I love shopping. I know, it’s such a girly thing to admit to. But I really see my shopping as a way to fulfill my primal, carnivorous need to hunt. I rarely go shopping with reckless abandon. I usually have a purpose. Like, to find the perfect pencil skirt. I love pencil skirts because they show off my ass. But I prefer cotton, stretchy ones rather than the polyester zip up ones. The cotton pencil skirts are just way more comfortable. They are like the sweat pants of skirts even though everyone thinks you look snazzy.
It’s harder to find cotton pencil skirts that are not overpriced (hint, hint American Apparel). So I’m always on the hunt and I won’t stop until I get what I want. I feel like a mountain man hunting for a bear. And if I catch a rabbit, or a blouse, along the way, that’s just an added bonus.
My animalistic shopping rarely leaves me with buyer’s remorse. This discerning habit does not transfer over to my sexual life though. As usual, I think with my dick, and will sleep with almost anything that shows interest. Well, maybe not anything, but sometimes it feels like that. Which leads me to my current predicament.
I started dating a guy recently–hold the applause—and at first I was pretty happy. My orgasms have been pretty intense, to the point of female ejaculation (its real folks). He likes to give massages and is really big on foreplay and oral sex. This guy opens my car door every time. You’d think I’d hit the jackpot! Well, you’d be wrong.
This particular guy has a thing for talking way too much in general, and specifically about girls he’s slept with or is currently interested in sleeping with. I think its super rude to talk about the details of another person you are currently seeing and/or sleeping with. I don’t want to know this girl has a thing for comic books and likes to be rimmed. I just want to make sure you don’t give me an STI.
So when we were talking on the phone he brought up the fact that he was talking to a girl and apparently the tone of my voice changed. I didn’t say anything because we hadn’t had the conversation about our boundaries. And then I continued not to say anything because I really wanted to test my jealousy level. A risky experiment, I know. But I’m really working on living a polyamorous lifestyle and jealousy has little room when it comes to that. So I admit, that’s my bad.
The next night this guy comes over. And the foreplay lasts for hours. I get super worked up. My vagina emits the message “Fuck me! Fuck me” for a good hour, to the point where my vagina puppeteers my mouth and I tell the guy “FUCK ME.” So he throws on a condom and we get started.
I have no control over myself. This delayed gratification makes me super fucking horny. My brain is completely clouded. I’m not thinking about anything other than OMG I MUST HAVE MORE. This is the point where this guy decides to have a conversation about our relationship.
He brings up how he could tell I wasn’t pleased that he brought up another girl. How he thinks I don’t like to share my guys. He asks me if I do. I’m thinking, shut the fuck up and fuck me. So I tell him what I think he wants to hear. No, I don’t like to share. And then he’s like, well you don’t have to worry. I won’t see anyone else if you don’t want to. I was like, yeah, sure whatever. Just make me come.
Next thing I know I’m having this crazy ass orgasm where I’m pretty sure I blacked out and had an out of body experience. My agnostic nature momentarily changed and I praised Jesus, Mohammed and Buddha.
Then I come down off this high and it hits me. What the fuck just happened? I’ve known this guy for a week and somehow I got roped into being exclusive. Horse shit.
I tried to rationalize everything. No, I don’t really like to share. But I don’t think I want to have a completely monogamous relationship. Although I’d really like to not be poly when I first start seriously dating a person. Seriously being the key word. This guy, I don’t even know him. We aren’t at the serious dating phase. I didn’t even know this guy’s last name. Horse shit times two.
I decided to go with it. He didn’t seem so bad. Obviously very chivalrous. But then he kept talking. And talking. And talking. About things I could care less about. He’d bring up a topic and I’d be like, yeah, I don’t care about that. And he’d still talk about it. And this whole exclusivity thing hasn’t even stopped him from talking about the girls he’s not fucking, but is still talking to.
And when he came over the other night, I still had a fantastic orgasm. Well, three fantastic orgasms. But then he tried to talk me in to having a threesome with another girl while we were having sex. After I told him I’d never to that. I don’t have sex with girls to have sex with guys. I have sex with girls to have sex with girls. The passive aggressive, crazy guy light bulb suddenly went off in my brain. Time to cut the cord.
Now I really don’t look forward to getting rid of this guy. Mostly for the orgasms. But it’s my fault for letting myself buy a fucking polyester pencil skirt. At least I’d be able to take the pencil skirt back. But sexual buyer’s remorse doesn’t have a return receipt. Horse shit times three.