When I first started this blog it was a means to vent about my failed relationship without further annoying my patient friends.
It then allowed me to organize my thoughts and do some soul searching.
Soon after it became a platform to discuss hot sex and cute boys.
The sex dwindled and I started writing a number of hasty, short articles about whatever popped into my mind.
Now? I don’t know what to write about. I can’t say what my blog is or where it’s going. It’s rather representative of my life. I never know what I want or what path to follow. Maybe I never will. But I know I’ve come a long way, even just in the last year.
My mind used to be consumed with thoughts of sex and men and potential boyfriends.
I’m still that crazy ultra-sexual woman, but my thought process has shifted. I can’t just have sex with someone I feel half-hearted about.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
LipRing was my last and that was once and months ago. He and I have slept together only a handful of times in the last few months. After our last encounter, I was determined never to go back. The sex is subpar and not worth putting up with his weird and rude antics. There’s very little I like about him and because of this, I barely find him attractive anymore; I’d rather be chaste than have to spend any more time in his company.
Luckily, he also backed off and provided me no opportunities for temptation.
Last weekend our paths inevitably collided. It was the weekend of Rip Curl Pro and the town was swarming with hot foreign surfers. I was on antibiotics that would cause me to vomit uncontrollably at even a drop of alcohol so needless to say I was completely sober. But I still attended the after party, I really wanted to dance and possibly talk to a cute guy.
It was an amazing and fun night. I love socializing with a clear head and knowing that no one will remember anything I say or do, it’s a powerful feeling. Naturally, LipRing was one of the first I saw and he was smashed. He stumbled over and began rustling my hair until I pushed him away and yelled, “SCRAM!”
I did my best to avoid him, but it seemed every time I turned around he was beside me with his tongue down the throat of a gorgeous leggy brunette.
Two days later he started messaging me, whining about how we hadn’t seen each other in so long.
“I saw you on Saturday…” I informed him. He seemed abashed.
The following weekend we saw each other yet again, only this time my mind was definitely not clear.
He asked me again and again to come home with him and every time I said no.
“I’ll drive you home in the morning!”
“Or you’ll make me walk home again, in the rain…”
“No, I swear I’ll drive you.”
“Even so, it’s not happening.”
Finally he relented and said, “Okay, I guess you have your reasons…”
“I have a lot of reasons,” I slurred, “But none of them matters, what matters is I DON’T WANT TO and so I’m not going to.”
“You’re missing out,” he threatened.
“YOU’RE missing out,” I countered and then did my best to dodge him for the remainder of the night.
When I woke up, I smiled through my hangover.
I was proud of myself for sticking to my guns and going home alone.
The other night, while watching Archer I found myself seriously attracted to Stirling Archer. Turned on by a drawing of a man, yes it’s gotten that bad.
I considered just finding a decent looking guy, any guy, and seducing him. After all, there are two Kiwi men who have been pursuing me lately.
One is nearly ten years my junior. He lives at home, works for his dad and is into extreme sports. He’s sweet and attractive enough, it could be fun to bed him and show him the time of his life.
The other is a few years older than me and is the definition of an adult. He lives on his own, is an engineer and a base player. He’s nice and has a good body. His hairline is receding, but he’s attractive enough. He could know his way around a woman’s body and it could be fun.
Enough is the key word. They’re nice enough, attractive enough, but enough is no longer enough. I don’t want to settle to appease my sullen vagina.
I want intrigue and passion and excitement. I want to WANT someone. I want to be mad with desire for the next man I have sex with.
I was talking to Dillon and as always, our conversation turned to sex. Dillon admitted he’d been rather slutty lately while I admitted to being slightly prudish.
“It’s not for lack of trying,” I insisted, “I just can’t find anyone who interests me even a little and I can’t be bothered to have meaningless sex with strangers. What’s happened to me?”
“That’s probably a good thing,” he suggested, “It means you’re growing up.”
Growing up? I guess it had to happen eventually.
I patiently await the day I meet a person that makes my heart pound and my breath ragged.
Until then, it’s nice to know that I’m happy and content on my own.
My blog may always be a mishmash of thoughts, but at least I’m starting to find my way.