Turn Back the Hands of Time

[(Love Will) Turn Back the Hands of Time - Grease 2]

What is this, Blast from the Past Week?

First, Uninhibited Boy called me (I neglected to mention I went to high school with both him and Charming). We all remember how THAT turned out.

THEN, I got a Facebook message from another guy I went to high school with. He always sort of had a thing for me – and every single other girl he ever met. He was the football player “playa” type and “[didn't] measure penis size in inches but decibels of how loud it makes you scream.” He went a little out of character in this message and said, “if you’d like, I’d like to go for a walk and talk. Or sit poolside and do the same. I’ve always wanted to talk to you, just about nothing really.” Hm… I told him I’d see what my schedule was like.

Next (another one?!), I got a Facebook message from a guy I dated briefly two summers ago – a gorgeous Persian model who I never slept with but probably should have. Probably the hottest person I’ve ever kissed. Seriously. Stunning. And we always had great banter, too! I’m really excited to go to dinner with him. It will be nice to at least catch up, if not more…

But just when I thought Blast from the Past Week was over…

Went out with D last night and we were silly tipsy all over town. At 1:30, my phone beeped and I opened my drunken eyes wide enough to see a text from a frat guy I had sex with once last summer. Mind you, that was not just some beer-infused one night stand. I think he genuinely liked me and we’d hung out a few times before the actual sex happened. But with me working and going to school full-time, and him being in a major that allowed for little freedom (people in his field at school are known for sleeping in their academic building), we just couldn’t get together again.

I was surprised to see the text. But also drunk. So, even though I wanted to hang out with him, by the time he was done DDing for his friends, I was already passed out on D’s couch.

OH AND!

On the way to D’s house, we (being incredibly intoxicated) started talking to these guys who we saw walking across the street. All of a sudden, we realized we knew one of them – Douchebag, as D calls him, or Mr. Camaro, as I used to call him. I had met him at a party and we’d made out a few times at various house parties, but in the end, he DID prove himself to be a douchebag and I let it go. Not to mention, I think every one of his friends has hooked up with/has a history with one of my friends, so it’s good not to show up anywhere where they are. Verrrrry strange to run into him.

Hoping no one else appears in my life right now. Five flashbacks are quite enough!

Storm

Every once in a while, Twitter proves to be a really amazing chat tool. I tend to have these really strange but wonderful conversations, especially with Jake of FactsandFriction, Amy of Sex, Chocolate, and Red Lipstick, and Z of PhaedraFallen (and very often, Lilly chimes in!). Z and I got to talking yesterday and came up with a challenge: a fantasy/erotica short in under 1000 words with a theme of a thunderstorm, to be finished by the end of Thursday, July 2nd. We both finished early. ;P! Hers is here and utterly sexy. Two VERY different products from the same prompt! And here’s mine at a close 999 words! (BTW, based on THE Ex… purely fantasy though certainly derived from reality! Also, I went through a tug of war with myself to get a good title for this. I ended up going with a song that has no words because it was the only thing that matched the ‘feeling’ of this, Vanessa Mae’s version of the third movement of Vivaldi’s Summer, “Storm”. Listen to it here. Best to listen while you read. ;P)

He was seething. I had tried to make him jealous, dancing with another guy, but pushed it too far. His eyes had narrowed and his fists had clenched; he’d almost punched the innocent pawn. Instead, he’d grabbed my arm firmly and overdramatically pulled me out the back door of the club, despite the pouring rain and imminent lightning. His beloved muscle car was waiting there and he practically shoved me into the hood when he let go of my arm.
I was, for the first time ever, a little scared of him.
“Get in the car,” he growled. I slunk over to the passenger side door and tried to open it.
“It’s locked,” I said softly.
“Fuck, girl.” He tried his door as the rain continued to pound into our hair, clothes, and moods. “I gave you the keys.”
“They’re in my purse,” I said, a little more defiant. “Which you managed to leave inside when you pulled me out here!”
“Go get them,” he demanded. I glared at him, wiping my now drenched bangs out of my eyes.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I spat. I was not the good little Arab girl he wanted. I was a fiery, sexual, independent American woman and I refused to sit quietly by his side as a trophy girlfriend while he chattered with his friends in Arabic. That was why I’d sought out other company that evening – sheer, untranslated boredom. I looked too good not to be on the dance floor with some hottie, and if it wasn’t my self-centered boyfriend, then I would just find someone else. Clearly, he didn’t like that.
He closed his eyes and lifted his head to the sky as if to say, “Allah, why her?!” I perched myself on the wet hood of his car and just scowled, daring him to kick me off. Instead, he came at me, slamming his palms onto the hood, one hand next to each of my hips, almost straddling me. Lightning flashed as if on theatrical cue from him, and my heart jumped into my throat.
“Were you trying to make me jealous on purpose?” he snarled.
Looking him dead in the eye, ignoring the quickening beat in my chest, I smiled a little too sweetly. “Yes.”
He grabbed my wet hair in one hand and pulled my head at his, forcing me into a kiss. I tried to push him away, but he kept me in my place with muscled arms. Accepting the futility of slipping away, I clenched my hands in the folds of his soaking shirt, pulling him close. I fought back with my lips, trying to drown him in lust and storm.
The kiss was fierce and the hot summer rain had made it impossible not to feel his stiffening cock underneath the second skin of wet clothing. But when his knee crept up the hood of the car, underneath my clinging skirt, and against my panties, I knew there was no way he thought the rain had made me that wet right there.
Thunder cracked fittingly as he pushed me down, hard, onto his car. “I can’t believe you, little slut,” he said menacingly, licking the rain off my neck before nipping at it. He grabbed at my breasts, pushing my shirt and bra down to tease my nipples with his tongue. The rain on my bare breasts was too much, and I was unnerved – and aroused – by the exposure. I reached to push his hands away, but he caught my wrists and pinned them above my head. I whimpered. He laughed quietly. “You’re mine.”
He shifted his knee so that it was pressing tight into all the right places. I felt helpless, sopping wet and held down against the metal of his car, my body betraying me to grind into him and beg pleasure from his taking hands. I shifted my hips back and forth, trying to rub my clit to orgasm on his knee. He stopped teasing my nipples to watch me writhe underneath him.
“Turn over,” he barked. “Yalla!“ which, like that, meant ‘now!‘ I did his bidding, flipping over with my breasts pressed flat against the hood, his hand pressed flat on my back to hold me down. I felt my skirt flipped up. “Girl, I love your ass,” he said, before smacking it. The noise was loud, intensified by the wetness from the weather.
“You won’t do anything. You’re Muslim. You don’t have sex.”
“No,” he agreed, before pushing aside the fabric of my panties and slamming two fingers inside of me. “But I can do that.” I moaned inadvertently as he crudely thrust his fingers in and out of me. It was torturous – he refused to pick fast or slow and I had no idea how he was going to attack next. The rain fell harder and I became conversely wetter with it, rivers down my thighs. The hand that wasn’t in my pussy was suddenly tangled in my hair, tugging me like a puppet up to his waiting lips. The sensations were too much, my back arched to meet his mouth and his fingers roughly fucking my pussy. I felt myself on the verge of cumming and a pathetic “please” escaped me. He stopped and straightened.
“Please what?”
I bit my lip, shaking from the near climax and at the same time, dreading giving in to his dominance.
“Please what?” he challenged again.
I couldn’t bring myself to do it, to give in and beg him for pleasure. He slid his fingers from me and pulled my skirt back down to cover my ass. When he stepped away, I collapsed, weak-kneed and frustrated, onto the puddling asphalt. My clit throbbed, screaming at me to lose my dignity and plead with him to come back and finish, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Go inside and dry off,” he ordered, reminding me I lost anyway. “You’re too wet to get in the car. Yalla.”

And I Can Feel Your High Touching Me Inside

[Flying High - Jem]

I am so pleased to introduce a new ‘character’ – Performer. If you follow my Twitter or remember my drunk post (haha), you may not be surprised. But if not, hey, hey! Here’s an intro: He’s a gorgeous guy, a ridiculous amount of fun, and really, really good in bed (as I found out very early this morning since we didn’t get back to his place from the party until it was already light out!). I met him a few nights ago (a friend of a friend’s friend, hah!) and it was just a great night. Saw his show on Friday and now I am very pleasantly post-orgasmic this lovely Sunday.

He was such an amazing, giving partner and when he came, it was that “otherworldly, full body, lose control, lasted a near minute and left him twitching even longer” orgasm. I was the same, my legs shaking long after we finished from sheer pleasure and a rockin’ climax.

I guess I have this thing for people who live out of town – makes it easier, maybe? ;P But he is a travelling kind of Performer and so I have no idea when I will see him again. I’m a little sad because we had a chemistry together that is so different from what I have with the Engineer – not better, not worse, just really different. But I am so content about the evening and morning I had that I can’t really be upset. It was one of those nights that is really pleasant to just hold in your memory.

Sexy snippets to follow when I feel like writing something dirrrty!

Just Can’t Get You Out of My Head

[Can't Get You Out of My Head - Kylie Minogue]

I am a little pissed, and that means this may just come across as a rant and not as a post with very much content, but I just need to write about this.

I found out recently that the Russian’s current girlfriend has forbade him from talking to me.

At first, I thought, “This is crazy girlfriend behavior! This is the behavior that girls with psycho eyes have. These fucking controlling rules, the paranoid jealousy… It’s absolutely NOT necessary.”

However, I will concede some truths and justifications, though, and wonder perhaps if I would do the same thing in this situation. Having never been in this situation… I don’t know.

Though the Russian and I live in different states, we have, since my freshman year of college when we met on a trip overseas, maintained a fairly sexual/romantic phone manner together. In fact, for the first year I knew him, we talked at least once a week, and during some times, every day. I missed him terribly, I wanted him back in my life like the ten days we’d had on that trip.

Of course, we continued to date other people in our respective states. I met THE Ex, I ran around with the Middle Eastern crowd, I had an Artist, I had a Firefighter…

And he had HER.

SHE has my same, very uncommon name. SHE has been head over heels in love with the Russian since before I met him. SHE has been described as crazy, clingy, obsessive… I didn’t care! She wasn’t a threat to me, after all, since I couldn’t have him for real anyway.

Then I had a chance to visit my darling Russian. I found out he’d been seeing her seriously (though it started long after he and I first met and developed our wild passion for one another), but he assured me that they were on the outs, he just couldn’t break up with her at the moment (and if that was a lie… it still made a lot of sense. I realize writing those words that they may have just been excuses, but you do have to realize he and I talked weekly (if not more), and I got a sense of how things were. She was pulling stuff at the time that was unhealthy, but left him little options to break it off).

So we had sex when I visited and I felt little remorse about being the other woman. I heard snippets of their phone conversations and knew how wrong she was for the Russian just from her ranting and raving at him.

But, um, they’re still together. And whether she knows what happened or not (I’m assuming she snooped and guessed, because I know my Russian and he’s not the “come clean” type, as sketchy as that sounds), the Russian is “not allowed” to talk to me. He has de-friended me on Facebook and doesn’t answer my calls or texts. He ’snuck’ me one message saying he missed me and briefing me on this new rule.

This wouldn’t bother me if he and I just a romantic relationship, or if we even just had a sexual relationship! But the past three years, he and I developed a very, very close friendship. Yes, there will always be chemistry between us, but would I ever do anything if he was in a happy relationship? Absolutely not. Listening to him vent about her leading up to my visit cemented my feelings about how wrong she is for him.

I know I sound jealous, I know I’m only getting the one side of the story that he wants me to hear, but I feel so slighted. I just miss hearing his indecipherable accent and I miss his light-hearted attitude. And I think if their relationship was solid, she wouldn’t need to make these rules to corral him in. Damn, damn, damn.

I’m sorry. I know this situation can be looked at from a lot of sides, including hers and how horrible she must feel if she knows about him and I. But I can’t help missing the friend that I had in him and I wish he would stand up to her and say, “Hey, babe, I love you, you can trust me, the Coquitten isn’t a threat because I’ve chosen to stay with you!” Because honestly? I’m not going to travel to see him any time within the next two years and I don’t do long distance, and he and I are okay with that.

Grrrr. I’m done being nonsensically angry for a while (need to write this stupid essay, anyway).

Come On Home, Turn Me On – Part Two, 5-1

[The continuation of my Top Ten Turn Ons! Part One Here]

5. Words – This could move up to number one if I’m in the right mood. Words are my line of study and I try to surround myself with them as often as possible. The number of books I own has grown exponentially since my last bookshelf purge, and that includes three or four erotica short story collections. Literary erotica gets me so much pleasure, and if I’m feeling aroused and by myself, I like to immerse myself in it. I also think that an important aspect of flirting in this age of technology is TEXTING. I don’t mean “lol u r sxxxy” but “I’m sitting in class and I can’t stop thinking about the way you fucked me last night…” or “I’m so wet right now, it’s hard to concentrate on my work. ;P” I even like “Fuck me. Hard. Tonight.” All kinds of sexting is at your fingertips (literally), and I think it’s a great foreplay for foreplay. It’s a great way to communicate your desires to fuckbuddies and hook-ups without getting involved with shit like phone conversation or dating. I think it’s safe to say that any man or woman who can use words properly can be sexy with dirty talk (something I’m still working on myself, though), dirty texts, and dirty literature.

4. Music – You may not have noticed, but every single one of my titles is based on the lyrics of a song (except the HNT posts). Music is… passion. Music fuels so much of my life. Before being a creative writing major, I was a vocal performance major. I acted and sang in musical theatre in high school, I played violin from the tender age of five to the sullen age of fourteen, and music theory used to be one of my geeky joys (though I’ve forgotten most of it now). Imagine how bewildered and ecstatic I was when I realized the effect music had on me sexually! I know the exact moment, too. I was lying in bed, listening to “Palladio” by Karl Jenkins (the “diamonds” song – you can listen to a rockin’ version of it here while watching the very sexy eScala). I pictured myself as a grown woman, performing this song with my lover in the audience. The scene switched back and forth between the intensity of a soloist’s concentration, beads of sweat forming on her brow, and her romantic tryst after the concert as her lover pulled her upstairs to their dark New York loft and slammed her down on the bed, wild with lust after seeing her perform. The piece is a constant back-and-forth between the string instruments and my mind wandered back and forth from the concert hall to the narrow, sinful staircase. That did it – after that, every song had a story behind it. Classical music, especially, but then I melted into everything – jazz, big band, cabaret, musicals, and then I discovered club music, hip-hop, some rap, reggaton, salsa… I made playlists anticipating having sex to them – “I Lust You”, “seXXXy”, “Take Me”, “Tease”. I’ve never actually had sex to any of my playlists, though. It’s sort of a shame. But get me in a room with a low, dark beat and a sultry, sexy voice crooning some kind of taboo intimacy, and I have to grind against you until we both can’t take it.

If only I had an iPod…! I would love to combine music and sex with this or this.

[I have a longer post on music coming up... just getting my thoughts together about it!]

3. Intelligence – After the Engineer, I realized just how important intelligence was to me. It’s not just about your math skills, but let’s be honest, stupid people aren’t attractive. My High School Boyfriend was not the brightest and it ended up being part of our downfall as a couple (that, and the fact that I wanted sex a helluva lot more than he did).

Gotta’ face it, kiddos, you can’t have witty banter without wit. And half of flirting, in my opinion, is witty banter! Coyly throwing challenges at your opponent and weaving in subtle innuendo is another foreplay to foreplay (just like sexting!). But if I meet a guy in a bar, he’s cute, and all he can say is, “Duh, wanna’ go home with me?”, then it is NOT going to happen. And by meet a guy in a bar, I mean, you know, after my 21st birthday on Monday. ;P

2. High Heels/Stilettos – God… yes… As creepy as it was, I have to give Rocket Scientist credit for his appreciation of heels. I own at least twenty pairs of shoes, more than half of which are heels. I have black stilettos, dark red pumps, silver heels, black kitten heels (which are not my favorite pair because of how short they are, but I do love the word ‘kitten’!)… The ones I like best are my ‘Schoolgirl Heels’ – gray and black plaid with a sweet silver buckle (it just so happens they match my so-short-it’s-unfit-for-public-outings schoolgirl skirt, too).

I like girls who wear sexy heels. I like girls who wear stiletto-ed boots. I like the way a heel shapes my calves and makes my ass taut, pushed out, and pouty. I like leaving my heels on, especially with thigh highs and a garter belt. I don’t have the money to have a shoe fetish like Carrie Bradshaw, but I do have the desire for it. If I can help it, I never wear flats. School and work keep me in slip ons and sneakers, but for any other situation, I WILL ‘click-click-click’ down the hallway in heels.

And the number one turn-on for your sex-loving Coquitten…

1. ROUGH LOVERS – He slammed her up against the wall, pulling her head back by her hair so that his lips could smother hers. His other hand pinned her wrists above her head with sheer brute force, and she would have fought harder to free them, except that his knee shoved under her skirt and between her thighs was making her weak as it rubbed mercilessly against her soaked panties…

Okay, it’s not my best work of fiction, and it’s a little cliche, but give it to me like that I will dissolve into a puddle of cum. I want to be slammed and pressed and forced and twisted. I want to be tied up and taken advantage of, kissed hard, and fucked harder. Being roughed up makes me moan and I like that spank, that bite, that hair pull…

I don’t want a BDSM relationship. That lifestyle is not for me – even isolated just to the bedroom. And yes! I like to be the dominant one every once in a while! I don’t like to bleed, or bruise (at least… not anywhere visible ;P), and I definitely wouldn’t trust someone to play these desires out to the max unless I really knew them.

But I like to be taken, not coaxed, and seduction is better if your heart is racing. Being told what to do is a fantasy of mine that no one has really grabbed hold of and accomplished yet. I love the idea of teasing someone until they can’t handle it and subsequently losing control of the situation. Cocksucker! I don’t wanna’ fucking make love! I wanna get FUCKED by you!

Come On Home, Turn Me On – Part One, 10-6

[Turn Me On - Norah Jones]

Getting ready for bed last night, I swept my hair into a high ponytail (think of the title character from “I Dream of Jeanie”), and I realized I found that high ponytail really, really sexy. I like to look at girls who have their hair pulled back high and tight, either in buns like ballet dancers, up and loose to keep their neck cool while they work out, or that genie hairstyle (which practically screams “submission”, by the way). I realized it was kind of an odd thing to find arousing, but there you have it: girls with high ponytails turn me on. Provided the rest of them isn’t decked out super eighties.

So, I thought about making a list of all the things that turn me on. My mind raced and the list was about a mile long before I could even get my hand down my pants. I realized the list would be so long and elastic that to really do my turn-ons justice, I would have to update and re-link to it every single week! Solution? A Top Ten! And high ponytails didn’t even make the cut!

Here you are, 10-6:

10. Rain/Thunderstorms – I think I like to be scared. No, really. I hated thunderstorms when I was a little kid, but my parents (being of the science variety) would sit me down in front of our giant glass window and gently talk me through the phenomena of lightning, thunder, and storms. I didn’t jump any less at the CRACKA-BOOM, but I did get a thrill counting the seconds after lightning struck and anticipating the coming noise.

Somewhere in my pubescent years, I began to fantasize about having sex during a thunderstorm. The sweaty, sticky summer monsoons were perfect fodder for this – it was warm enough to want to be outside in the rain, drenched from head to toe, and it was still dangerous and thrilling enough to see and hear the volley between light and sound. Past boyfriends of mine know I start squirm the moment dark clouds fill the air, aching to be outside, pressed against someone else, and absolutely dripping wet. Needless to say, I’ve spent some summer nights cooped up inside and frustrated beyond belief.

9. Blonds – Here’s a strange one, mostly because I never anticipate liking blonds. My ideal man is medium height, stocky and muscled, the color of cafe-con-leche, and has deep brown curls. But the majority of my boyfriends and lovers have been blond and blue-eyed! My first two boyfriends were tall, skinny blonds, the Russian is a wild-haired, sandy blond, the Firefighter is a stocky, muscled blond, Engineer is blond… Excepting for when I went through my Arab phase (with THE Ex and the couple lovers I had that stemmed from that circle), all my great sexcapades have been with delicious, light-haired men!

I haven’t had any female lovers yet, so I don’t know what the trend will be. I tend to fantasize about brunettes, but the girls I like best have been from my blonde-filled guilty pleasure (The Girls Next Door – Hugh Hefner’s former three girlfriends, Bridget, Holly, and Kendra), and my sapphic dream was a blonde, too.

8. Being Held From Behind – THE Ex used to sidle up behind me, snake his arms around my waist, and press me to him. I don’t know if it was because it was so possessive or if I just liked the intense closeness and way our bodies fit together, but I loved it. Held like this, I would feel him grow hard against the soft curve of my ass, and that felt powerful. At the same time, there was a tantalizing feeling of being powerLESS because he would have such a tight grip on my body from there. I never felt unsafe, mind you, just… dominated. I loved standing like that with him; on his balcony, against his car, wherever.

7. Spanking – I suppose this one could fit into some of my other turn-ons, but I think it warrants its own category. I feel let down if I’m being taken from behind, my ass round and pushed out into the air and it isn’t being spanked. I have a BOOTY and my curved white cheeks like attention. Doggie style feels great for lots of reasons, but it feels better if there’s a red handprint blooming on my skin.

Other times I also love being spanked: Making dinner with someone in the kitchen. A quick, hard slap as Doorman passes me in the server station at work (“Take it,” he barks when I mew a fake protest). Any moment that I have to bend over (provided I have enough balance so I don’t faceplant). Straddled on top of a guy with his cock plunged tight in my pussy. In the shower (water makes it sting a little more and the noise is quite a bit louder). It’s never been done to me, but I’d love to be ‘punished’ as a bad girl and held over someone’s knee (we talked about it, the Firefighter and I, but I think it weirded him out because he was already a father and I was already so much younger than he was). Anytime!

6. Muscle Cars – Guilty. I love fast cars. I love sexy, sleek cars. I know jack shit about engines or models and makes, but I know when it revs with a loud purr and shines from babied care that I like it. THE Ex had a gorgeous car. It was his ‘other’ girlfriend – black and orange, loud and fast. You may not believe me, but I liked cars before that. I collected Hot Wheels and Matchbox Cars and I constructed car models when I was bored on the weekends in high school. But it was THE Ex’s car which absolutely slicked my panties.

When I first met him, I had no idea what his car was like. In fact, it was broken down on the side of the road that night (he fucked up the clutch). I’m throwing that in as my disclaimer that I do NOT judge men by their cars. If I’m attracted, I couldn’t care less. But as a bonus… Mmm… THE Ex took me out one night knowing that I was a sucker for a fast drive. We were broken up at the time, and he wanted to get back together. His strategy worked. We flew down the street, my heart pounding, his eyes constantly flicking in my direction to see my reaction, the speedometer wavering past 120, 130, 140… It only went up to 160, and it fluttered past that for a few seconds before the stretch of straight, unpoliced highway ended and we had to slow down. I felt oversexed before he even touched me. It was amazing.

Camaros, Trans Ams, Mustangs… everything turned my head after that. I’ve calmed down a little bit, but I still look in car windows to see if the driver is as sexy as the machine.

Beginning with 5, the countdown to 1 will follow shortly!

If You Can’t Please Me, I Know Someone Who Can

[Give It To Me Right - Melanie Fiona]

So, Promo Girl has been around the bar a lot lately, flirting with our manager, our customers, and our employees. The more I get to know her, though, the more I like her! She’s a lot of fun, new to town… She came in last night to sing karaoke and we had a LOT of fun trading the microphone back and forth, singing and dancing together, and just flirting up the bar.

The Firefighter showed up, and I threw myself at him again (it’s almost a compulsion now…!), and, of course, got turned down again… But you know what? It ended up okay. I spent the rest of the night battling it out with Promo Girl to get the attention of Super Hot Guy (a.k.a. “Engineer”), and despite her hot body, awesome personality, and drunken body touching, I was the one who ended up with Engineer’s attention and number. He is so sexy, and only in town for a couple more days (though he works for a company which sends him to my city about once  a month), and I really hope I get a chance to see him again.

I think having Engineer flirting with me was a great boon for my self-esteem AND it was good that it happened with Firefighter there. I spent less time making a fool of myself in front of the man I love because I had a man I lust right in front of me. And if I hadn’t had class and homework, I would have liked to hang out with him after work. Not necessarily sex him up right away (I did just meet him), but it would have been nice to get a kiss. With Promo Girl watching us, me having to clean the front of house for the bar, and all my coworkers around, there was no chance for it. There was ALMOST a kiss when our paths crossed going to the bathroom, but I think he wussed out and instead we just had an intense moment occur eye-to-eye.

Oh Lord, the things I would love to do to Engineer… he’s just the right age – not a college man, but younger than the Firefighter. He was an expert flirt, too, which I appreciated. Flirting with your waitress is hard. Sometimes people go too far with awkward comments, sometimes I don’t pick up on the clues at all (I met a man once who told me I had served him a few weeks before, hit on me, and I ignored it… I honestly just hadn’t noticed!). The biggest problem is that, when I’m bartending or serving, I HAVE to flirt. It’s practically in the job description. I have to flirt with old men, young boys, geeks, hotties, obnoxious drunks, shy newbies… So when someone flirts back, it’s not always because they like me, it’s because they ‘get’ the waitress-customer connection.

BUT Engineer kept me coming back to his table, laughing, smiling, joking, and teasing. He remembered my name, but didn’t use it annoyingly to call me over for drinks. He kept me entertained when my other tables were boring (and, by the way, far too drunk to be served anything else). And, for my own secret gleeful triumph, he chose me over hot Promo Girl. ;P I can’t WAIT to see him again and get a kiss and maybe something more…

It’s Getting Hot in Here

My best friend Bear has this theory that the less clothes you wear on a regular basis, the better you look with less clothes on. Does that make sense?

When Bear and I lived together (about a year ago), we spent very little time clothed in our apartment. I would come home to Bear cooking pasta in a thong, Bear with only a laptop covering her bits, Bear watching Queer as Folk and sprawled out naked on the living room floor (we had a ‘couch’ – but it was a tablecloth we spread out on the floor where we wanted a couch to be)…

So I quickly adjusted. I shed my clothes the minute I got home from work. I didn’t wear a towel after my shower. I slept in absolutely nothing. We spent days together at the pool in our bikinis, we wore shorts and sports bras to the grocery store, and one time, we even went to the zoo wearing only sarongs (tied up at our necks, but still, there was nothing underneath).

Now, Bear is a dancer, and she’s got a gorgeous body. It’s muscled in places only dancers are muscled and, despite her burrito addiction, she is proportionally perfect. But besides her dance work-out, there is just something naturally well-formed about her, and I think her theory is true. Because when I lived with her and had a place to be naked as often as possible without worrying about who was going to see me,  I was in the best shape of my life. I was curvy but thin in the right places and I weighed significantly less than I do now.

So my goal is to be naked. As often as possible. It’s hard where I’m currently living, but I can do it at the very least in my own room. I want to be as secure with my body as I was when I used to come home, toss my purse onto the ‘couch’, and hear Bear exclaim, “Coquitten, how the FUCK did you get naked so fast?”

On another note, I drank an entire bottle of wine and told a classmate over Facebook Chat that he was fuckable, and that we should have sex instead of attending class on Tuesday.

I need to get waxed again.

Rosy Cheeks and Ruby Lip

The Rocket Scientist has become an annoyance.

Don’t get me wrong, I did think at first that I wanted him. He is cute, smart, funny… But he has a ridiculous ‘good boy’ vibe that I just can’t twist around to think is sexy. He is certainly NOT a prude and I get the sense he’s done very non-vanilla things before, but I’m just not attracted to him.  I can’t imagine kissing him, let alone fucking him.

The problem is that I know he imagines fucking me. And thinks that it might happen, for that matter. We’ve had a few very open conversations about sex – mind you, they all took place when I was dating the Firefighter. Does this make me ready and willing? Certainly not! We  had talked about sex as if we were talking about any other hobby, what we had done, the logistics… Nothing to imply I wanted him. I’m just an open person about sex!

Why do I think he’s of the impression that I will have sex with him? Well, first of all, he treats me like a booty call already – there is no communication besides Facebook and text message. Every time we talk, he tries (not very) subtle hints to give me the idea he’s horny, without ever saying straight out that he’s horny (which makes it awkward!). What makes it even MORE awkward is  that I have never once given him any innuendo back! I have stuck to friendly flirting, and left the sexual connotations packed away.

So this weekend, when Rocket Scientist stopped by the bar on Saturday, I had stopped by where he was sitting to say hello just to not seem rude. He mentioned my manager had invited him to our weekly company football game. I lamented that the manager was trying to guilt me into playing (I don’t do football.) and was unhappy that the staff meeting had been moved to the football field so as to get more people to play. That’s a work-suck and just one of the many douchey moves the manager has been doing lately, but I’ll hold my tongue about it. I unwittingly told the Rocket Scientist I was thinking about wearing heels just so I could claim footwear as a reason not to play.

This opened Pandora’s Box – his eyes lit up. “I love heels on girls.”

I stupidly kept on, “Oh? I love heels, too! I make any excuse to wear them outside work. If I could find some nonslip ones, I would wear them to work, too!”

“You should get some for work,” he urged. I laughed, a little bit uncomfortbale now. He went on and on about how he loved heels on girls. I excused myself to check on my tables, thinking it was a little weird he was so stuck on the topic. Not that a heel fetish is wrong! I have SO many pairs of shoes and most are bought because they give short, little me a boost about four inches up. And heels make everything – ankles, calves, thighs, ass – look better. THE Ex loved me in heels. I refuse to go out in flats. There’s no reason not to love a girl in heels.

So why did it make me so nervous when the Rocket Scientist wouldn’t shut up about them? Shoes, clothes, and make-up make me gush all kinds of girly-like. I love when people appreciate the effort I take to buy nice pumps and dresses. I couldn’t put my finger on the awkward aspect until a little later (alright, a lot later, about four a.m.), when I got to Dee’s house and had a chance to check my Facebook.

There was a private message from the Rocket Scientist, titled “heels”: ‘heels huh? like I said, I am a big sucker for heels…especially when paired with stockings, or something similar….just to put that out there!’

Just WHAT does he expect me to do? Show up at his house in nothing but shoes and stockings? Wear a garter belt, thigh highs, and stilettos to the bar? Send him fetish photos of my feet slipping in and out of strappy sandals? Like I said, I went to lunch with him, but have otherwise given him NO sexual innuendo to work from.

And for that matter, just when does breeching the topic of asking a potential or current partner to wear something ’special’ become appropriate? Dee and I both agreed his message was bordering on creepy, and I avoided him at the work meeting/football game the next day. I still can’t pinpoint exactly the problem, but I don’t want him around.

Oh, date with Karaoke went alright. Not physically attracted to him, either, but the date was fun. I probably won’t do a second one, though. I’m not looking for anything long-term, so conversation (while a plus) plays second fiddle to physical lust.

I have a six page paper to do by seven p.m. tomorrow. Writing this was a great procrastination technique.

Get Your Head in the Game

While I don’t know exactly how much SEX there’s going to be coming up in my life, I did feel like perhaps now was a good time to get back into blogging. Why?

Well, I’m getting back into dating! It’s really very difficult, actually. The Firefighter still lurks in my thoughts, but I forced myself to get out there and date. I have a date with Karaoke (so named because he’s a bar regular who comes only on karaoke night, and really, he’s a great singer) on Friday, and last Friday I went on a picnic with Rocket Scientist (named because he’s, well, a rocket scientist!).

Rocket Scientist is interesting because I would like to be just physical with him, but sort of wanted to see if he would put forth the effort to take me out. He ended up not having an evening free last week, but instead made us a picnic lunch and we met at a park before I had class. It was a lot of fun, really, but I left wishing I’d been out with a certain ex-boyfriend who I can never  have instead. I don’t know that I felt that physical chemistry between RS and I, but I’m willing to give it another shot since I was a little distracted the first time. Oh, and when he leaned in to kiss me? I inadvertently moved away. Pout! I didn’t mean to…

Karaoke and I are supposed to go to an Ethiopian restaurant tomorrow, which I’m excited about since he took the time to find somewhere interesting to take me. My biggest dating pet peeve is the man picking you up and asking you what you want to do. Hello? You asked me out, show me who you are! Entertain me with something interesting!

So it goes to show that Karaoke is already impressing me. Not to mention he asked me out face-to-face, with a no bullshit approach – “I’ve thought you were absolutely adorable since the moment I met you. Would you like to go to dinner?” No line, nothing sill, no text-message question – the way I always imagined dating would be.

So I’m still a little depressed over the Firefighter, but moving on takes time and new men! I will be sure to update on the date with Karaoke.

Oh – HNT to follow. I have to resize photos. I have ridiculously cliche dirty mirror pictures. Fun.