the weight of a secret that was not my own.  It also hurt me to see him with other men.  Sometimes the men were friends we had in common.   As awkward as it might be at a party when two women exchange glances knowing they have slept with the same man, imagine if that exchange were between a man and a woman.
I cannot tell you how inadequate can make a woman feel when a husband, the man you believed was your soul mate, starts having sex with other men and despite all his promises and declarations, she is never sure when it started.  Even if the “other guy” is nice and gracious about it, how can a woman help but feel inferior and embarrassed?  Despite all my liberal standings and beliefs I am embarrassed and ashamed that my husband chose men over me.  If there is a greater rejection than that, I do not want to know nor would wish it on my worst enemy.
I got up from my desk in tears and went into the bathroom to change.  I was still in my pajamas and it was well past noon.  At first, I was going to just do my regular routine and push all those feelings down, ignore them and maybe have a snack.  Sound familiar?  But instead, I took all my clothes off and stood in front of the mirror naked and had a good look at myself.
I saw long dark auburn hair, green eyes, arched brows, chubby cheeks, and full pink lips that would be the envy of many a collagen fans.  I saw nice strong shoulders and nearly perfect breasts, neither too big nor too small for my frame.  I saw a too big rounded stomach with an arguably cute little navel.  I saw long legs, thick thighs, wide hips and a big round butt.  Still, despite my size and my age, I have few stretch marks and about as much cellulite as any other average woman.  I am being fair here and very honest.  But really, what is wrong with me?  I am looking at myself trying to find flaws.  Really, what is there?  Why did he not love me?  What is so unlovable about me?  Is my body so imperfect that I be rejected so?
Then I started to make a list of my unlovable attributes.  I made a list of reasons why my ex-husband or any other man would reject me.  It is well rehearsed so of little trouble to site even in my troubled mind.  The list goes as follows in no particular order:
–          My weight
–          Too smart
–          Too dumb
–          Not interested in sports
–          Unpopular interests
–          Does not make enough money
–          Too crazy
–          Too bold
–          Talks too much
–          Too repressed
–          Too loud
–          Too shy
–          Too needy
–          Too independent
Yes, some of these items contradict each other but still I hold onto this checklist constantly revising, often adding, so when I am rejected I know exactly why.  I am heaving and sobbing at this point.  I have to sit down on the edge of bathtub to catch my breath.  Such self loathing can be exhausting.  Not only do I have this list in my head, I said them out loud giving the list that much more power over me.
And the truth is… the truth that eats me up inside… the truth that will not let me go is that my ex-husband did not care about the list.  He loved me anyway.  All the reasons why I hate myself did not matter.  He loved me. But the one thing he could not love me for was the one thing I could not change and that is what is between my legs.
To me, the list of rejectables is my to-do list.  I hate those things about me too.  I want to change them and when I have accomplished the list, than I will allow myself to be loved. I can be thinner.  I can act more dumb or get smarter if you want me to.  I can maybe get a better job and be more independent while still making you feel needed at the same time.  I can change, I can do and be whatever you want….. Just stay.
Then I looked up in the mirror again.  Now that I am sitting I can only see my face.  Honestly, it is a rather nice face, unworthy of any kind of hate.  With my new eyes I see my hair lightened by the Florida sun and I still have a band of freckles across my cheeks though it is mid-winter.  Below those professionally arched eyebrows I see through blurred vision even greener eyes set off by the redness of all those tears.
When will I see myself like other men who try to love me?  When will I see a competent, beautiful woman that can make it on her own yet chooses to have a partner by her side?  When will I see the truly brave thing I did by leaving my husband and my hometown of thirty-plus years to start my life all over instead of looking at it like a retreat?
A better question still is when will I see what God sees?  When will I see a greatly loved being made in HIS image perfect and whole just as He created me?
But then I think to myself, “Even God made Adam first.”
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среда, 20 ноября 2019 г.

The Knowing and the Changing: For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge

For the record, the most versatile word in the English language did not originate from an acronym.  THE WORD originated from the term fokken which means “to thrust or copulate with” (www.snopes.com).  However, this post is not about an etymology.
The Knowing….
Say whatever you want that motivates the human libido.  Old fashioned propagation of the species?  The “conquering” of foreign lands?  The pursuit of “the strange”?  Or is it some kind of ancient bartering system trading of supply and demand?  What I think, or hope in my romantic yet hedonistic mind, is that both men and women are seeking “the knowing.”
If we go by standard stereotypes, men are seeking the “knowing” of another woman, to know what pleases her and to know how his skills can please her.  Sometimes he seeks that knowledge just to use with someone else, but I do not think that skills in the bedroom are obtained through one night stands.  Usually, I think, people pull out their “best” tried and true moves with new people and anything beyond the standards are explored in deeper, longer lasting relationships.  I know that I am a little inhibited about standing on my head and whistling Dixie the first time I am in bed with a man.  I usually reserve that little trick after we have a few “Olive Garden” dates under our belts.
Maybe women are seeking the knowing in a different way.  Maybe women want to “know” men’s secrets.  It is the only power we have: the surrender some of their pride, the distraction of the desire over to us.  Or we think we can somehow “change” them through the power of our love.  The love we trade for sex, that is.  I hope that in the new “sexual revolution” women do not become too much like men.  If women do not remember sex is also about emotional intimacy, who will?
And here is why I go into the world of too much information and why I wear a mask
When I fall in love or even infatuated I am seeking “the knowing”.  I want to know the man’s mind and his heart.  This is probably why I am attracted to mostly intelligent men so I am not bored too quickly.  I want to know his body too.  I want to know if he has freckles and where those freckles stop.  I want to know if he is ticklish.  I want to know what really turns him on.  I sometimes want to know their inner dirty little fantasies even if they scare me and/or I have no intention of acting them out.  (This has backfired on me before).  I want to know what position they like best.  I want to know if they are a breast or a butt man.  I want to know if he swears, grunts, or simply sighs when he comes.
This is what I want to know.  It is what I need to know when I want a man.  It is not about my pleasure or just about the conquest or the orgasm, it is about the knowing.  That little bit of sweet happy surrender they have right after they come when their hearts and minds are as soft and pliable as their spent penises and I can shape them to my liking.  If men knew this is what women do after sex they would rush out the bedroom as soon as possible or not enter it at all.  But maybe, secretly even unwittingly men want that molding too.  The Changing.
A Little Story About The Knowing.
When was first ushered into the world of love and sex, it was like I was in the lobby of a grand play or opera but not allowed in.  I did not have the necessary ticket of attractiveness or at least guile to get much past the foyer.  I would hear whispers of how great, terrible, fantastic, and terrifying that world was from friends and movies, but it was like seeing a trailer for a foreign movie without subtitles.  You kind of want to see it, but it is not out yet and you have no way understanding the movie without a translator, but you just gotta see it anyway.
I remember this awkward infatuation I had when I was a senior in high school.  By this time, over half my class was sexually active, and that was just the ones I knew about it.  We were a suburban school about 80% white in the early 90’s so 50% of my class being sexually active is about accurate.  I was still in that lobby waiting for my ticket.  I was very interested in this boy, oh let’s call him Brian.  Brian was in my music theory class.  I had delusions of grandeur of a career in music, but let’s not dwell.  Brian played guitar but he was also involved in drama and was in all my advanced classes, so he was a nerd.  If memory serves me, I think we even was pictured in the last issue of our school’s paper was the top ten of our class.  What can I say, I have taste.  I dare say that I was not necessarily “in love” with Brian.  I think I might have talked to the boy maybe twice.  Our exchange of words barely quantifies as a paragraph.  But I remember just wanting to TALK to him.  I fantasized more about our fascinating and revealing conversations more than I imagined any kind of nakedness or anything overtly sexual.  Instead of writing my name Mrs. _____ in my notebook, I would study the music and the album covers to every band t-shirt he would wear.  The album cover of Ritual De Lo Habitual scared the hell out of my seventeen-year-old self, but I was ready to discuss if Brian happened to pass my locker randomly.
I imagined that we would hang out in a dark basement listening to Pearl Jam or Pink Floyd and discussing the essence of Kurt Cobain lyrics. And during all this talking we happened to kiss and make out that would be cool as long as it were really dark in that basement and he could not really see my body.  This is also when I started shoplifting cute panties and bras so my mother would not know that I no longer wore K-mart training bras and plain white cotton panties.
If Brian and I bored with talking about music, or we needed a break from all that dry humping, we could talk about Fahrenheit 451 or 1984 that we read on our summer reading list for Honors English because teen boys love to sit around talking about their summer reading with their female classmates.   I read Science Fiction because I thought it would make me seem cool.  At least I knew Jane Austen and Dickens were not cool.  I fantasized that we would talk about the radical changing powers of the written word or relating how our school administration was trying to “keep us down” like the Ministry of Truth trying to keep the youth of this nation docile with misinformation.  Yeah, I was a nerd.  I read dystopic science fiction and listened to grunge thinking it would somehow impress teenaged boys.  That is a good way to have an affair with a mid-thirties English professor at a local junior college, but not the way to get the cherry of the vice president of the National Honors Society who also plays bass for his garage band with his buddies.
For the record, I have never impressed a guy with my literary knowledge.  I have never had this dream conversation of staying up all night talking about how science fiction is used to make sense of modern societal dilemmas or talk about Kurt Cobain or even comic books with a man and then end up not just having sex, but joining of like minded souls with our bodies and then fuck our brains out as a political statement against the hypocrisy of society trying to dilute us of our humanity through ridiculous sexual mores.  Sounds like fun though doesn’t?
I have impressed guys with my Wonder Woman outfit and been asked to tie them up with my lasso.
Sigh…..  Why do guys have to fuck up fucking?
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