Thursday, August 28, 2014
Sunday, August 17, 2014
SkypeSexing
SkypeSEXING or SEXskyping Partner
What we do in the privacy of our own home is no one's business but our own and that of our nosy neighbors!
After spending Thanksgiving, my only favorite holiday, in bed, with a swollen left cheek that made me look like Alvin and the chipmunks' red headed stepchild, I took up a virtual sport that I was left in the dark about: SKYPE-SEXING!
I am thinking I have just coined a new term. Although, 'SEXskyping' does offer a sibilant tongue twisting fiesta in articulation parlance. Indeed, I do have a self-aggrandizing view of myself. My sense of humor is what keeps me bravely polishing an entire bottle of red wine every night. My liver needs the exercise.
Armed with a webcam, I found me a forty- year- old youthful virgin. He's had sex before, just never with a dark berry. He would like to take a mini-tour on the wild side but he's been warned by his ancestors, he may never go back. Besides, he knows what happened to Adam when he took a bite of the forbidden fruit. Sidebar- that apple that Eve reportedly seduced Adam with, was actually a pomegranate. Ironically, a pomegranate is at its sweetest when it's at it's darkest. Yes, methinks my SkypeSEXING partner should do well if he never goes there. The tribe should not lose another member.
We swap stories. He is witty, cute, charming, clever, a bit of a misanthrope and a cynic. He won't take his shirt off but his screen name is "Eightpacks-Abe". He looks like a six-packer is a probability which can only mean the "david" is a definite possibility. If you are a woman reading this, can I get a squeal? I know that visual just sent you to "goony-goo-goo-land".
He doesn't ask me to remove anything. He's more curious about...Hair. African Hair? How can I have an afro one day (he's not a fan) and pressed out hair the next? (more to his liking, perhaps it makes me seem softer, less militant, safer or even better, closer to the people from his tribe) Which one is real? Is any of it real? Am I a master of disguise? Why was my hair a lighter shade of brown in an old picture and now it's black and fuller? He's never heard of hair coloring! or maybe that African hair can't be colored, highlighted?
The virtual interrogation is a mood killer, I keep drinking to stave off feeling like all 103 lbs of me is now representative of an entire race known as "African-American". He must know, I did not clear this with them, I was not elected in a democratic manner.
My tribe is from the Carribbean, Haiti by way of Africa, Cuba and France. But somehow, I must represent, defend, protect, answer and educate about....AA Hair.
My SkypeSEXING partner inspires me to rent that documentary by Chris Rock about HAIR. I will surely get the education I need in order to best represent my AA tribe or at least make a good case for myself as to my qualifications for such a task. One more thing to add to the complexities of human relationships! Thanks a lot SKYPE!
EightpacksABE should just take his virtual shirt off when we Skypesex again and show me his darn virtual Davids!
After spending Thanksgiving, my only favorite holiday, in bed, with a swollen left cheek that made me look like Alvin and the chipmunks' red headed stepchild, I took up a virtual sport that I was left in the dark about: SKYPE-SEXING!
I am thinking I have just coined a new term. Although, 'SEXskyping' does offer a sibilant tongue twisting fiesta in articulation parlance. Indeed, I do have a self-aggrandizing view of myself. My sense of humor is what keeps me bravely polishing an entire bottle of red wine every night. My liver needs the exercise.
Armed with a webcam, I found me a forty- year- old youthful virgin. He's had sex before, just never with a dark berry. He would like to take a mini-tour on the wild side but he's been warned by his ancestors, he may never go back. Besides, he knows what happened to Adam when he took a bite of the forbidden fruit. Sidebar- that apple that Eve reportedly seduced Adam with, was actually a pomegranate. Ironically, a pomegranate is at its sweetest when it's at it's darkest. Yes, methinks my SkypeSEXING partner should do well if he never goes there. The tribe should not lose another member.
We swap stories. He is witty, cute, charming, clever, a bit of a misanthrope and a cynic. He won't take his shirt off but his screen name is "Eightpacks-Abe". He looks like a six-packer is a probability which can only mean the "david" is a definite possibility. If you are a woman reading this, can I get a squeal? I know that visual just sent you to "goony-goo-goo-land".
He doesn't ask me to remove anything. He's more curious about...Hair. African Hair? How can I have an afro one day (he's not a fan) and pressed out hair the next? (more to his liking, perhaps it makes me seem softer, less militant, safer or even better, closer to the people from his tribe) Which one is real? Is any of it real? Am I a master of disguise? Why was my hair a lighter shade of brown in an old picture and now it's black and fuller? He's never heard of hair coloring! or maybe that African hair can't be colored, highlighted?
The virtual interrogation is a mood killer, I keep drinking to stave off feeling like all 103 lbs of me is now representative of an entire race known as "African-American". He must know, I did not clear this with them, I was not elected in a democratic manner.
My tribe is from the Carribbean, Haiti by way of Africa, Cuba and France. But somehow, I must represent, defend, protect, answer and educate about....AA Hair.
My SkypeSEXING partner inspires me to rent that documentary by Chris Rock about HAIR. I will surely get the education I need in order to best represent my AA tribe or at least make a good case for myself as to my qualifications for such a task. One more thing to add to the complexities of human relationships! Thanks a lot SKYPE!
EightpacksABE should just take his virtual shirt off when we Skypesex again and show me his darn virtual Davids!
Seduction? Really!
Whipped the little head out! Seriously?
Hard as it is to believe, neither "The Prude" nor "Ms. W", the vixen formerly known as "the Whore" believe in kissing on the first date.
To me, the kiss is so indelibly personal and intimate that when performed gratuitously can be the equivalent of an invasion of space, privacy and dare I say, trust. By the second date, a kiss becomes a prelude to possibilities.
In that spirit, I went on a second date with a certain behind the camera type of industry dude who shall henceforth only be referred as Mr. Average Penis Guy. Yes, you read right.
How does one jump from the possibilities of what a kiss can bring to being forever imbedded in my psyche as "Average penis guy"? Simple, but in the interest of decent storytelling, I must build.
Average Penis Guy and I met for Brunch on a Sunday at The Belmont Restaurant. He lives in "the valley". If you do not live in Los Angeles and plan to move here some day, stay away from "the valley".
His geographical placement alone, should have been my insight into things to come. I'm a Virgo, which means fastidious, crazy- pain in the 'arse' perfectionist. I hate being late because I respect my time. If I am to meet with you and you are late, you obviously do not respect your time. I made it a point to remind Average Penis Guy that he does not live a stones' throw away from civilization and should avoid the 101 freeway and take Laurel Canyon instead.
I text Mr. Average Penis Guy to let him know that the car wash I was going to pre-brunch was literally two blocks south of The Belmont. In true Virgoan form, just as the human car dryer was waving his towel toward my car signaling that it was ready, I sent a quick text toAverage Penis Guy, stating that I was about to get in my car.
"That was fast! got caught up with an email. Be their ASAP!" was his reply.
I am disturbed by this direct affront and rebellion to my due diligence. I am slightly insulted too. I take a deep, deep breath and reply: "That sucks! I will start without you and if I am done before you get there, loose my number!" (Jackass! was the subtext but I thought I'd be polite and hold back some, it is only date number two after all)
"B there in 5", he texts back.
At the Belmont, Justin, my favorite and most charming waitperson greets me, I order a mimosa in honor of one of my favorite saints, 'Saint Sunday' and get preferred outdoor seating.
Average Penis Guy shows up 15 minutes late! He apologizes profusely, and showers me with expected slightly above-average pleasantries. In a passive-aggressive manner I sort of forgive him, but berate and dig at every possible turn. No matter, my mind is made up, no kiss and definitely no third date for Jackass! (Yes, I am doing him a favor! So quit judging!)
Justin, our waitperson, finds a way to both support me in being incensed and showing sympathy for Average Penis Guy. Three mimosas later, we combine cars. I hop in his and off we go to a rooftop poolside bar in a swanky joint in Beverly hills for Sunday afternoon cocktails.
We have growing up in New York City, NYU and our latest topic of the day, my nipples that appear to be in a perpetual state of arousal in common to discuss. I have now switched to vodka ginger berry martinis. He is sticking to white wine chardonnay (another insight into his virility I chose to ignore).
It is now seven in the evening and dinner time. We move our 'party of two' to one of my favorite reliably authentic Italian restaurants, Dominick's. They offer a Sunday night supper there, that makes you want to call the matriarch of your family and thank her for all of the comfort food that made home, a home. I am digressing. I guess I am letting my love for food creep in. We share a bottle of red wine, eggplant parmesan, escarole salad. (We'll agree that red wine is appropriate in this instance)
This date has now entered its eighth hour and should come to an end. To my car he takes me. In his car, parked in the street, we make out. The wrestling of the tongues, not quite in sync but manageable with some practice. I like him and could grow to like him even more in the future, provided he's on time. He asks me if he could come hang out with me in my home.
The term 'hang out' coming out of the mouth of a 39 year old leaves a strange taste in my mouth. I politely decline his self-invite to my 'casa'. My original instinct of no third date is quickly rearing its little head back.
As I prepare to hop out, he unzips his pants and shows me his- you predictably guessed- PENIS!!! My jaw drops as I hear myself exclaim: "THAT is SOOO.... AVERAGE!!!!" He looks at me with a crestfallen stare and mumbles pathetically "average?"
"Dude, are you kidding me with this? WTF did you expect? Am I suppose to squeal with sudden desire, lift up my skirt, shove my thong aside and jump on top of THAT!!! SERIOUSLY??? REALLY!!!"
With that, I urgently grab my jacket from his backseat, open the passenger side door, leap out and state: "Don't you ever call me again!" SLAM!
I am still not sure if I am offended by this bizarre come-on or disappointed by his average penis. I mean, if you are going to use that as a seduction tactic, can it at least be the most amazing looking appendage ever!
Seriously! Really!
To me, the kiss is so indelibly personal and intimate that when performed gratuitously can be the equivalent of an invasion of space, privacy and dare I say, trust. By the second date, a kiss becomes a prelude to possibilities.
In that spirit, I went on a second date with a certain behind the camera type of industry dude who shall henceforth only be referred as Mr. Average Penis Guy. Yes, you read right.
How does one jump from the possibilities of what a kiss can bring to being forever imbedded in my psyche as "Average penis guy"? Simple, but in the interest of decent storytelling, I must build.
Average Penis Guy and I met for Brunch on a Sunday at The Belmont Restaurant. He lives in "the valley". If you do not live in Los Angeles and plan to move here some day, stay away from "the valley".
His geographical placement alone, should have been my insight into things to come. I'm a Virgo, which means fastidious, crazy- pain in the 'arse' perfectionist. I hate being late because I respect my time. If I am to meet with you and you are late, you obviously do not respect your time. I made it a point to remind Average Penis Guy that he does not live a stones' throw away from civilization and should avoid the 101 freeway and take Laurel Canyon instead.
I text Mr. Average Penis Guy to let him know that the car wash I was going to pre-brunch was literally two blocks south of The Belmont. In true Virgoan form, just as the human car dryer was waving his towel toward my car signaling that it was ready, I sent a quick text toAverage Penis Guy, stating that I was about to get in my car.
"That was fast! got caught up with an email. Be their ASAP!" was his reply.
I am disturbed by this direct affront and rebellion to my due diligence. I am slightly insulted too. I take a deep, deep breath and reply: "That sucks! I will start without you and if I am done before you get there, loose my number!" (Jackass! was the subtext but I thought I'd be polite and hold back some, it is only date number two after all)
"B there in 5", he texts back.
At the Belmont, Justin, my favorite and most charming waitperson greets me, I order a mimosa in honor of one of my favorite saints, 'Saint Sunday' and get preferred outdoor seating.
Average Penis Guy shows up 15 minutes late! He apologizes profusely, and showers me with expected slightly above-average pleasantries. In a passive-aggressive manner I sort of forgive him, but berate and dig at every possible turn. No matter, my mind is made up, no kiss and definitely no third date for Jackass! (Yes, I am doing him a favor! So quit judging!)
Justin, our waitperson, finds a way to both support me in being incensed and showing sympathy for Average Penis Guy. Three mimosas later, we combine cars. I hop in his and off we go to a rooftop poolside bar in a swanky joint in Beverly hills for Sunday afternoon cocktails.
We have growing up in New York City, NYU and our latest topic of the day, my nipples that appear to be in a perpetual state of arousal in common to discuss. I have now switched to vodka ginger berry martinis. He is sticking to white wine chardonnay (another insight into his virility I chose to ignore).
It is now seven in the evening and dinner time. We move our 'party of two' to one of my favorite reliably authentic Italian restaurants, Dominick's. They offer a Sunday night supper there, that makes you want to call the matriarch of your family and thank her for all of the comfort food that made home, a home. I am digressing. I guess I am letting my love for food creep in. We share a bottle of red wine, eggplant parmesan, escarole salad. (We'll agree that red wine is appropriate in this instance)
This date has now entered its eighth hour and should come to an end. To my car he takes me. In his car, parked in the street, we make out. The wrestling of the tongues, not quite in sync but manageable with some practice. I like him and could grow to like him even more in the future, provided he's on time. He asks me if he could come hang out with me in my home.
The term 'hang out' coming out of the mouth of a 39 year old leaves a strange taste in my mouth. I politely decline his self-invite to my 'casa'. My original instinct of no third date is quickly rearing its little head back.
As I prepare to hop out, he unzips his pants and shows me his- you predictably guessed- PENIS!!! My jaw drops as I hear myself exclaim: "THAT is SOOO.... AVERAGE!!!!" He looks at me with a crestfallen stare and mumbles pathetically "average?"
"Dude, are you kidding me with this? WTF did you expect? Am I suppose to squeal with sudden desire, lift up my skirt, shove my thong aside and jump on top of THAT!!! SERIOUSLY??? REALLY!!!"
With that, I urgently grab my jacket from his backseat, open the passenger side door, leap out and state: "Don't you ever call me again!" SLAM!
I am still not sure if I am offended by this bizarre come-on or disappointed by his average penis. I mean, if you are going to use that as a seduction tactic, can it at least be the most amazing looking appendage ever!
Seriously! Really!
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