I know I briefly mentioned it...but I had to bring it up since I can't focus. My clavicle feels broken. My chest is bruised. I have the outline of a hand on my breast. My legs barely move without serious concentration and I have a welt on the right side of my ass. Mr. Grey did right by me this weekend, oh yes, yes he did. Now imagine what he'll do when ask him to use the whip.
xo-
Ruby
8.01.2012
7.30.2012
I'm not a fighter, I'm a lover
Almost 3 years later and I'm picking back up the pen. This definitely isn't where I've left off. Mr. Gold, he knows my secrets, and it broke his heart. I've never felt so horrible as when he told me Hal divulged our trysts...while golfing...on a birdie attempt. What a shitty friend. Hal's gone, Gold's gone, many of my past lovers have faded and a new round of men have been occupying my time.
I never dwell on the past, it's not what I do. I may think about it and wonder how my formers are doing, but I never doubt they are better off without me than with me. I've grown as a person, but I've never abandoned who I am. Some women are born to be teachers, some are born to be doctors and a few lucky women are born to be lovers. We're not whores, we're not girlfriends, we're the ones you tell your secrets to. The ones you long for in the middle of the night. The ones that can make you feel good about yourself on the shittiest of days. In two minutes I can transform from the girl next door, to the girl of your wet dreams... all it takes is me setting my mind to it. The things I have discovered from endless mornings of pillow talk are absolutely astounding. I feel privileged to hear what you have to say, I remember every word and it will never leave my lips. The amount of men who have told me they love me during our long morning sessions is slightly frightening. I couldn't count them all if I tried, yet none are by my side today. Some are more memorable than others, but its the MBA from Illinois who made my heart melt, the high school sweetheart that cried in my arms, the tattooed bouncer who kept me laughing...its those boys that make it all worthwhile.
I'm not the only woman like me out there, I know there are others. Others whose sole purpose is to fix the broken ones, tame the wild ones, love the crazy ones and set straight those headed down the wrong path. I'm not a miracle worker, I don't pretend to be, I'm just the girl that guys need. Live out your fantasies, sow your wild oats, learn how to make love like a man, become your version of Mr. Grey....that's how I help. I was born to be a lover and until I decide to find one of my own I'm going to keep on helping, loving and listening. That's what I do.
I never dwell on the past, it's not what I do. I may think about it and wonder how my formers are doing, but I never doubt they are better off without me than with me. I've grown as a person, but I've never abandoned who I am. Some women are born to be teachers, some are born to be doctors and a few lucky women are born to be lovers. We're not whores, we're not girlfriends, we're the ones you tell your secrets to. The ones you long for in the middle of the night. The ones that can make you feel good about yourself on the shittiest of days. In two minutes I can transform from the girl next door, to the girl of your wet dreams... all it takes is me setting my mind to it. The things I have discovered from endless mornings of pillow talk are absolutely astounding. I feel privileged to hear what you have to say, I remember every word and it will never leave my lips. The amount of men who have told me they love me during our long morning sessions is slightly frightening. I couldn't count them all if I tried, yet none are by my side today. Some are more memorable than others, but its the MBA from Illinois who made my heart melt, the high school sweetheart that cried in my arms, the tattooed bouncer who kept me laughing...its those boys that make it all worthwhile.
I'm not the only woman like me out there, I know there are others. Others whose sole purpose is to fix the broken ones, tame the wild ones, love the crazy ones and set straight those headed down the wrong path. I'm not a miracle worker, I don't pretend to be, I'm just the girl that guys need. Live out your fantasies, sow your wild oats, learn how to make love like a man, become your version of Mr. Grey....that's how I help. I was born to be a lover and until I decide to find one of my own I'm going to keep on helping, loving and listening. That's what I do.
I'm back and badder than ever
I began this blog 2 years ago and stopped rapidly. I got scared of what the repercussions would be if anyone found out my true identity. Today, I decided to start back up again. It may be my new found freedom, it may be just a wild thought I had or it may be due to the fact I found my own Christian Grey and he's showing me things I never thought I'd do in my life (the brusies across my chest this morning prove it.)
So here goes the start of something new, all over again. I can't wait to share my stories with you all, I promise stick with me and I'll teach you things you never thought possible.
Back to my boring day job so I can conjure up all that I'm going to tell you tonight.
Ciao-
xo Ruby
So here goes the start of something new, all over again. I can't wait to share my stories with you all, I promise stick with me and I'll teach you things you never thought possible.
Back to my boring day job so I can conjure up all that I'm going to tell you tonight.
Ciao-
xo Ruby
12.07.2009
35 and serving Love
What is it about a rich, older, mysterious man that makes women do things they never thought they would? At 21 I met a man 35 years old, an amazing tennis player at the private club I bartended nightly. Nothing about him physically was I attracted to in the beginning, he had a cute baby face even though he was many years my elder, but that was as far as I was attracted. I was a girl used to young, strong, sexy, egotistical men, more often than not black and womanizing. A blonde, white, dorky and slightly over-weight man never crossed my mind as being the most passionate, drug induced lover I’d ever have.
The first night I spent alone with him at his house we laid on the couch in front of a fireplace while the harsh winter brewed outside. We drank a bottle of wine, smoked a joint watched sports center and discussed my life. I’ll never forget the first touch of his hands to my face, they were the softest fingers I’d ever felt caress my body. The magic of his touch to my constantly desiring body made me tremble with desire, fear and curiosity. Even his house turned me on to a point that is unexplainable, this magnificently gorgeous home with the most expensive furniture and art I had ever seen seemed like a refuge from the life I lived as a struggling college student.
I remember the first time he held my hand and walked me down the hall to his master suite, an enormous king size sleigh bed that cost more than my car sat in the middle of the room taunting me. So many emotions and thoughts ran through my head, mostly how did I get myself to this point and how was I going to get myself out of it. Nothing about him personally scared me, just the thought of what I was about to do. He gently picked me up and laid me across his bed as he slowly unbuttoned my shirt and pants, skillfully he removed my clothing. Before I even realized, I was laying under his scrutinizing eyes, my thin, lace panties the only thing separating my body from his entire consumption. Everything he did to me that night with his mouth are far beyond words, I had never experienced so much skill, passion and grace from someone else’s tongue on my naive body. I had been with many men but this was something I was so unprepared for. The first moment his mouth touched me, I knew my desires and sexual passion would never be the same. He made me scream and quiver at the same time, I finally understood the passion of an older man, his experience made my multiple desires and past indiscretions seem like child-play.
This went on for a year, he moved a few hours away and every weekend he was home at his new condo in a foreign city, I was there by his side, on my back. We’d spend the entire weekend in his million dollar loft, ordering in food, drinking Goose on the rocks, smoking the best herb I had ever tasted in my life and having hot, unrestrained sex for hours on end. He’d wake in the morning to play tennis while I stayed hibernating in his sanctuary doing drugs and drinking, waiting for that moment when he’d walk back in the door and carry me to bed. This life I came to love. It did not matter that I knew he had other women there when I was gone. The little signs of their presence I’d push to the back of my mind, women’s conditioner and shampoo in the shower, an extra toothbrush in the bathroom and her cigarettes in the ashtray on the veranda. I knew who she was, I’d met her a few times before we began our affair. He had brought her in to the bar while I was working, I didn’t dislike her. She was a few years older than me, gorgeous, a professional woman who wasn't too unlike myself.
The sexiest part of his new loft was the bathroom, he had an amazing shower with a glass block wall that was visible from the rest of the house, when a spectator was in the living room or bedroom you could watch through the wall and see an erotic display. When I showered I disregarded the other woman’s personal items and concentrated on being a sexy woman, washing every inch of my body with passion and erotic desire. I’d come out of the bathroom in my towel, stand in front of the bed and purposely drop the towel in such a way that made him immediately hard. Although he knew his way around every crevice of my body with his tongue, I would use my youth, vitality and flexibility to do things to him that I knew no one else did. This was my way of making sure that I owned a part of him that she would never.
On the few weekends he returned home to where we first met, he would stay at a friend’s condo. This friend of his, Hal, knew about our relationship and respected our privacy. I would come over late at night after an evening of mixing drinks and flirting shamelessly with his friends. On the occasion he would come to the bar to drink with friends, we would steal away into an abandoned hallway, room or closet and ferociously kiss, ever so often he wound unbutton my pants or top rub his soft fingers over any part of my body he could, then disappear back to the bar. I’d continue to work and constantly catch his eyes staring at my ass or down my top as I waited on him and all of his married friends, only one of them, aside from the two of us, knowing of our scandalous relationship. On the nights he stayed with Hal, they would be beyond drunk and high when I arrived. I would spend the first thirty minutes trying to catch up to their level of intoxication and the next two hours talking and flirting with the both of them. On occasion other men would come by, those lucky few discovered this special relationship that Mr. Gold and I shared and they often were quite vocal in their jealousy and curiosity. Most of these men saw me on a daily basis, I’d waited on them and their wives, served them beer after an exhausting match with their fellow scandalous married friends, and listen to their marital woes while they stared at my breasts. But in my mind Mr. Gold is all I thought about. Oh, the nickname you wonder? Mr. Gold was just that, he was golden to me, something so precious I knew I would never know every ounce of him and it didn’t hurt that he was a gold trader. He worked in jewelry by profession, but this was something I never abused. I didn’t want tokens of his love through pieces of his work. That was too demeaning in my eyes. Just knowing I had a part of his heart and cock satisfied me to the point of ecstasy.
Hal was another story, a part of me often felt bad for him. He was the kind of man that you knew enjoyed his fair share of internet porn, yet seemed like a normal self-sufficient single man. At night when Mr. Gold and I would shut the door and give in to our many erotic desires I knew Hal was in the other room listening. I could see it in his eyes, he envisioned me naked and being his toy every time I walked into a room. I enjoyed this…maybe a little too much in fact. I truly enjoyed conversing with Hal, having someone to talk to who knew both Mr. Gold and me both, on personal, almost embarrassing levels. He’d keep me company as I would wind down from hours at work, even after my lover had gone to bed, we’d talk about my life, my work, my schooling; he’d come down to the level of a 21 year old co-ed just to be in my world. So I guess it’s no surprise that one day, down the road I’d have wild, amazing perverse and erotic sex with Hal. It took some time but after Mr. Gold relocated once again, this time 2,000 miles away, Hal and I made Mr. Gold’s worst nightmares a fantasy for the two of us.
These memories came flooding back to me this weekend when I received a text from Mr. Gold. Every so often, he will send me a message, more often than not centered around sex and every time motivated by his best friend, alcohol. Mr. Gold now lives three time zones away, is in a committed relationship and sidles up to an 11 year old that calls him dad. That doesn’t change him; however, he still wants me, the passion and deviance he affectionately refers to as, Kid. My name has never changed, not since the first time we made love, I am and forever will be “The Kid.” I love my nickname, it’s like a guarantee that no matter what he does or where ever he goes the word “kid” takes him back. Back to my arms in his amazing bed, where I lay naked craving him to make love to me once again before he walks out the door for an indefinite amount of time.
Some days I want to call Mr. Gold, tell him about the crazy nights I had with Hal (and a few of his other friends he knows nothing about,) just for the sheer fact I want to own him. I want to own his memories of me. No longer do I want him to think of me in an amazing sexual light, but instead I want him to hate me with a vengeance that is unfathomable to most. I want him to hate me, the same way I hate him for his years of making me the other woman, the happy family life he has now and the future we will never have together. Until that day comes, when I finally become so cold that I break the remaining pieces of his heart by telling him all of the naughty things I did to his friends, I imagine the life we’ll never have together, and then I pick up the phone and call Hal for one more good fuck.
Until again-
R
The first night I spent alone with him at his house we laid on the couch in front of a fireplace while the harsh winter brewed outside. We drank a bottle of wine, smoked a joint watched sports center and discussed my life. I’ll never forget the first touch of his hands to my face, they were the softest fingers I’d ever felt caress my body. The magic of his touch to my constantly desiring body made me tremble with desire, fear and curiosity. Even his house turned me on to a point that is unexplainable, this magnificently gorgeous home with the most expensive furniture and art I had ever seen seemed like a refuge from the life I lived as a struggling college student.
I remember the first time he held my hand and walked me down the hall to his master suite, an enormous king size sleigh bed that cost more than my car sat in the middle of the room taunting me. So many emotions and thoughts ran through my head, mostly how did I get myself to this point and how was I going to get myself out of it. Nothing about him personally scared me, just the thought of what I was about to do. He gently picked me up and laid me across his bed as he slowly unbuttoned my shirt and pants, skillfully he removed my clothing. Before I even realized, I was laying under his scrutinizing eyes, my thin, lace panties the only thing separating my body from his entire consumption. Everything he did to me that night with his mouth are far beyond words, I had never experienced so much skill, passion and grace from someone else’s tongue on my naive body. I had been with many men but this was something I was so unprepared for. The first moment his mouth touched me, I knew my desires and sexual passion would never be the same. He made me scream and quiver at the same time, I finally understood the passion of an older man, his experience made my multiple desires and past indiscretions seem like child-play.
This went on for a year, he moved a few hours away and every weekend he was home at his new condo in a foreign city, I was there by his side, on my back. We’d spend the entire weekend in his million dollar loft, ordering in food, drinking Goose on the rocks, smoking the best herb I had ever tasted in my life and having hot, unrestrained sex for hours on end. He’d wake in the morning to play tennis while I stayed hibernating in his sanctuary doing drugs and drinking, waiting for that moment when he’d walk back in the door and carry me to bed. This life I came to love. It did not matter that I knew he had other women there when I was gone. The little signs of their presence I’d push to the back of my mind, women’s conditioner and shampoo in the shower, an extra toothbrush in the bathroom and her cigarettes in the ashtray on the veranda. I knew who she was, I’d met her a few times before we began our affair. He had brought her in to the bar while I was working, I didn’t dislike her. She was a few years older than me, gorgeous, a professional woman who wasn't too unlike myself.
The sexiest part of his new loft was the bathroom, he had an amazing shower with a glass block wall that was visible from the rest of the house, when a spectator was in the living room or bedroom you could watch through the wall and see an erotic display. When I showered I disregarded the other woman’s personal items and concentrated on being a sexy woman, washing every inch of my body with passion and erotic desire. I’d come out of the bathroom in my towel, stand in front of the bed and purposely drop the towel in such a way that made him immediately hard. Although he knew his way around every crevice of my body with his tongue, I would use my youth, vitality and flexibility to do things to him that I knew no one else did. This was my way of making sure that I owned a part of him that she would never.
On the few weekends he returned home to where we first met, he would stay at a friend’s condo. This friend of his, Hal, knew about our relationship and respected our privacy. I would come over late at night after an evening of mixing drinks and flirting shamelessly with his friends. On the occasion he would come to the bar to drink with friends, we would steal away into an abandoned hallway, room or closet and ferociously kiss, ever so often he wound unbutton my pants or top rub his soft fingers over any part of my body he could, then disappear back to the bar. I’d continue to work and constantly catch his eyes staring at my ass or down my top as I waited on him and all of his married friends, only one of them, aside from the two of us, knowing of our scandalous relationship. On the nights he stayed with Hal, they would be beyond drunk and high when I arrived. I would spend the first thirty minutes trying to catch up to their level of intoxication and the next two hours talking and flirting with the both of them. On occasion other men would come by, those lucky few discovered this special relationship that Mr. Gold and I shared and they often were quite vocal in their jealousy and curiosity. Most of these men saw me on a daily basis, I’d waited on them and their wives, served them beer after an exhausting match with their fellow scandalous married friends, and listen to their marital woes while they stared at my breasts. But in my mind Mr. Gold is all I thought about. Oh, the nickname you wonder? Mr. Gold was just that, he was golden to me, something so precious I knew I would never know every ounce of him and it didn’t hurt that he was a gold trader. He worked in jewelry by profession, but this was something I never abused. I didn’t want tokens of his love through pieces of his work. That was too demeaning in my eyes. Just knowing I had a part of his heart and cock satisfied me to the point of ecstasy.
Hal was another story, a part of me often felt bad for him. He was the kind of man that you knew enjoyed his fair share of internet porn, yet seemed like a normal self-sufficient single man. At night when Mr. Gold and I would shut the door and give in to our many erotic desires I knew Hal was in the other room listening. I could see it in his eyes, he envisioned me naked and being his toy every time I walked into a room. I enjoyed this…maybe a little too much in fact. I truly enjoyed conversing with Hal, having someone to talk to who knew both Mr. Gold and me both, on personal, almost embarrassing levels. He’d keep me company as I would wind down from hours at work, even after my lover had gone to bed, we’d talk about my life, my work, my schooling; he’d come down to the level of a 21 year old co-ed just to be in my world. So I guess it’s no surprise that one day, down the road I’d have wild, amazing perverse and erotic sex with Hal. It took some time but after Mr. Gold relocated once again, this time 2,000 miles away, Hal and I made Mr. Gold’s worst nightmares a fantasy for the two of us.
These memories came flooding back to me this weekend when I received a text from Mr. Gold. Every so often, he will send me a message, more often than not centered around sex and every time motivated by his best friend, alcohol. Mr. Gold now lives three time zones away, is in a committed relationship and sidles up to an 11 year old that calls him dad. That doesn’t change him; however, he still wants me, the passion and deviance he affectionately refers to as, Kid. My name has never changed, not since the first time we made love, I am and forever will be “The Kid.” I love my nickname, it’s like a guarantee that no matter what he does or where ever he goes the word “kid” takes him back. Back to my arms in his amazing bed, where I lay naked craving him to make love to me once again before he walks out the door for an indefinite amount of time.
Some days I want to call Mr. Gold, tell him about the crazy nights I had with Hal (and a few of his other friends he knows nothing about,) just for the sheer fact I want to own him. I want to own his memories of me. No longer do I want him to think of me in an amazing sexual light, but instead I want him to hate me with a vengeance that is unfathomable to most. I want him to hate me, the same way I hate him for his years of making me the other woman, the happy family life he has now and the future we will never have together. Until that day comes, when I finally become so cold that I break the remaining pieces of his heart by telling him all of the naughty things I did to his friends, I imagine the life we’ll never have together, and then I pick up the phone and call Hal for one more good fuck.
Until again-
R
12.04.2009
My first blog, the first step on a path of self discovery
So after many hours of deliberation, bottles of wine, explicit experiences and talks with friends…I’ve decided to blog. How did this ever come about? A single person, singing like a lark about their personal life to the world. I mean, www or world wide web… it’s everyone right? Everyone in the world can read your thoughts, transcribed to words if you choose to allow them. So be it. Hence, I remain anonymous, for the sanctity of my family, friends and job.
I’m your typical girl next door that you've always wondered about. 12 years of grade school with mediocre grades, four and a half years of drinking, studying and living the dream at a well known, reputable state school and an endless number of meaningless jobs…all leading up to this life I call mine. Oh did I mention late 20's and single? :)
I’ve always been an author, I write my life. Teens today text, people my age wrote notes; it was an interesting experience. You wrote all your thoughts, plans and true loves down on ruled note book paper, folded it up (I knew some pretty cool folds) and placed them in the hands of a neighboring student to be passed to the intended recipient. In middle school we discussed clothes, music, boys, television… In high school we discussed clothes, boys, drinking and parties… In college, shit, we finally had instant messenger. Now we have texting, facebooking, myspace, twitter and blogging (as I’m writing on my 2004 mac, I just had to add 4 of the 5 past words to my spell-check dictionary.) It’s kind of scary right? Your emotions are so visible to the world, just lose your password or send to the wrong person and you can kiss your privacy good-bye.
I recently found a diary I kept my freshman year of college, a detailed account of parties, sex, drinking, sex, friendships, sex and the first time I thought I fell in love. Reading it now makes me blush, it’s been 7 years since my first entry and the second I see the words, all those intense emotions come flooding back like the waters after Katrina. I drown every time I remember.
So what is my blog going to be about? Sports? No… Politics? No… Fine cuisine? Negative… Although I love all of the above, this will be about me, purely narcissistic, self-indulgent and uniquely, elegantly, perverse. Only one person in my life will know this exists and she will be appear ever-so-often as she knows all my deepest secrets. Her name is Holly Wood and she is my life partner, no, not my lesbian lover (although maybe I’ll discuss that coke induced evening at some time) she is my best friend and platonic soul mate. Yet in 10 years if neither is married, we’re both going to become lovers of pussy, adopt half-black, half-asian children (as gorgeous as the famed Tiger Woods) and live the rest of our lives together in the mid-west happy and dykey. (Please no hate from the GLBT community, we love and respect you and mean no disrespect, in fact Holly is bi and I might as well be.)
Speaking of the famed Tiger Woods, I believe my first entry of my blog will be about this current scandal rocking the nation. I hold a pure hatred for infidelity. Unacceptable, the ruining factor for millions of lives and a horrible fact of life and history which only exists because certain people of the world believe that they are better than others. I am not saying I have always thought this way, as I my self was once the “Other woman.” However, I have since seen the light and will never again hurt an innocent, unknown person in a way that only brings self-pity, meaningless sex and self-hatred right to my front door. Sorry, I’ve begun to drive off onto a tangent…the first of many.
Back to Tiger. I feel pity for Elin Woods and their two beautiful children, it is a selfish and pitiful act to cheat on your family. I say family because when a family person strays from their marriage, they are not only cheating on their spouse, but also their children, their in-laws, their friends and themselves. HOWEVER, any woman who willingly marries a professional athlete loses most of the sympathy I would give Mrs. John Doe. An athlete plays a game for a profession, they play against others for a prize, they play a sport, they play for competition, no matter what they are doing… they play. They are players by nature, raised to compete for what they desire most, a championship ring, a trophy the size of a midget, a green jacket or even any person they desire. Care to argue? There are always exceptions to every rule and although you don’t have to be a professional athlete to cheat, your chances of doing so are far beyond those of the man next door. I won’t pretend that only athletes cheat, I’ve been cheated on by the biggest loser I ever dated, and he was purely blue collar. Men (and women) every where cheat, but give a man an interview on ESPN and a weekly pay check that rivals my yearly salary and your chances of getting laid outside of marriage skyrockets. How do I know…
Been there done that. I’ve been around these men. NBA players, NFL players, collegiate athletes, Indy car drivers, professional golfers, many of which I’ve slept with. I’m not bragging, as in fact I am ashamed. It takes a certain type of woman to gravitate towards these men, ones who desire a famed life, crave jealousy, or even simply just love sex. These women, jersey chasers as they are often called are a unique breed of women. Often characterized by their beauty, lavish lifestyles and their distinct ability to attract men that 99% of women will never have a chance of even meeting. These women have a desire to be something or someone special even if it’s just a glamorized whore.
I am that woman. I’d like to say I’m reformed because I’ve grown morally and emotionally however in all honesty it’s because I’m no longer a spring chicken and have lost my luster. But once upon a time a beautiful princess lived a life she desired, was loved by many, partied with lesser known local celebrities and would watch ESPN while secretly thinking how the basketball player on tv ate her pussy raw the night before.
I didn’t sleep with only the famed and fortunate, I’ve had crazy encounters with many men and a handful of women that are your everyday co-workers, friends, ex’s and even mothers. It’s somewhat embarrassing, a slight bit thrilling and vastly unique this life I’ve lived. My life motto, I’ll never regret what I’ve done I’ll just learn from my mistakes and keep on living.
I sign off now, my initial adventure into this blogging world with a vast array of stories, adventures, heart breaks and trauma.
I’m your typical girl next door that you've always wondered about. 12 years of grade school with mediocre grades, four and a half years of drinking, studying and living the dream at a well known, reputable state school and an endless number of meaningless jobs…all leading up to this life I call mine. Oh did I mention late 20's and single? :)
I’ve always been an author, I write my life. Teens today text, people my age wrote notes; it was an interesting experience. You wrote all your thoughts, plans and true loves down on ruled note book paper, folded it up (I knew some pretty cool folds) and placed them in the hands of a neighboring student to be passed to the intended recipient. In middle school we discussed clothes, music, boys, television… In high school we discussed clothes, boys, drinking and parties… In college, shit, we finally had instant messenger. Now we have texting, facebooking, myspace, twitter and blogging (as I’m writing on my 2004 mac, I just had to add 4 of the 5 past words to my spell-check dictionary.) It’s kind of scary right? Your emotions are so visible to the world, just lose your password or send to the wrong person and you can kiss your privacy good-bye.
I recently found a diary I kept my freshman year of college, a detailed account of parties, sex, drinking, sex, friendships, sex and the first time I thought I fell in love. Reading it now makes me blush, it’s been 7 years since my first entry and the second I see the words, all those intense emotions come flooding back like the waters after Katrina. I drown every time I remember.
So what is my blog going to be about? Sports? No… Politics? No… Fine cuisine? Negative… Although I love all of the above, this will be about me, purely narcissistic, self-indulgent and uniquely, elegantly, perverse. Only one person in my life will know this exists and she will be appear ever-so-often as she knows all my deepest secrets. Her name is Holly Wood and she is my life partner, no, not my lesbian lover (although maybe I’ll discuss that coke induced evening at some time) she is my best friend and platonic soul mate. Yet in 10 years if neither is married, we’re both going to become lovers of pussy, adopt half-black, half-asian children (as gorgeous as the famed Tiger Woods) and live the rest of our lives together in the mid-west happy and dykey. (Please no hate from the GLBT community, we love and respect you and mean no disrespect, in fact Holly is bi and I might as well be.)
Speaking of the famed Tiger Woods, I believe my first entry of my blog will be about this current scandal rocking the nation. I hold a pure hatred for infidelity. Unacceptable, the ruining factor for millions of lives and a horrible fact of life and history which only exists because certain people of the world believe that they are better than others. I am not saying I have always thought this way, as I my self was once the “Other woman.” However, I have since seen the light and will never again hurt an innocent, unknown person in a way that only brings self-pity, meaningless sex and self-hatred right to my front door. Sorry, I’ve begun to drive off onto a tangent…the first of many.
Back to Tiger. I feel pity for Elin Woods and their two beautiful children, it is a selfish and pitiful act to cheat on your family. I say family because when a family person strays from their marriage, they are not only cheating on their spouse, but also their children, their in-laws, their friends and themselves. HOWEVER, any woman who willingly marries a professional athlete loses most of the sympathy I would give Mrs. John Doe. An athlete plays a game for a profession, they play against others for a prize, they play a sport, they play for competition, no matter what they are doing… they play. They are players by nature, raised to compete for what they desire most, a championship ring, a trophy the size of a midget, a green jacket or even any person they desire. Care to argue? There are always exceptions to every rule and although you don’t have to be a professional athlete to cheat, your chances of doing so are far beyond those of the man next door. I won’t pretend that only athletes cheat, I’ve been cheated on by the biggest loser I ever dated, and he was purely blue collar. Men (and women) every where cheat, but give a man an interview on ESPN and a weekly pay check that rivals my yearly salary and your chances of getting laid outside of marriage skyrockets. How do I know…
Been there done that. I’ve been around these men. NBA players, NFL players, collegiate athletes, Indy car drivers, professional golfers, many of which I’ve slept with. I’m not bragging, as in fact I am ashamed. It takes a certain type of woman to gravitate towards these men, ones who desire a famed life, crave jealousy, or even simply just love sex. These women, jersey chasers as they are often called are a unique breed of women. Often characterized by their beauty, lavish lifestyles and their distinct ability to attract men that 99% of women will never have a chance of even meeting. These women have a desire to be something or someone special even if it’s just a glamorized whore.
I am that woman. I’d like to say I’m reformed because I’ve grown morally and emotionally however in all honesty it’s because I’m no longer a spring chicken and have lost my luster. But once upon a time a beautiful princess lived a life she desired, was loved by many, partied with lesser known local celebrities and would watch ESPN while secretly thinking how the basketball player on tv ate her pussy raw the night before.
I didn’t sleep with only the famed and fortunate, I’ve had crazy encounters with many men and a handful of women that are your everyday co-workers, friends, ex’s and even mothers. It’s somewhat embarrassing, a slight bit thrilling and vastly unique this life I’ve lived. My life motto, I’ll never regret what I’ve done I’ll just learn from my mistakes and keep on living.
I sign off now, my initial adventure into this blogging world with a vast array of stories, adventures, heart breaks and trauma.
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