I Dream of Weenie

I had a sex dream the other night.

It was with one of my male readers, whom I have never met. (Sorry, but no Slaus it wasn’t you). I’ll try to detail it, although describing a dream is like trying to explain the plot of a movie in Spanish, to someone who only speaks Chinese.

A dream only makes sense in the dreamer’s mind.

In short, the whole dream was one big gigantic orgasm. I just remember floating, like I was in heaven. There wasn’t any dialogue, just some moaning sound effects and a real blurry visual. I don’t even know if homeboy was packin’ or not. It wasn’t a freak nasty dream. It was all mentally stimulated and happened in slow motion. Ha, it was a sexual seduction...



Anyway, I’m not complaining, but it was weird. Having a random-sex-with-a-stranger-dream is creepy in more ways than one. Not only does this mean that I need to get laid and I blog way too much, but it was the best sex I’ve ever had. (I woke up sweating and I needed a cigarette). My intuition after this encounter is so sad. I have better sex with myself in my mind then I do in real life with another person. However, on the plus side, at least I can’t get pregnant having a random-sex-with-a-stranger-dream.

Now enough posts about sex. I don’t want this blog to turn into a place where people come to get a load off. Unless I’m getting paid, of course. Then I’ll talk dirty…

The Moral of Porn

I was chatting with my guy friend today. He was informing me on how his new porn collection had just come in the mail.

“Porn is like a good action movie,” he said. “You can only watch it a couple of times, because once you know what’s going to happen, it’s not exciting anymore.”

I asked him if I could borrow a copy of his new porn.
“Not until I watch them first,” he said. “I get the first date with my new porn.” Um, ok. Fair enough.

I read in Cosmopolitan that guys masturbate A LOT. I mean women flick their bean occasionally, but guys jack off like their penis signed up for an intensive aerobics class.

I personally don’t mind porn. I watch it sometimes, but I am THE worst person to watch it with. I once dated a guy and we would watch porn together. I remember watching a porno with him one night, which killed any future opportunity of us watching it together again. I forgot what the porn was titled, but I'll make something up to help paint the picture. I'll call it, "The Punani Party."

The “storyline” of the poon, was about a couple of hot (airbrushed and plastic) chicks who get invited to a house "party". When they get to this party they end up being the only two chicks who show up. (How original). So the two hot chicks are chillin' at this so called party with the two guys who threw the party. Eventually one guys leads one chick onto the couch, while the other guy takes the other girl upstairs. (Didn't see that one coming). One thing leads to another and well, um, yeah, soon everyone is doing the nasty.

However, the whole time we are watching the porn I’m lying in the bed asking a million questions like, “didn’t she have a purse when she first walked in? Where did her purse go? Why are they the only ones who showed up anyway, shouldn’t there be more people if it’s a party?”

Meanwhile, the guy I’m dating is getting frustrated, because I'm totally killing the mood. And starts yelling at me, (well not literally yelling, because he still wants to get laid).

“It’s a porn!" he said. "The point is they have sex! Stop over analyzing it. They are at the party to have sex!”

Oooooooh, that’s right. They are at the party to have sex. Ah that makes so much more sense now. Not only is this film low budget, but it was directed by another man’s penis. Gotcha.

The moral of the story? I shouldn't watch porn.

The End.

Am I Over Anal-lyzing?

“It’s only kinky the first time.”

I don’t know how many times a man has offered me the glorious opportunity to engage in some sexual anal action. I’ve lost track of how many times a man has whispered the romantic words, “let me put it in your butt” in my ear, but if I had a dollar for every time, I would be a rich woman. As many times as I get asked for some anal action, if I were to actually participate, my ass would be red and swollen. Similar to Miss South Carolina’s (such as) face when she crawled off stage.

Having never tried it, at this point I would rather lick the jam from in between a fat man’s toes than have a man stick his d*ck in my butt for some “sexual stimulation”. In fact, a man who wants to stick it in my butt, I’d question his sexuality. Go to the jailhouse and hit on the first man you see with a twinkle in his eye for all that nonsense.

I’m sorry to be such a debbie, but anal just doesn’t appeal to me. I mean if do get married I would most likely experiment with my husband. However, key words: IF I GET MARRIED shouldn’t be taken lightly.

I just don’t get it. I can’t imagine sticking anything in a hole that was designed for stuff to come out of. Why can’t a man just be satisfied with a BJ, some reverse cowgirl or something? Isn’t one hole enough? I mean you can stick it in my ear if you really want to. Maybe rub your d*ck in the crease where my knee bends, or something, that might do it. We can get creative. I’m open for suggestions. And no matter how unappealing anal sounds, I have also heard a few horror stories as proof to why it is not the best idea in the Kama Sutra.

Scenario 1) I once heard of this girl who let her man do her in the butt and she had chronic diarrhea for a week. Scenario 2) I also heard from friend, of a friend, of a friend that her man stuck it in her butt and it ripped all the skin from her vagina to her butt hole. She ended up screaming and hollering all the way into the emergency room, her boyfriend walking sheepishly behind her.

“They didn’t know what they were doing,” said a guy friend of mine. “You just can’t ram it in there. You have to get lots of lube and ease it in with care.”

Oh no. I’m not falling for that one again. What do I look like? A young, sweet, innocent and naïve girl who could easily be taken advantage of? I got the same justification about the first hole and I still have to remind guys this isn't a pussi marathon. Slow down! So there is no way I'm going to believe all that mumbo jumbo about the second hole being a piece of cake.

And what if his d*ck is as big as ManDingo? Then what? I'll be waddling around like a duck split in two pieces (places). I don't know what scares me more about the back door, not having tried it or the fact that everyone tells me once I try it I'm going to love it. And like I said before I'm down to try new things, but I don't want my curiosity to get the best of me.

Omg. All this over anal-lyzing is giving me a headache...

ManDingo Wants to Shaboink-ya: Part II

The saga continues…

Where do I meet these types of guys? Bars mainly. Sometimes in the parking lot of bars…

To get every one up to speed, I’m dating and “new guy” is packin’ in the meat department. He sent me pictures on my cell phone to prove it after I told him that I thought he had a little d*ck. I’m positive it was his shaboinka, because he is all tatted up on his arm and he has a distinct tat on his thumb. The same hand he was holding his shaboinka.

Of course, (not that I’m one to gossip) I went and showed my girls who squealed in an OMG-wtf-is-that tone. See it wasn’t just me. The shock factor towards the “new guy’s” shaboinka was legit. It doesn’t accommodate his persona or his physique. He is not cocky (no pun intended) at all, about 5’11” and fifteen years older than me.

I would like to say the weekend ended there, but it didn’t. The same girls, plus a few more and I, all decided to go out on Saturday night too. We spent the night bar hopping and passing around my cell phone so every one could take a closer look at “new boy’s” shaboinka.

“If you don’t go for it, we will!” said my friends.

The last stop of the night we all decided to go (stumbled) to a dive bar on the far side of town. I knew that “new guy” liked to go there, because I usually bump into him there, so I called (drunk dialed) him to see if he wanted to meet up for drinks.

When “new guy” walked up to the bar about five of my girlfriends were sitting out in front. It was priceless

I think everything switched into slow motion. The wind picked up and “new guy’s” swagger got a little smoother. Two other guys accompanied him on either side and they were all dressed in black. Every single one of my girlfriends (heffas) hopped up surrounding him, groping him. Saying things like, “hayyyyyyy”, and “ooo, I like your tattoos” or “what’s your nationality?” in sexy voices. (He's Portuguese for the record).

If I thought I was embarrassed when he told me I told him I thought he had a little d*ck, I thought wrong. This moment was embarrassing. It reminded me of this one time in high school, when I was at a house party and I fell down a long staircase. I landed flat on my face, the record scratched and every one gasped. In front of the bar I turned the same bright shade of red.

How could he NOT know I showed them the pictures? He looked over at me and grinned sheepishly. Ha! ManDingo was just a embarrassed as I was.

The night ended shortly after that when we found one of the girls in the bathroom with her pants around her ankles. She was crying hysterically and had mascara running down her cheeks.

I still don't know what to do about "new boy".

A part of me wants to test drive it and another part is telling me to stay away, far, far, away...

ManDingo Wants to Shaboink-ya: Part I

"It's only kinky the first time."

Ok so this past weekend was a mini Novela series. Parts were blurry, but I remember a substantial amount of events thanks to some camera whoring.

I don’t know if anyone remembers “slow boy” the last guy I dated. It doesn’t matter if anyone does, because I haven’t heard from him. He must be lost in a cloud of smoke somewhere. I hope all is well.

So with that said, I have moved on and boy does it just keep getting better and better. I met this new guy not too long ago. We went on a few dates, nothing major. He’s cute, funny, respectful, etc. He basically thinks I’m GOD, which is great. The problem, once again, is that he is too nice. Like vomit nice. Like please, shut-the-f*ck-up nice. (Yes, it is another case of him probably wanting what he can’t have and once he gets it, he won’t want it anymore). Cynic?

So anyways, a couple of girlfriends from out of town came to stir up some trouble with me this weekend. (You know the hot friends with the big boobies that get us free admission and free drinks). Before we leave to go out on Friday, I mention that, “I hope I don’t run into "new guy", because I was supposed to call him back, but I didn’t.”

So we get downtown in our slut attire. On our way to the bar we got some offers to make some quick cash, but we obliged. "How much?" some asshole yelled from down the block.“What mothaf*cka,” I yelled back. “Come back and say it to my face so I can kick you in the balls.” (People can be so rude). We make it to the bar and the lovely ladies get us right inside no sweat. Nice.

As soon as I walk into the bar, there he was, "new guy" 12’oclock. Just my luck. Good thing I’m so smooth at playing things off. I tried to do a quick magical disappearing act, when I heard him call out my name.

Damn it.

I turned back around, flashed him a fake smile and said a fake, “Hi.” He was with a few of his buddies so we all grouped up and headed for the bar. As we were leaning in to order our drinks, I said the first thing that came to my mind, “so, I was going to call you, but um yeah…” Ok that fell short, damn it, I couldn’t even think of an excuse. He cut me off.

“It’s cool,” he said. “I wanted to show you something though.”

“What?” I asked.

“My d*ck,” he replied.

I coughed and choked a little. (I swear some Tokyo Tea and a cherry squirted out of my nose).

“What?” I said again.

“Remember when you told me that you didn’t want to date me because you thought I had a little d*ck?” he said.

No way I thought to myself. I remembered thinking that, but more importantly, I didn't remember actually voicing it. Not to anyone, much less him.

“I said that?” I said. “I must have been drunk.” (It was the only justification I could come up with). Ok now I was embarrassed. I decided to leave it at that and went to go dance-it-off, with my girls.

By 2 a.m. the three of us came stumbling out of the bar hand in hand. We made it home piling on top of each other on my couch. We all got to work on our phones, going crazy drunk texting. I opened up my phone to (omg) find the thickest, longest shaboinka staring back at me. No he didn't. "New guy" was Mr. ManDingo himself…