It's hard to clean up your act when at times it seems that the world is teeming with potential lovers. For a while there I made it my goal to turn all of the those potentials into actuals and was always surprised (sometimes amused as well,) by how easy it was. But I'm a little older now, I'm a little more mature, and I finally have a clearer idea as to what I want out of a relationship. Getting to this point wasn't easy, but I have no regrets. Everything I have done in the past I did fully aware of any repercussions that could result from my actions.
So the mess I had made of my love life is starting to sparkle, shiny and new, after taking a few gallons of bleach and a wire bristle scrub brush to it. The decision to do that didn't come from my want for something real, I made it as a result of discovering, "Hey girl, you need to respect yourself a little more. You can't live your life waking up in a different bed every morning or kicking a different man out of your's every night."
Do I miss those nights of sleazy, rock & roll debauchery fueled by alcohol and hormones? Sometimes. A lot actually. But the nice thing is knowing I can still have them without putting my mind, heart and body at risk.
Reaching for that bucket of bleach was not easy. I hesitated several times. And just because I finally did it doesn't mean that I'm a reformed bad girl in any way. I'm a bad girl at heart and always will be. It's just finding someone who enjoys being bad right along with me. Part of me thinks I found that in my Parkesburg Boy...
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
How Much Do I Love My Boys? Let Me Count the Ways
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| I really don't have any words... |
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| Halloween 2010 could have passed for White Trash Senior Prom 2010 |
Don't Piss Off the Wrong One
I'm living two separate lives over here. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Fucking Hyde. How long am I going to be able to keep up this facade? I go from one personality, The Angel, to the other, The Devil, in the blink of an eye.
To break it down, we have -
The Angel
The Devil
This past Saturday night I engaged in absolute debauchery with a few band members after the show. (Gimme some credit though, I've known these guys and have been partying with them for a while now.) Then I stopped off at another one's house for some more even later night action. The other night one of the regulars at the bar did a double take after asking me my name for the 100th time because I was wearing yoga pants, a hoodie, my glasses, very little makeup, and my everyday jewelry. *shrug* It happens.
To break it down, we have -
The Angel
- Typically hangs around during the week
- A school portrait photographer that works with the kiddies and gushes all over them when they are absolutely precious
- An aunt that adores her nephew and plays with him, sings to him, and smothers him with kisses whenever he's in her arms
- Wholesome and nice
- Tee-shirt and jeans or sweats, minimal makeup and jewelry, hair pulled up 90% of the time
- Frugal with her money and balances her checkbook to the penny
- In bed by 10 or 11
- Generally unrecognizable to those who are more acquainted with The Devil
The Devil
- Comes out to play at night, usually on the weekends
- A trashy, brass, and generally slutty rock & roll groupie
- Will sleep with the guitar player, or the bass player, or the drummer, or all three at the same time
- Loud and obnoxious with a drink always in her hand
- Dressed to kill, in stilettos 24/7
- Makeup and hair done to a T, loaded down with jewelry that usually gets lost or left on someone's nightstand
- Did someone say shots? Can be found stuffing money down the bartender's pants or throwing dollar bills at the ladies
- Stumbles in the front door around 5 am
- Generally unrecognizable to those who are more acquainted with The Angel
This past Saturday night I engaged in absolute debauchery with a few band members after the show. (Gimme some credit though, I've known these guys and have been partying with them for a while now.) Then I stopped off at another one's house for some more even later night action. The other night one of the regulars at the bar did a double take after asking me my name for the 100th time because I was wearing yoga pants, a hoodie, my glasses, very little makeup, and my everyday jewelry. *shrug* It happens.
I Know A Drugstore Cowboy, So Afraid Of Getting Bored...
Well, I don't really know if he's actually afraid of getting bored, but that's a line from a great 311 song. This guy works at the drugstore down the street from my house, so I gave him an appropiate nickname. I can't get this fucker out of my mind, and it's driving me crazy.
He's 23. Sure at first I was like, 23? And still working part time at Walgreen's? That's what we all did in high school and maybe while we were in college, (seriously, tons of people my age did that, including myself, my brother, my best friend, a few other friends, and even some people I work with now,) but I learned he's got his Associate's in biology and is now working on his bachelor's at U of D. Brownie points.
He is fucking gorgeous. And he has no idea. He's painfully shy but when the clothes come off he's a total rockstar. I don't quite think he'd make a suitable partner for me, because he is so damn quiet sometimes. In most cases quiet = passive, and we all know how much of a disaster that can turn into with me, but he does have jerk-potential, and of course that turns me on. Plus our babies would be relentlessly beautiful.
I cannot get enough.
FUCK, he makes my head spin. Every time I walk into that damn store and see him I am reduced to a puddle of mush and I get a crazy tingling sensation in my belly. I hate that he's got that kind of power over me, but it's okay because he doesn't know. I have to play it cool and try not to trip over my own feet and make sure I wipe the drool from my chin before he sees me, and this is just at his place of employment. I really don't know how I manage to keep my composure when I'm standing naked in front of him in his bedroom.
It's as simple as that. I cannot get enough. When I'm ridiculously horny, he's the only one I fantasize about. We've been fucking around for about a year, and I still can't get over how beautiful he is, and the fact that I have actually managed to get him into bed. It never, ever, occurs to me that someone as attractive as him would even give me a second look. But he did. (Well, he had no choice because the night he walked into my bar I made a beeline for him, I introduced myself while running my hand through his shoulder-length hair, and charmed the pants right off of him. Literally.)
I can't say I'd be surprised that I'm on his mind alot, too. The booty calls at 3 or 4 in the morning a couple times a week give me that impression. Usually I'm passed the fuck out, but that's okay, right? If I jump at his beck and call then he'd get too used to it. And we all know this girl doesn't want that.
He's 23. Sure at first I was like, 23? And still working part time at Walgreen's? That's what we all did in high school and maybe while we were in college, (seriously, tons of people my age did that, including myself, my brother, my best friend, a few other friends, and even some people I work with now,) but I learned he's got his Associate's in biology and is now working on his bachelor's at U of D. Brownie points.
He is fucking gorgeous. And he has no idea. He's painfully shy but when the clothes come off he's a total rockstar. I don't quite think he'd make a suitable partner for me, because he is so damn quiet sometimes. In most cases quiet = passive, and we all know how much of a disaster that can turn into with me, but he does have jerk-potential, and of course that turns me on. Plus our babies would be relentlessly beautiful.
I cannot get enough.
FUCK, he makes my head spin. Every time I walk into that damn store and see him I am reduced to a puddle of mush and I get a crazy tingling sensation in my belly. I hate that he's got that kind of power over me, but it's okay because he doesn't know. I have to play it cool and try not to trip over my own feet and make sure I wipe the drool from my chin before he sees me, and this is just at his place of employment. I really don't know how I manage to keep my composure when I'm standing naked in front of him in his bedroom.
It's as simple as that. I cannot get enough. When I'm ridiculously horny, he's the only one I fantasize about. We've been fucking around for about a year, and I still can't get over how beautiful he is, and the fact that I have actually managed to get him into bed. It never, ever, occurs to me that someone as attractive as him would even give me a second look. But he did. (Well, he had no choice because the night he walked into my bar I made a beeline for him, I introduced myself while running my hand through his shoulder-length hair, and charmed the pants right off of him. Literally.)
I can't say I'd be surprised that I'm on his mind alot, too. The booty calls at 3 or 4 in the morning a couple times a week give me that impression. Usually I'm passed the fuck out, but that's okay, right? If I jump at his beck and call then he'd get too used to it. And we all know this girl doesn't want that.
Nice To Meet You, Please Call Me Deranged
I've come to realize that I've been conditioned to think that all men are whores. Nothing but big, fucking sluts. I don't know why or how this happened, but I cannot help it. I do not like that I think this way, because I always end up refusing to give any man the benefit of the doubt.
It's not necessarily in a bad way, though. Because I'm a whore. A big, fucking slut. Is that why I expect my lovers to be the same? When my drugstore cowboy tells me that he hasn't had sex since the last time we hooked up, do I believe him? I don't really know. (Actually I do kind of believe him because he's relatively shy; the only reason we ever made contact in the first place was because as soon as he walked into my bar I went right up to him and worked my charm as best and as hard as I could. That was about a year ago, and we're still going at it, so I think I did a pretty good job.) The other day P told me the last time he had sex was with me. That was almost two months ago. And he has a girlfriend.
When these boys of mine tell me this stuff I keep my mouth shut. In my head I'm thinking, Really? -This one- fucked my brains out last night. Or -this one- and I fucked for like, four hours the other day. But all I do is say, "No way," giggling, and proceed to do what I do best, and that is go down.
I assume this is the reason I'm single. I'm not complaining though. My last attempt at a relationship failed miserably, bringing me to the conclusion that right now, at this point in my life, every member of the opposite sex, with the exception of my two best guy friends, are only good for what's hanging between their legs. Or, better yet, how good they can make me feel between mine.
Am I wrong? Am I deranged for having this line of thinking? Really, please tell me, does this make me a heartless bitch that uses and abuses men just to get her rocks off?
It's not necessarily in a bad way, though. Because I'm a whore. A big, fucking slut. Is that why I expect my lovers to be the same? When my drugstore cowboy tells me that he hasn't had sex since the last time we hooked up, do I believe him? I don't really know. (Actually I do kind of believe him because he's relatively shy; the only reason we ever made contact in the first place was because as soon as he walked into my bar I went right up to him and worked my charm as best and as hard as I could. That was about a year ago, and we're still going at it, so I think I did a pretty good job.) The other day P told me the last time he had sex was with me. That was almost two months ago. And he has a girlfriend.
When these boys of mine tell me this stuff I keep my mouth shut. In my head I'm thinking, Really? -This one- fucked my brains out last night. Or -this one- and I fucked for like, four hours the other day. But all I do is say, "No way," giggling, and proceed to do what I do best, and that is go down.
I assume this is the reason I'm single. I'm not complaining though. My last attempt at a relationship failed miserably, bringing me to the conclusion that right now, at this point in my life, every member of the opposite sex, with the exception of my two best guy friends, are only good for what's hanging between their legs. Or, better yet, how good they can make me feel between mine.
Am I wrong? Am I deranged for having this line of thinking? Really, please tell me, does this make me a heartless bitch that uses and abuses men just to get her rocks off?
Boys
From Saturday, February 27, 2010
I love boys.
I can't get enough of boys.
I am addicted to boys.
I am under their spells
and under their thumbs.
Is that so wrong?
I don't discriminate
when it comes to boys.
I love boys.
Boys whose hair I can grab
in fistfuls.
Boys with none to pull on.
Boys covered in tattoos.
Boys with no tattoos.
Tall and skinny boys.
Tall and stocky boys.
Boys with piercings.
Boys with goatees.
Ones with bright blue eyes,
ones with dark brown eyes.
Boys that drive big loud trucks.
Ones that shoot guns,
ones that flash dimples.
Boys that love me,
boy that hurt me.
I love boys.
Ones that treat me right,
ones that break my heart.
Boys to spend the night with,
boys to kick out of my bed.
Ones that make me scream in pain,
ones that make me scream in pleasure
and ones that can do both.
Oh, how I love boys.
Boys that ride motorcycles.
Younger ones, older ones,
ones close to my age.
Boys that fuck me,
boys that make love to me.
The ones that exist
only in my imagination,
the ones that I see
almost every day.
Boy friends, boy lovers.
What difference does it make?
They are all still my boys.
Even if I can never
call some of them mine.
Whether I've cried over them
or under them, I love boys.
Whether they've used their weapon
for my destruction or my pleasure,
I can't stop loving them.
I love boys with my heart
or I love boys with my cunt.
I let them decide which it is
they want to accept.
I love boys even when
they don't love me back.
Boys I've known for years,
boys I have yet to meet.
I love them even when
I say I hate them.
Boys with a twinkle in their eye,
boys with a sinister one.
Ones that make me cum,
ones I will not allow
between my legs.
God, I love boys.
I love boys.
I can't get enough of boys.
I am addicted to boys.
I am under their spells
and under their thumbs.
Is that so wrong?
I don't discriminate
when it comes to boys.
I love boys.
Boys whose hair I can grab
in fistfuls.
Boys with none to pull on.
Boys covered in tattoos.
Boys with no tattoos.
Tall and skinny boys.
Tall and stocky boys.
Boys with piercings.
Boys with goatees.
Ones with bright blue eyes,
ones with dark brown eyes.
Boys that drive big loud trucks.
Ones that shoot guns,
ones that flash dimples.
Boys that love me,
boy that hurt me.
I love boys.
Ones that treat me right,
ones that break my heart.
Boys to spend the night with,
boys to kick out of my bed.
Ones that make me scream in pain,
ones that make me scream in pleasure
and ones that can do both.
Oh, how I love boys.
Boys that ride motorcycles.
Younger ones, older ones,
ones close to my age.
Boys that fuck me,
boys that make love to me.
The ones that exist
only in my imagination,
the ones that I see
almost every day.
Boy friends, boy lovers.
What difference does it make?
They are all still my boys.
Even if I can never
call some of them mine.
Whether I've cried over them
or under them, I love boys.
Whether they've used their weapon
for my destruction or my pleasure,
I can't stop loving them.
I love boys with my heart
or I love boys with my cunt.
I let them decide which it is
they want to accept.
I love boys even when
they don't love me back.
Boys I've known for years,
boys I have yet to meet.
I love them even when
I say I hate them.
Boys with a twinkle in their eye,
boys with a sinister one.
Ones that make me cum,
ones I will not allow
between my legs.
God, I love boys.
Why Do They All Have Aliases?
Ever since my Ex and I split up, it seems that the majority of men I become involved with go by some sort of nickname. And they all start with the letter 'B.' For the most part. First there was Buzzard. Then came Bird. Crash. Bling. Tank. Buddah. And various ones whose real first names start with the letter B, but I'm leaving them out to protect the guilty parties.
Just a weird observation of mine.
Just a weird observation of mine.
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