Twenty Four At Heart

Rejection and Disappointment

Everyone experiences negative stuff, it's part of living.

The scent of rejection, and the disappointment it brings, may lighten in time - but it pervades and shapes our lives in definitive ways.

One of my girl friends and I were talking recently about the highs and lows of life.  How had particularly painful moments defined us?  What bad moments in life still sting years later?  What negative experiences are laughable now, regardless of the pain they caused once-upon-a-time?

I've realized the most painful moments in my life have been those caused by the betrayal or abandonment of friends and/or lovers. 

Job interviews that didn't work out, less than a perfect grade on a test I studied my ass off for, vacations with bad weather and ruined plans, being told no one would ever read my writing .....

Those things don't seem to matter in the long run.

Taking someone into your life though,

Trusting them with your inner thoughts and vulnerable heart -

Having people you love betray you,

Abandon you,

Reject you ...

Those are the hurts that never go away.

At least not for me.

It isn't a matter of forgiving, or not forgiving ...

It just feels, for me, like having my heart shredded by a jagged piece of glass.

I don't open my heart to people easily or quickly.

Once I love someone, I love deeply whether that person is a friend, family member, or mate.

How dare they decide they no longer love ME?

(I laugh at myself ...

And yet, I don't.)

My friend told me a story of an experience she had several years ago.  

She gave me permission to share it with you.

We laughed about it in the re-telling, but I honestly can't imagine how much it must have hurt her.

For storytelling purposes, I will call my friend Jane (not her real name).

A man Jane knew "courted" her for a long time.  (For writing purposes, I'll call the man Mike.)

Jane was vaguely interested in Mike, but having just come out of a break-up, she wasn't eager to get involved with anyone.

Mike was patient.

Mike was not pushy.

Mike was always "there" for her.

Mike made her laugh.

Mike was consistent and steady and persistent in a non-threatening way ...

Eventually, little by little, Jane opened her heart to Mike.

It didn't happen quickly,

It was a slow, gradual, bonding over the course of about 18 months.

Once in awhile Mike would try to move the relationship to a more romantic level, but he always respected Jane's wishes when she said she wasn't ready.

Mike became a friend, and then eventually a "best" friend to Jane.

One day she realized she couldn't imagine not having Mike in her life.

He had pretty much made himself a fixture in her life.

Mike called Jane "just to check-in" almost every day.  

He was always hanging around, just casually there on a pretty frequent basis.

After quite some time, about a year and a half to be exact, Jane invited Mike over for dinner.

She lit candles, she put romantic music on -

She was ready to take the relationship to the next step.

Mike appeared overjoyed initially.

They had a nice dinner at her apartment, "accidentally" touching each other throughout the meal.  Eventually they held hands, then kissed, then moved to the couch.  Mike was eager, Jane "slowed him down" a few times.

They sipped on wine and kissed some more ....

Things progressed and they soon found themselves intertwined or her bed.

Mike finally had her naked -

After all this time of pursuing her -

He had what he wanted, right?

She, on the other hand, was more than just naked physically.

She had (after the longest courtship in modern history) opened her heart to him, completely.

Mid-heavy-duty-make-out-session,

Mike, for whatever reason, suddenly "changed."

He went from being eager and affectionate to suddenly distant.

The change was obviously very unexpected by Jane.

(This was, after all, the man who had been "after" her for over a year.)

She was baffled and unsure of what had happened to cause this sudden and abrupt change with Mike.

Affectionate and horny Mike was replaced by distant Mike in a matter of minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, Mike left.

My friend was naked.

Alone.

Confused.

Rejected.

Hurt.

Devastated.

Now she jokes, "The sight of me naked sent him running."

She laughs, but I can hear the doubt in her voice like maybe it really did.

She's beautiful, by the way.

I may be biased because I'm her friend, but she's a gorgeous person inside and out.

(She's been in a very loving relationship with someone else for many years now.)

She never heard from Mike again.

He just disappeared.

After all that time of calling her, 

Of pursuing her,

Of spending time with her -

He basically ran away and never looked back.

She tried to get in touch with him initially,

Mike avoided her calls and refused to talk to her.

His silence, his avoidance, hurt Jane more than his abrupt departure.

She kept asking herself,

What had she done wrong?

(She still wonders ....)

He couldn't really be walking away forever, after all that time chasing her, could he?

He wouldn't really stop calling her, after talking almost every day for months and months, would he?

But he did.

Just like that, and with no explanation, Mike was gone.

We laughed about this story when she told me,

"Once upon a time a guy saw me naked and ran real fast" type of laughter.

But?

Ouch!

Underneath her laughter I can still hear the hurt years later.

Maybe that is what touched me most about her story.

She may try to laugh it off now, but Mike left a permanent wound.

I hear wistful sadness when she explains how much she missed his friendship, for years, after he "dumped her."

I don't think she'd ever admit it, but it seems like she misses him still.

I know she still questions what she did to disappoint him.

What must be wrong with her, to make him run like that?

The answer, or course, is not a damn thing.

The flaw is not with her,

It's somewhere within Mike.

But ...

Will she ever, truly, one hundred percent, believe that?

I don't think she will.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Romeo, Oh Romeo!

*  Oh look!  It's another repeat post.  I must be having a nice vacation.  I'll be seeing the "real" Romeo in the next few weeks so it seemed appropriate to share this post.  Enjoy!  *

I've fallen in love.  

Well, maybe it isn't really love - but who cares?

And before I tell you this story, I want you to know I can be a cougar in my own mind if I want to.  Especially after a week like this one.

During the hour before my surgery I was hanging out on a gurney in my sexy hospital gown, with my granny panties on, and my hair tucked into a too-hawt-to-handle hospital cap on my head.  After a night of no sleep, I was definitely looking my most awesome best.

A man in surgical scrubs approached me, looked me in the eyes with the sexiest green, smoky, bedroom eyes I've ever seen and said, "Hi.  I'm Romeo and I'll be the one turning you on."

"Promise?!" I laughed, unable to tear my eyes away from the gorgeous hunk of Italian man in front of me.

He blushed.

I sighed.

And no, his name isn't REALLY Romeo ... but it might as well be.  (And the above photo isn't really him either - he is SO much hotter!)

We all have our "types," right?  You know, a physical LOOK that makes our heart pitter patter and our mouths drool.

Romeo is IT for me.

Tall, dark, handsome ... with dark curls surrounding his rugged, sexy, face.  He has green, intense, eyes that seem to smolder with a glance.  He looks at ease with his nice build ... muscular, but not muscle-bound.

Romeo has lots and lots of sexiness wrapped up into one drool-worthy package.

Yum.

Never mind, Romeo is way too young for me - 

Romeo is cougar-fantasy material and that's all that really matters.

Have I mentioned there was a roomful of people in the operating room with me the other day?

Two surgeons, numerous nurses, an anesthesiologist, other confusing I-don't-know-who-they-were people, and two men from the company that makes the neurostimulator.

Romeo was one of the people in the operating room with me.

You know what that means?

Romeo has already seen me buck naked except for my sexy granny panties.

Romeo works as a stimulator expert.

I kid you not ...

Romeo is an official Expert Stimulator.

Romeo faithfully calls me at home every night to ask how I'm feeling.

We talk about pulsing sensations and how many batteries I might want to take care of my needs.

Romeo not only told me he would turn me on, he actually did!  

Quite successfully too.

"You made me tingly," I told him yesterday.

"Do you want more?" he asked.

""Yes!" I answered eagerly ....

And that is exactly what my time with Romeo is like.

Sometimes I want to giggle and giggle because - oh, the jokes and innuendos!

Romeo has told me I'm "cute" and that I "have a great laugh."  Clearly, that means we will run away together and spend our lives in green-smoky-eyed bliss.

Clearly.

Yesterday, I spent close to two hours with Romeo.  He turned me on repeatedly.  Sometimes the feelings were more intense; sometimes the feelings built slowly.  Once or twice, things got a little more intense than I could handle.

"Do you want me to slow down?" he asked.

"Maybe just a little," I answered.

"Are you sore?" he answered, concerned.

"No, it's okay.  I like it," I reassured him.

Today, Romeo and I are getting together again.  This time he said he'd show me three NEW ways to be turned on.

"I can make you feel all different types of sensations," he confided.

Romeo, Oh Romeo ....

© Twenty Four At Heart

The Incident At The Spa

Last Sunday, I spent most of the day at a local spa.

As I've mentioned before, I have my bum arm worked on by a masseuse now and then. 

(Except, even though I always say it's my arm that's screwed up - in reality, it's the entire upper right quadrant of my body.)  

It's just so much easier to say "arm," isn't it?

When I get a massage it hurts, and not in the way a massage might "hurt" a normal, able bodied person.  It hurts quite a lot, and my pain level escalates for several days after.  It's one of those things that's good for me even though it's very painful.  I always dread going for a massage.  Lately, however, my (extremely atrophied) muscles have been spasming worse and worse.  I couldn't put it off any longer.

So there I was,

Hanging out all naked-ish with just a white fluffy robe to wear. 

I knew I was assigned to a male masseuse so while I was waiting for him, I tweeted about how I was about to have my body rubbed by a hot man.

Except ...?

Guess who showed up to rub my body?

It was Tattoo from Fantasy Island.

I was so shocked to see Tattoo walk out to greet me, I asked him what his name was.

"Fabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz," he mumbled.

"Oh!  Tattoo!  It's so nice to meet you," I replied.

Tattoo just looked at me blankly.

Then Tattoo escorted me back to a dark, quiet, room with soft music playing so we could be alone.

Tattoo exited the room for a minute.  I hung my robe on the hook provided, and slipped completely naked under a sheet, face down, on the massage table.

Tattoo promptly returned.

He was quiet for a moment and then his hand lightly touched my right shoulder blade.

"Much pain?" he asked, instantly seeing the scars differences on the right side of my body.

"Yes," I answered.

And then Tattoo began working on me.

You would think, after all my years of physical therapy, I'd be used to having strangers a strange man touch me, but I'm not.

(I'm so proud of that last sentence, for reasons I won't go into today.)

All sorts of thoughts go through my head while I'm getting a massage.

Breathe.

Relax.

Try not to grimace.

Don't moan no matter how much it hurts.

Don't moan no matter how good it feels.

Oops, my vagina just slipped.

Yes, that's right - my vagina slipped right out into the open.

(Wait ... that sounds so bad - the words open and my vagina shouldn't be in the same sentence.)

Tattoo was doing this tricky thing where he was switching the sheet that didn't really cover me very much anyway.  

I don't know how to explain it, but I've had The Magic Sheet Trick done before at this same spa.  They remove one sheet, while putting a fresh one on you.  It's a slight of hand, a magic trick, an illusion of sorts.  One instant you have a sheet on, and the next they've replaced it with a fresh one - without you ever really being completely naked in front of them.  

Except you're left wondering:  How did they do that?  Was I completely naked?  Or wasn't I?  

Except this time ...?

Something went wrong.

I think it was my fault.

It seemed like the sheet got tangled on my foot, or my leg, or something happened.

In an effort to help Tattoo with the magic trick of presto, whammo, sheet replacement, I separated my legs and kind of lifted my left leg.  At that exact moment, he pulled the sheet off and there I was all open-aired-vagina-ish-y right in front of him.

Seeing as he was only about three feet tall, which was the approximate height of the table, Tattoo was suddenly eye to hoo hah with me, brazilian bikini wax and all.

Oops!

I guess I should have kept my legs together like my mother always told me not have done that.

I yelled, "Oh no!" and then promptly slammed my legs together tight.  I immediately shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep.

That might have worked if I hadn't ...

Just said "Oh no!" real loud and slammed my legs shut with enough force to shake the room.

Nevertheless, I feigned sleep because what else could I do?

I couldn't open my eyes and SEE him after that.

Instead, I just pretended to sleep through the next forty minutes while he worked on me.

Finally, my massage was over and I felt Tattoo drape the robe over me.

"Take your time; I'll be waiting right outside for you," he said as he exited the room.

What to do, what to do?

I knew I couldn't stay there forever but I tried.

Reluctantly, slowly, very slowly, I got up and put the robe back on.

I stood there, hesitating, for a long time.

Finally, I turned the handle and opened the door to find Tattoo patiently waiting for me.

I avoided eye contact as he escorted me through a maze the spa until I was back at the door to the ladies locker room.

"I hope to see you again," he said.

I looked at him then, our eyes meeting for the first time since my vagina slipped.

I could swear his eyes were laughing.

I immediately looked at the ground.

"Um, yes, thank you," I said and I scurried away as fast as I could.

I spent the rest of the afternoon convincing myself of the following:

 •  My vagina is not the first vagina Tattoo has ever seen.

 •  Tattoo probably didn't even notice my vagina in his face.

 •  There are vaginas everywhere in a spa.

 •  My vagina probably made itself invisible when it saw Tattoo looking at it.

© Twenty Four At Heart 

An Early Valentine's Celebration

Last night, I spent the night here:

It's the Fairmont Hotel in Newport Beach.

Briefcase booked a night here as an early Valentine's celebration.

I'll have more (but not all) of the details for you soon.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Whoa! I'm 24 AGAIN!

Yay!

Happy 24th birthday to me once again!

I'm, hopefully, at a spa getting wrapped up in eucalyptus leaves and rubbed with warm oil while you're reading this.  (Or am I doing laundry?  Take your pick!)

I had all these wonderful ideas for a post today, but then I kept dismissing them as not being appropriate for my 24th birthday.

I mean, what if my parents stop in to wish me a happy birthday and I've chosen to do a post about the sex toys random strangers mail me?  And what if I even listed the names I've chosen to give each particular toy ....  

Do you think they'd understand?

Yes, people HAVE sent me sex toys and no, I'm not quite sure why.  I'm not quite sure why I name them either, except there are now so many of them - how else would I keep track of them?

Perhaps readers send me sex toys because I mention them from time to time in my posts so they think I need MORE sex toys.

(Because five dildos is never enough!)

Someone even gave me a vibrating ring.  Yeah, like a ring you wear on your finger.  It's bright orange.  I have a few questions about that particular toy, but let's not get into them right now.

If I die in surgery tomorrow someone is going to find an entire cabinet of sex toys and I don't want to be remembered for them.

I haven't even tried most of them yet!

Now, LOOK what's happened!

This has turned into a post about not writing a post about sex toys.

How did that happen?

I might as well have just written about the damn sex toys in the first place.

In addition, apparently I was politically incorrect yesterday.

(Don't act so surprised.)

There's been drama and scandal in the blogosphere recently.  

Shocking, I know!

A popular, married, male blogger has been surreptitiously sending female bloggers his penis.

* Ahem *

I mean, photos of his penis - via email/text.

Sexual harassment of any sort is not something to laugh about, and yet - way too many funny one liners keep popping into my head.  

I don't think what this blogger did (purportedly to multiple women) is at all funny.  In fact, I think the man involved is in strong need of some serious psychiatric care if the allegations are as they've been presented.

I'm qualifying my statements because I wasn't there and I, personally, haven't received this particular man's penis wrapped up in a bow (or email) in my inbox.

And yet, I still have funny (to me) one liners cursing through my brain.  I can't make them stop, but I have managed to keep myself from saying them out loud.  

So far.

In the midst of all this blogging drama, and the concentrated effort on my part to bite my tongue and not let loose with the one-liners I SO want to let loose with ...

I, unthinkingly, and with ill timing - posted a photo on twitter yesterday.  (Yes, right in the middle of all the penis drama.  My timing really was unintentional.)  

The tweet and photo:

I originally took this to be artistic, but instead it just looks phallic. #PhotographyFail 

I wasn't trying to make light of The Penis Controversy.  I think all the penis talk just colored my view of the photos I was editing at the time.

Or maybe the photo really does look like one gigantic penis?

What do you think?

(Whoa!  I just wrote a birthday post which had nothing to do with birthdays and at the same time I managed to mention sex toys and penises several times.  I.Am.Amazing!) 

© Twenty Four At Heart

The 21st Miner

I assume most of you have watched, along with the rest of the world, as the thirty three trapped Chilean miners were rescued from 2,300 feet beneath the ground.

Before The Haters jump in and start telling me I'm a shitty person for writing this post, I'd like to say I was riveted by the story of the miners from start to finish.  I was absolutely thrilled with the rescue of the men.

It was emotional, amazing and just incredible.

Yesterday, a lot of publicity was focused on the fate of Yonni Barrios who was the 21st miner to be rescued from the collapsed mine.

Yonni, as you probably already know, was greeted by his mistress when he emerged from the mine.  As it turns out, Yonni was not the only miner to have both a wife and a mistress, but his story became the most public.

Marta, Yonni's wife of 28 years, just recently discovered he had a mistress.  Prior to the 69 days he was trapped, she had no idea.  After learning of Yonni's indiscretion, Marta chose not to be there to greet Yonni when he popped his shaft out of the shaft.

Ahem.

There is just SO much material here ...

Trapped for 69 days.

The mistress (instead of the wife) was waiting for him at the end of his shaft ...

Stuff like this is irresistible to my warped sense of humor.

Susana, Yonni's mistress, has apparently been having a relationship with him for over five years.  She greeted him with sobs, kisses, and hugs.  

Yonni seemed a little uncomfortable during her display of emotion.

The greeting by his mistress, with cameras zooming in to capture every moment, seemed a little awkward.

Yonni probably knew his wife was at home watching the exchange on television.

It must be a little strange and uncomfortable for Yonni to have his illicit extramarital affair revealed to the entire world.

Go figure ....

Now, I personally don't care how Yonni chooses to live his life.

Who am I to judge?

I know very little about Yonni, his wife, his mistress, or his life.

I've experienced enough of life to realize not all situations are black and white.

I also wouldn't pretend to know the slightest thing about Yonni's particular love triangle.

I do, however, know Yonni was allowed to choose three people to be present to greet him when he emerged from the mine.

He invited BOTH his wife and his mistress.  

Really, Yonni?

Really?

I'm wondering how Yonni expected that to work out?

Who was he going to hug and kiss first?

Apparently his wife, although upset upon learning of his mistress, had initially planned to be there to greet him upon his rescue.  That is - until she found out he had also asked his mistress to be there.  At that point, Marta pretty much told Yonni to fuck off.

My bet is, now that Marta has left Yonni - he'll want her back.

It seems to be human nature to want what we can't have.  If Susana had been the one to tell Yonni to fuck off, he'd probably chase after her.

It isn't easy to love two people at the same time.

Yonni's story made me think.

I thought about what I would do if I were Marta.  I thought about what I would do if I were Susana.  I wondered how often affairs are discovered when one of the involved parties becomes ill, involved in an accident or tragedy, or dies.  

I bet it's actually a pretty common phenomenon ...

I also thought about Yonni.  I tried to imagine being him.

I tried to imagine ...

And yet, I couldn't.

He asked both his mistress and his wife (who had just found out about his mistress) to come and rejoice together at his rescue.

It's hard for me to imagine being that stoopid.

Clearly, the man must have been oxygen deprived down in the mine.

So tell me, do you think I'm way off base?

What are your thoughts on the situation?

What would you do if you were Marta, Susana or Yonni?

© Twenty Four At Heart

The Big Nipple Debate

I readily admit, I was a little stressed during the two days preceding my surgery last week. 

My mind was racing.  I had very little notice regarding the timing of the surgery.  I had a lot to do and a short amount of time to get it done.  When I wasn't thinking about my "to do" list, I tried to ease my surgery anxiety by visualizing what the experience would be like.  I've been through so many surgeries since the car accident, I began going through a mental checklist of what things would be similar or dissimilar about this particular experience.

Two nights before my surgery, it occurred to me - putting electrodes on both the front and back of my shoulder and arm would mean being completely uncovered for Dr. Painless.

"I won't have a hospital gown covering my upper body," I realized suddenly.

This realization came to me as a bit of a shock and I felt my cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

I'm not shy about my body and I've had my share of accidental flashing incidents over the years, but this ...

This felt different.

I see Dr. Painless on a regular basis.  He wears designer suits and fancy ties.  He's a big shot, world-famous, doctor.  Somehow, his "normal" day-to-day formality made the thought of being topless in front of him even more awkward.

I began airing my anxiety-ridden thoughts to Twitter.

I asked my friends on Twitter if they thought heterosexual male doctors "peeked" at women's nipples given the opportunity to do so during surgery.  I mused that maybe I should draw a smiley face around my right nipple to find out.  (My right arm/shoulder being the one to be operated on.)  If the doc began laughing, or commented, I'd know his eyes had wandered off track.

Then I re-framed my thought and asked Twitter if there were any male surgeons following me, and if so, would they be willing to answer honestly whether or not they "check out" the breasts of their female patients during surgery.

It didn't take long until I got a direct (private) message from a male surgeon in the midwest.  Now, I happen to "know" this particular person and I know he is, in fact, a doctor.  What I'm saying is, for reasons I won't go into right now, I know this is a person I can trust to be honest with me.

His answer?

Yes.  If the opportunity is available, doctors "take a peek."

First of all, I really appreciated this particular person trusting me enough to be honest with me.

Second, I was shocked by his answer although I don't really know why.  

"Looking" is human nature, isn't it?  My Twitter friend wasn't saying doctors "do" anything inappropriate, he just acknowledged if a heterosexual male doctor has a female's breast right in front of him - he's probably going to take a "peek" at it.

I decided I should, in fact, draw a smiley face on my nipple to test out my theory.

Twitter egged me on, of course.  I even had people offering to pay me money simply to draw a face on my right areola/nipple area.  I had visions of a perfect smiley face on my nipple and hearing Dr. Painless burst out laughing mid-surgery.

"Busted for looking!" I imagined myself saying.

I began pondering the merits of the smiley face.  Should it be looking up at the doctor as he worked on my shoulder?  Or should it be facing straight ahead?

Of course, at some point I realized I'd be sedated and miss the surprised look on Dr. Painless's face when he saw my nipple smiling at him.  I convinced myself I'd "know" if he'd seen it when I woke up even if I'd been asleep through the entire smiling-nipple encounter.

Are you amazed at the inner workings of my brain yet?

I think, perhaps, I was cracking under pre-surgery stress.

Or something.

The night before my surgery, the topic came up again on Twitter.  People asked me, "Are you going to do it?"

It was then I realized the only markers I had in the house were "permanent, archival quality" markers.  If I drew a smiley face on my nipple, it wouldn't be coming off any time soon.  I might die fifty years from now with a permanent, archival quality, smiley face still on my nipple.

The idea concerned me greatly.

I tweeted my concern, and the dismal lack of "washable" markers in my house.

Twitter friends began giving me other Nipple Decorating Ideas which included suggestions such as glitter, sparkles, rhinestones and little plastic winking eyes.

OK, so maybe the little plastic winking eyes were MY idea.

I thought it would be hilarious to have plastic winking eyes on my smiling nipple watching Dr. Painless perform surgery.

It was right about then, when I sent out the following tweet:

If I'm not going to have a shirt on at all I really should make matching nipple decorations. Otherwise it would just look weird.

(Because matching smiling/decorated nipples are altogether more normal than just having ONE smiling nipple, right?)

I'd like to clarify ...

I was not on pain meds when any of this was taking place.

In the end, simply due to a lack of crafting supplies, I did not decorate my nipple or nipples.

I was disappointed, of course, but I knew if the "trial" of the neurostimulator went well, I'd have another opportunity for surgery-nipple-decorating very soon.

As it turns out, there was an unexpectedly large crowd of people in the operating room with me the next day.  I was glad I hadn't decorated my nipple(s) because if I had - at least 10 people, in addition to Dr. Painless, would have been privvy to my decorating skills.

"Whew! I'm glad I didn't make a smiling nipple after all," I thought as the initial pre-surgery drugs began to kick in.

The room began to swirl and whirl.  I felt punchy and lightheaded.

And that's right when it happened ...

I looked up at Dr. Painless and smiled through my giddy, drugged up, haze.  

Then I blurted out, "I was going to surprise you with a smiling nipple today but I didn't have the right kind of markers."

His eyebrows raised questioningly, and then ...

Everything went dark.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Romeo, Oh Romeo!

I've fallen in love.  

Well, maybe it isn't really love - but who cares?

And before I tell you this story, I want you to know I can be a cougar in my own mind if I want to.  Especially after a week like this one.

During the hour before my surgery I was hanging out on a gurney in my sexy hospital gown, with my granny panties on, and my hair tucked into a too-hawt-to-handle hospital cap on my head.  After a night of no sleep, I was definitely looking my most awesome best.

A man in surgical scrubs approached me, looked me in the eyes with the sexiest green, smoky, bedroom eyes I've ever seen and said, "Hi.  I'm Romeo and I'll be the one turning you on."

"Promise?!" I laughed, unable to tear my eyes away from the gorgeous hunk of Italian man in front of me.

He blushed.

I sighed.

And no, his name isn't REALLY Romeo ... but it might as well be.  (And the above photo isn't really him either - he is SO much hotter!)

We all have our "types," right?  You know, a physical LOOK that makes our heart pitter patter and our mouths drool.

Romeo is IT for me.

Tall, dark, handsome ... with dark curls surrounding his rugged, sexy, face.  He has green, intense, eyes that seem to smolder with a glance.  He looks at ease with his nice build ... muscular, but not muscle-bound.

Romeo has lots and lots of sexiness wrapped up into one drool-worthy package.

Yum.

Never mind, Romeo is way too young for me - 

Romeo is cougar-fantasy material and that is all that really matters.

Have I mentioned there was a roomful of people in the operating room with me the other day?

Two surgeons, numerous nurses, an anesthesiologist, other confusing I-don't-know-who-they-were people, and two men from the company that makes the neurostimulator.

Romeo was one of the people in the operating room with me.

You know what that means?

Romeo has already seen me buck naked except for my sexy granny panties.

Romeo works as a stimulator expert.

I kid you not ... Romeo is an official Expert Stimulator.

Romeo faithfully calls me at home every night to ask how I'm feeling.

We talk about pulsing sensations and how many batteries I might want to take care of my needs.

Romeo not only told me he would turn me on, he actually did!  

Quite successfully too.

"You made me tingly," I told him yesterday.

"Do you want more?" he asked.

""Yes!" I answered eagerly .......

And that is exactly what my time with Romeo is like.

Sometimes I want to giggle and giggle because - oh, the jokes and innuendos!

Romeo has told me I'm "cute" and that I "have a great laugh."  Clearly, that means we will run away together and spend our lives in green-smoky-eyed bliss.

Clearly.

Yesterday, I spent close to two hours with Romeo.  He turned me on repeatedly.  Sometimes the feelings were more intense; sometimes the feelings built slowly.  Once or twice, things got a little more intense than I could handle.

"Do you want me to slow down?" he asked.

"Maybe just a little," I answered.

"Are you sore?" he answered, concerned.

"No, it's okay.  I like it," I reassured him.

Today, Romeo and I are getting together again.  This time he said he'd show me three NEW ways to be turned on.

"I can make you feel all different types of sensations," he confided.

Romeo, Oh Romeo ....

© Twenty Four At Heart

Popcorn, Sex, and Twitter

* You've been absolutely awesome with name suggestions for my new website.  Comments on yesterday's post are still open and remember - I am giving away a $100 Amazon gift card.  For details go here! *

Some of you follow me on Twitter, and others of you don't.

Twitter is a different world where you get little bits of information here and there about people.  There are days when I'm not on Twitter much, and other days when I get quite chatty.

Lately, it seems like I've been on a bit of a roll.  Even if you do follow me on Twitter, chances are you haven't read all of my stellar 24 moments.

Here is an assortment of some recent and random tweets I thought might make you smile:

•  Do massive quantities of steroids make a person hungry? Because holy shit I just ate the entire couch!

•  Someone just asked me how much money I make. Don't most adults know better than to ask someone shit like that? Rude, rude, rude.

•  There is not enough coffee in the world for the first morning of the school year.

•  I swear to God, I can attract a pervert from 1,000 miles away.

•  Dear Newport Beach - You might be shallow, but you're sure pretty.

•  Driving down PCH because? I can.

•  My pain doc is not afraid to drop F bombs right and left when talking to me. Makes me laugh and it makes him real.

•  As in, "You really need a f*cking photo assistant." Ha! : )

•  In order to have a f*cking photo assistant, first I'd have to make some f*cking money selling my f*cking photos.

•  So Dr Painless & I also discussed the merits of implanting vibrating electrodes in me.

•  Do you really want to know what direction that conversation took?

•  I'm so filled with snark today I need to clamp my jaw shut to keep myself out of trouble.

•  An outright sexcicle. Sort of like a popsicle for sex. #WhatAmIsaying?

•  I'm walking around the house w/one boob hanging out and the other in my bra. Waiting for topical pain med to dry on my arm/shoulder.

•  There's nothing like a brand new tube of mascara to make a girl feel pretty. *flutters eyelashes*

•  Dear Money Town Car Wash - someone should make a sitcom out of you.

•  The bulb on my baster just popped and then exploded. #SoundsDirty #Cooking

•  My iPod is hissing at me. I take that as a very bad sign ...

•  I wore an apron today for probably the first time in my life. A red one. Do you ever wear an apron? #TalkingAboutCookingNotSex

•  I love when "important" people visit my blog for the first time on a day when I'm discussing my friend's period. Sheeeeeeet!

•  Seriously asshole? I'm not giving you a text link on my blog for 30 bucks. Try again.

•  When you hug a physical therapist friend he will instantly appraise your bum arm whether you want him to or not. #OneArmedHugs

•  When I "clean" it involves a lot of shoving stuff into cupboards and drawers. #NotSoDomestic

•  Dear Drug Companies: Please make a steroid drug for pain that will not destroy my body and cause cancer. It will make you rich. Thanks.

•  My FIL who doesn't know about 24 or photo business suggested I might consider a career as a photographer since I "take good pictures" : )

•  Some guy kept taking pics of me down at the surf contest. Really weird. He must have been attracted to my big lens.

•  Uncontrollable and sudden urge for popcorn. We have NO popcorn in the house.

•  Told my husband I would do *anything* for popcorn but he isn't getting the hint!

•  Men? You are so dense sometimes. Sex for a popcorn run is a good DEAL!!

•  He's watching football. I don't think he hears what I'm proposing ....

•  He's searching the pantry for popcorn. He still DOESN'T GET what I'm saying.

•  OK I finally said, "SEX FOR POPCORN" and he said "What?" Now he's getting his wallet and going to the store.

•  Guess I'm getting laid tonight. Sheesh ... the work you men makes us go through! : )

•  The popcorn is popping - and that's not a euphenism

•  Buttering the popcorn .... #SoundsSoDirty

•  He doesn't know I'm on twitter. Did I mention I added salt?

[Thus began a flurry of sex/popcorn jokes for a few days on Twitter]

•  Wearing my body brace for my arm/shoulder. I look like a stuffed boobless sausage. #Sexxaay #NotAtAllActually

•  On the other hand, do sausages EVER have boobs? I think not.

•  I'm tweeting with a surfing dog. What has become of my life?

•  My husband & I are arguing over the thermostat. This f*cking body brace makes me hot. He says it's freezing and I'm sweating. Ugh!

•  I just told him Twitter thinks he should put on a sweater. It must be very exasperating to be married to me. : )

•  OK, I just took my brace off and guess what? It's freezing in this house! #PoorMan #NotMyFault #BraceIsLikeAwetsuit

•  I think I'm a pain in the ass tonight. Now I wigged out over a big hairy spider in the shower and made him kill it  #SpidersHaveTooManyLegs

•  Something bit me. Repeatedly. And no, it was not my husband.

•  There are few things in life as nasty as eating a rotten nut #ThatsWhatSheSaid

•  I don't understand men who "expose" themselves. Do they really think we want to see their winky-dink?

© Twenty Four At Heart

J. P. Licks

Am I the only one thinking ...

J.P. must be very popular?!

(P.S.  I'll be back to "normal" posting by Monday - whatever that is!)

© Twenty Four At Heart

The Valet

About a month ago, I was in a local photography store when a man struck up a conversation with me.  Initially, we started talking about photography, camera lenses, and things of that nature.  I mentioned some photos I had just taken and he asked what I was going to do with them.

In hindsight it was kind of a strange question.  (What does anyone do with their photos?)  Without thinking I answered, "Oh, I'll be posting them next week."

"Post them where?" he inquired.

Careful not to mention the actual name of my blog, I answered, "Oh, I sometimes do a little writing on the Internet."  

(Ahem, almost every day ... but I didn't mention THAT.)

This led to a host of questions as to what I write about. 

I had barely answered, "It's a lifestyle blog - I write about my life here in Orange County, share photos, and .... "

Before I could say another word, the man began talking and I don't think he stopped for the next forty five minutes.

He wanted to share with me his Orange County stories.

As it turns out, the man had owned, for many years, a valet company.  His company serviced a lot of the "best" restaurants, hotels and establishments in Orange County.  He said, "There's absolutely nothing I haven't seen."  

The Valet proceeded to tell me story, after story, after story.  He flung around the names of celebrities and the richest of Orange County's rich.  His stories had the ring of truth.  I can spot a bullshitter a mile away and this man was sincere.

What I learned from him, however, is the rich go to a lot of work, and spare no expense, to have illicit affairs.

I've never had an affair, but I imagine it's a lot of work to keep up with two separate relationships regardless of your finances.  I can barely keep straight the lives of the people who live in my house, let alone adding anyone else into the mix.

The valet told me about celebrities paying him to "hide" their cars so their spouses/friends/acquaintances wouldn't see their cars where they weren't supposed to be - whether it be a hotel or a restaurant.

Can you imagine?

"Excuse me, here's an extra $100 for you to go hide my car until I'm ready to leave."

He also told me stories of people paying him to drive them back to where they were supposed to be in the first place.  That's right - they arrived at a hotel with someone they shouldn't have, presumably enjoyed their rendezvous, and then paid a valet generously to drive them back to wherever their car had been left.

As an example, Jack tells his wife he's at the local sports bar with the guys.  He drives there and leaves his car, visible, in the parking lot.  His girlfriend picks him up and they go to a hotel.  Jack leaves his girlfriend, cozy in bed at the hotel, at 2 a.m. and pays the valet to take him back to his car at the sports bar.  From the sports bar, Jack then drives back home to his wife.

So much planning!

The valet also told me about people who paid his attendants to drive them to other locations.  For example, Mike shows up at a fancy restaurant.  Mike told his wife he has to attend a business dinner there.  Mike pays the valet to park his car in a visible spot.  He then slips the valet an extra $100 to drive him a few blocks away to a nice hotel where he will be meeting his mistress.

I've used men's names in my above examples, but The Valet told me stories revolving around both men and women.  I know affairs are common.  I know rich people in other locations probably do similar things.  It just never occurred to me before that anyone would go to so much effort.

I suppose there's nothing new here, but it's new to me.  

I walked away stunned at the amount of work, deception, money, and effort people put into pulling off an affair.  If it's worth going through that much to spend time with someone other than your spouse - why not just get a divorce?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Mmmmmmmmmm!!!!!!

**  The Plastic Surgery party is tonight!  If you're looking for me at the party, keep in mind I'll probably be the only woman there with a blue streak in her blonde hair.  Don't be shy - introduce yourself!  I'm looking forward to meeting you!  **

OK, I told you I had a funny story to share and today I'm going to do just that.

However ... if sexual content bothers you, please skip this post.  Instead, rejoin me tomorrow when I'm done snickering and giggling.

I imagine the rest of you perverts are ready for me to tell the story now?

I have a friend.  She's in her early thirties.  She's beautiful.  Let's pretend her name is Kati.  Kati ended a long term relationship a few months ago and is re-entering the dating scene.

I stopped by Kati's condo to drop off some photos for her recently and noticed a big, beautiful, bouquet of fresh roses.  I commented on how pretty they were and she told me she'd been on a date two nights before.  The man she dated sent them the following day.

"That's impressive," I acknowledged.

"Not really," she replied.  "He was the worst kisser I've ever encountered."

Kati went on to tell me about her date with Jim.

Kati and Jim have known each other for many years, but they've been out of touch for the last two.  Previously, they were never romantically involved, but they used to be fairly close friends.  Recently they ran into each other.  While getting caught up, Jim realized Kati is now available.  He immediately asked her out on a date for the very next night.

Kati went on to tell me all of Jim's great attributes.  Because they were once good friends she feels very comfortable with him.  He's a great conversationalist, and has a good sense of humor.  He's attractive, and polite, and seems to think the world of her.

There were, however, big problems as their perfect date progressed and they began getting physical.

Her first clue was when he reached over and gave her a huge kiss.

"He pretty much licked my entire face," she explained.

Because Jim has such a funny sense of humor, Kati thought he was joking around.  She put a hand on each side of his face and said, "Stop!  It isn't funny!"

He looked at her with hurt, puppy dog eyes and said, "What's not funny?"

She was stunned.

"Well, if everything else about him is so great, you can teach him how to kiss," I suggested.

"He's unteachable, I tried!" replied Kati.

Jim was quite revved up to be alone with Kati and the bad-kissing progressed to "other things" fairly quickly.

"He wanted to go down on me and it's been so long since I've been with anyone, I figured why not," explained Kati.

Jim apparently didn't do much better in the oral sex department.  Kati tried to guide him and reposition him, but Jim seemed to be lacking in an understanding of basic female anatomy.  She finally came right out and asked him if he could maybe move right there instead of lapping her entire body (from the belly button down) with his tongue.

When Jim did as she requested, she tried to encourage him by letting out a moan and saying, "Mmmmmmm!"

"MMMMMMMMMMM!!" Jim echoed back (very loudly) into her crotch, with massive amounts of M-vibration.

Kati nearly jumped a foot off the bed.  It was not a good type of vibration.

"MMMMM??" she asked.

"MMMMM??" questioned Jim with his parrot-like vibrating M-echo. 

Kati once again tried to guide Jim to the right spot, and it took quite some time before he even came close to the correct vicinity.

"MMMMMMMMMmmmmmm!" cried out Katie.

"MMMMMMMMMmmmmmm!" Jim pulsated right back at her via her cooter.

At this point, Kati knew she was never, ever, going to have an orgasm with Jim.  It was all she could do not to laugh.  Jim's parrot-like "Mmmmm-ing" and the weird tickling vibration it caused had killed her sexual desire.

Although they had seemed so compatible in every way, clearly they could not be less compatible physically.

Kati decided to try out a few more "Mmmmmmmm" sounds to see what Jim would do and the result was always the same.

"Mmmmmmmm!" Jim vibrated right back at (in?) her.

"So how did the night end?" I asked.

"I faked an orgasm to get it over with.  I was never, ever, going to cum," answered Kati.

The next day Kati received a dozen roses from Jim with a note saying he'd had a fantastic time on their date.  He followed up with a call asking to see her again.

Kati didn't want to hurt Jim's feelings so she told him she was busy.  He laughed and said, "Oh was the sex that bad?"  Jim was joking, of course.  Kati had faked it like a pro and Jim was actually feeling like quite a stud.  He thought he had pleased her immensely.

Kati chatted lightly with Jim for a few minutes and then ended the conversation.  Jim said he would be calling again soon.  He really wants to see her badly.

"It was the worst experience I've ever had with a guy in bed," Kati confessed.

If I asked Jim I think I'd hear a different story.  

He seemed to think his date with Kati was, "Mmm-Mmm Good!"

© Twenty Four At Heart

Revisiting the Well Endowed Man

** If you will be in Southern California THIS THURSDAY, March 11th, and you're interested in attending the Plastic Surgery Party, you can click here for details. **

There's a saying in the Internet world, "Don't feed the trolls."

A troll is someone who stays hidden behind the anonymity of the Internet while casting stones (negative, hurtful words) at Internet writers.  If someone disagrees with a post or an opinion they're not a troll if it's done in a respectful manner.  If they spew hate, and hurt, and venom just to get attention they are.

Sometimes the term "troll" is used more loosely by bloggers to refer to anyone sending us weird shit just because they can.

I say all this, because surely someone is going to read today's post and then write and tell me I shouldn't have written it because by doing so I'm "feeding a troll."  (Giving a troll the attention he/she craves.)

I've thought about this very thing for a few days, however, in this case I don't consider the person involved to be a troll.  Also?  The story is just too funny not to share.  Lastly, the person involved in this situation isn't a regular reader so I think it's okay to share the story with all of you.

Every morning I check my email inbox just like millions of other people.  Writing Twenty Four At Heart guarantees I never know what I'll find when I do.  Last week I received an email from "just a regular guy" in England who had read my post on Well Endowed Men.

As background, I wrote that post originally strictly for the laugh factor.  It made me laugh, and I knew it would make many of you laugh.  A funny thing happened, however.  It has become one of my most widely read posts.  Tens of thousands of people all over the world have read my Well Endowed Men post.  I certainly didn't expect that to happen when I wrote it.  

In addition, I've gotten a lot of emails from people regarding its contents.  Most of them are from Well Endowed Men wanting to agree or disagree with points (ha!) made by the men interviewed.  Many of them want to share the ups and downs (ha again!) of being a Well Endowed Man with me.

These are serious, very sincere, emails I receive.  It will give you some idea of how many I've received when I tell you I've become very accustom to Well Endowed Men writing to me.

"Oh, it's another email from a Well Hung Endowed Man," I think when I open them to read.

Ho hum.  Just another day in the life of Twenty Four At Heart.

Come to think of it, maybe I should start a dating service?  Who else hears from Well Endowed Men as often as I do?

All of that being said, I was not surprised to get yet another email from a Well Endowed Man last week.  He wanted to give me feedback on my post and share with me some of his experiences as a Well Endowed Man.

He told me of experiences like neighbors and teachers and "mums good friends" pursuing him due to his ... natural assets.  Like the men I interviewed for the original post, he explained the difficulties of finding appropriate fitting clothing and condoms.

He also sent photos of himself so I could see he's just a "regular guy."  The photos were of himself, clothed.  Yes, there was a quite visible bulge in his pants, but for all I know it was a sock he stuffed in there before having someone click a few photos.

Intriguing, nonetheless.

(Oops, maybe I shouldn't have admitted written that?)

I've cropped his face out of this photo (to protect his identity) just to give you a general idea of what he was referring to.

The humor really kicked in when I took the situation to Twitter.  Honestly, the reason I love Twitter so much is because of the laughs it gives me.  People can be so witty in 140 characters or less.  

I haven't asked for permission to share tweets here so I'm going to leave the authors quoted below anonymous.  Here's a sample of some of the Twitter conversation regarding the correspondence from my Well Endowed reader.

TwentyFour:  Some guy in England just sent me an email about his 12 inch .... Why did he think I needed to hear about that?

TwentyFour:  He even sent photos of himself (clothed) to prove he's just a "regular guy"  Why, why, why??

TwentyFour:  And yes, there is a big bulge in his pants, however it might just be a SOCK.

Tweeter#1:  Or a sausage.  Sausages are big in England.

Tweeter#2:  Dude.  Ask him for a penis shot.

TwentyFour: @Tweeter#2 I hate to encourage him. I don't want him mailing me a free ticket to England. Altho it has been a long time since I visited

TwentyFour:  Visited England that is ... not a 12 incher.  That's nobody's business now is it?  : )

Tweeter#3:  What the heck are you talking about, woman?  I'm afraid to look at the thread.

TwentyFour: @Tweeter#3  You'll have to look at thread on this one.  It's an *ahem* loooooooong story.

Tweeter#4:  (A man)  Tell him to bugger off.

Tweeter#2:  Hey you're just asking for a photo of his 'little man,' it's not like you're proposing or anything.  heh.

Tweeter#5:  Email him about your bionic nipples!  They don't shrink to nothing in the pool! Lol!

Tweeter#6:  Just caught "12 incher" ... thus attracting my complete attention.

Tweeter#3:  Got it ... Apparently we are going to England to check out a dude that wants to show @TwentyFour his ample natural asset.

Tweeter#6:  If you insist. RT @Tweeter#3 We're going to England to check out dude who wants to show @TwentyFour ample natural asset.

The funny thing is ....  The women who are Tweeter#3 and Tweeter#6 have not been heard from since.  I do believe they might really be on their way to England to meet him.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Smooth and Sexy Special

Yesterday morning I went in for a Brazilian Bikini Wax.

I wanted to be waxed near Valentine's Day for obvious reasons, but also because of a "special" my waxing salon was having.  Every month I receive an email newsletter from my salon, but this month's newsletter really caught my attention.  Here is how it began:

Happy Love Day!

Can you believe February is already here?  We hope you're staying nice and cozy during these winter days!  As you know, Valentine's Day is close, so remember to book your waxing quickly as spots fill up for this special day!  Read on to check what's new at OC Waxing ....

Much Love,

Your Waxologists!

Free Valentine's Panties, Ladies!

Get any bikini wax between now and Valentine's Day to receive a free pair of sexy panties!  We love you and want you to be smooth AND lookin' sexy for your Valentine!  Book now, get waxed, and pick your pleasure from our Bikini Bins!

There was more to the newsletter, but you get the idea.

After my wax, I perused the Bikini Bins to pick out my free thong.

This sign was right by the panties:

And this is the pair of free panties I picked out:

  

There's nothing like animal prints to get things all wild-ish.

(Rawr!)

© Twenty Four At Heart

iSuck (Just Ask Me To)

Last month Las Vegas hosted the AEE - better known as the Adult Entertainment Expo.

No, I didn't attend.

I would love to next year though.  Think of the giggles blog material!

A man named Douglas Hines unveiled a sex-robot at the Expo.  Her name is Roxxxy.  She is the most advanced sex robot ever invented.  Roxxxy won't be available for purchase for a few months still, but supposedly thousands of men have already pre-ordered a Roxxxy of their very own.  (If you're interested, you can contact Hines' very graphic site here, but I should warn you in advance it isn't appropriate if you're at work.)

I found this photo of (anatomically correct) Roxxxy with her creator online.

Did you notice her mouth is open?

* snicker *

Personally, I don't find Roxxxy very attractive but I'm a heterosexual female.  You may have a different opinion.

Here's Roxxxy in a different outfit and position (and apparently with a companion).

 

Roxxxy comes with a high price tag.  She costs $7,000!  

That's right seven thousand dollars!

I suppose her price tag makes her perfect for rich, lonely, OC men.

Roxxxy is five foot seven inches tall and weighs a thin 120 pounds.  Her skin is made out of the same soft, silicone, material that artificial limbs are made out of.  Heated air blows pumps through her body to keep her warm to the touch.

(I'm really, really, trying to give you all the information about Roxxxy without making any puns.  It's very hard difficult.)

Why is Roxxxy so special?  Well, there are several reasons.  Roxxxy comes with five different personalities including Frigid Farrah and Wild Wendy.  Her companion can pick whichever personality he/she's in the mood for.

Can anyone tell me why someone would pay $7000 for a frigid rubber sex robot?

Roxxxy is also a product of artificial intelligence (as are many Orange County women.)  She can carry on conversations, express emotion and answer questions.  She can't move on her own so her owner won't have to worry about Roxxxy wandering off with another partner when he needs her most.  She, however, can be contorted into most "natural" positions for your enjoyment.

I'm going to leave that last sentence alone.

Writing this post is taking amazing restraint on my part!

Roxxxy has "sensors" in her hands, and genitals (and breasts? does she have bionic nipples?) so she will respond orally vocally when touched.  I'm not sure if she's a moaner or a screamer.  It might depend on which personality her companion has chosen at the time.  

Roxxxy shudders when she has an orgasm.

What happens to a man's ego if he can't make his sex robot cum?

Roxxxy isn't perfect.  She snores in her sleep.  Yes, she really does.  There's a button to turn off her snoring if you find it irritating.  (I'm trying to get a button installed on Briefcase with the same feature!)  Also, Roxxxy's battery only lasts about three hours on one charge.  When she needs to be recharged, her companion uses an electrical cord which plugs into her back.

When I need to be recharged, I head out of town for the weekend.

If you want to pay extra, Roxxxy's creator can program her to discuss particular topics.  Are you into the stock market?  Does it turn you on?  Well, he can program Roxxxy to discuss the market with you for an extra fee.  Have you always wanted a woman who loves to watch, and discuss, lacrosse with you?  Roxxxy may be the answer.

In the future, versions of Roxxxy are expected to do even more.  (Which begs the question, what won't Roxxxy do now?)  

A male sex robot is in the making also.  He'll be named Rocky.

I'm sure it won't be long until Apple comes out with a similar doll of their own.  Possible names for an Apple sex doll?  How about iSuck?  Or maybe it should be iFuck?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Well, Crap ...

I came down with a fever yesterday.  You know, because I didn't have enough on my plate already.  I'm not that sick - just enough to make me feel like shit.  As a result, I'm going to continue my attempt to keep you entertained with absolutely no effort on my part.

I'm getting good at it?  

Maybe?

My sister sent me this via email.  I thought it was really funny.  I hope you do too.

The Latest Woman's Car

  

Renault and Ford are working on a new small car for women.

They are mixing the Clio and the Taurus, and calling it the "Clitaurus."

It comes in pink, and the average male thief will not be able to find it, even if someone tells him exactly where it is.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Sex Addict?

** Thank you to Secondhand Radio for the interview last night.  It was really a lot of fun.  The interview went over the allotted hour by quite (!) a bit.  It is/or soon will be available as a free podcast on iTunes.  You can click here to find the correct iTunes link if you are interested in downloading it. **

The topic of sex addiction has been brought up to me three times in ten days.  Most recently, a friend told me her marriage is ending as a result of her husband's sex addiction.

Seriously?

I don't know if I believe in sex addiction.  I don't know that I DON'T believe in it either.  

It seems like sex addicted women used to just be called sluts.  Sex addicted men were called ladies men, or more likely, pigs.

Now it seems like every bad habit is called an addiction.

My friend tells me her husband "needs" constant sexual stimulation.  Porn, and a variety of partners (who he has tried unsuccessfully to keep hidden from his wife), are his methods of feeding his habit.  A (big) part of me feels he's throwing the word "addiction" at his wife as an excuse for bad behavior.  If he's addicted to sex then she is expected to be more understanding of his escapades, I suppose.

After all, an addict cannot be expected to have control over their habit, right?  At least not without professional treatment and guidance, and maybe not even then.

I happen to know this particular man, and my nonprofessional opinion is that he's just a self-indulgent asshole with little regard for the damage his selfishness causes other people.  

Not to be harsh or anything ....

I'm not condoning infidelity, but it's easier to wrap my brain around someone having a meaningful affair vs. someone who wants to screw everything in sight. 

I don't really have a lot to write about this topic.  It's on my mind right now because I see my friend in distress over the demise of her marriage.  I brought it up here today because I'm curious as to what your thoughts are.

Do you believe sex addiction is a real addiction or just an excuse for infidelity?

Do you think people with this "addiction" can be cured or learn to control it?

Would you stay with a partner who was repeatedly unfaithful and blamed their behavior on being a sex addict?

I'm curious to hear your opinion.  You are also welcome to share any experiences you might have with this topic. 

© Twenty Four At Heart

Appraising? Or Judging?

Where to start ... where to start?

Did you know I have a high IQ?  I'm just pointing that out because you would never believe it if I didn't tell you in spite of that amazing fact, I have Idiotic Episodes on a fairly regular basis.  Maybe I should make Idiotic Episodes a new category in the sidebar of 24?

We're in the process of refinancing our house.  We're doing it to take advantage of lower interest rates.  Or better said, we've got two kids in college right now and college costs a shitload of cash. 

Briefcase is in charge of the refi.  It's only fair.  He travels all the time on business.  I'm responsible for absolutely everything else in our lives since he's never home.  It seems only right that he gets to handle The Refi Project.  Also, I don't have any a lot of patience for that sort of thing.  

In addition, I've kind of been a walking disaster lately.  (See yesterday's brazilian waxing post if you question the validity of that statement.)  I'm blaming H1N1 and Tamiflu for every absent minded thing I do.  Seriously, I don't think the drug is out of my system yet and I'm blaming it for Mental Confusion because I can.  (See the Tamiflu listed side effects and you will see Mental Confusion listed!)  It would not be a good idea for me, in my current mentally confused state, to be in charge of refinancing.

(By the way ... yesterday Briefcase asked me exactly how much my little "incident" at the waxing salon cost to repair.  Can you believe it?  He never would have known if he would just stop reading my blog!  Who told that man I have a blog?)

(Also, yesterday The Torturer stood there just shaking his head at me in amazement  in bewilderment  totally dumbfounded as I told him about the "waxing mishap."  He says he "just doesn't know why" I "seem to have so many more mishaps than other people."  Do you think he was insulting me by saying that?  I don't think the man appreciates the humor I've brought to his life at all.  Let me tell you, he would be bored to death without me.  I'm sure of it.)

(Also, yesterday I got an email from my old college boyfriend.  The email said he had just finished reading that very same brazilian waxing post and wanted to know "how much of that story was real?"  Um, ex-boyfriend?  I can't make up shit like that.  I wrote back to him and said, "All of my posts are real, aren't you glad you escaped me?"  He didn't reply, so I take that as a resounding YES!  He's probably laughing his ass off at Briefcase having to pay for shattered hurricane lamps.)

What was I saying before all those parentheses?

Oh yeah, the Refi.

So, an appraiser was supposed to come out to our house this Friday for about 45 minutes to take a look at our house and take photos.  This was a good plan because every Friday a house cleaner comes to our home to do all the things I can no longer do since the car accident.  You know, things that take two working arms like changing sheets and mopping floors and tedious chores I could do but pretend I can't.  Mr. Appraiser was going to come when the house would be clean and sparkly for pictures.

Except, Mr. Appraiser showed up yesterday!  Yesterday was only Wednesday.  Yesterday was not Friday.

Briefcase forgot to tell me there had been a change of plans.

I answered the door, flipped out when Mr. Appraiser explained who he was, and slammed the door shut in his face.  Well, I didn't really slam the door shut, but I sort of did.  Then I reopened it and said, "Just give me a minute, I'll be right back," and shut the door in his face again.

I looked around at the clutter on my coffee room table.  I grabbed magazines and books and newspapers and scooped them in my arms.  I tossed the whole mess in the oven to hide it.  I saw a few dog toys on the floor.  I picked them up and hurriedly tossed them into the pantry.  I went back to the front door and opened it with a smile.

Well, who knew?

Mr. Appraiser was very thorough!  

Mr. Appraiser made notes on the type of oven I have right before he opened the door of it revealing the newspapers and magazines I was about to bake.  Mr. Appraiser wanted to see our "walk-in" pantry also.  He discovered 1) It is not a walk-in pantry and 2) We have dog toys sticking out of cereal boxes.  

Mr. Appraiser liked our pool and the large upstairs deck we built onto the house.  I'm not quite sure what he thought when he went through our bedrooms though.  I was downstairs on the phone as he made his way through them.  It wasn't until later in the evening that I realized my rabbit was sitting out in plain sight on my bedspread.

Do you suppose it increased the value of our bedroom?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Brazilian Bikini Wax - Take Two

I'm such an idiot sometimes.

This might be a sort of very humiliating story.

I astound even myself sometimes.

Yesterday I went for my second-ever brazilian bikini wax.  (If you haven't read about my first-ever brazilian bikini wax you can do so by clicking here.) 

Prior to my appointment I drank several cups of coffee.  

By the way, don't ever do that.  It doesn't behoove you to drink a pot of coffee just prior to getting a brazilian bikini wax.  Ever.

My waxing salon just moved to a new location.  When I arrived I was greeted by Jackson.

Jackson is a 6 month old Portuguese Water Dog.  (He's the same breed as the Obama dog.)  This was the first time the two of us had met.  Jackson was the only one in the waiting area.  He belongs to the owner of the salon.  He's an adorable puppy and wanted hugs and to play from the moment he saw me.  

Yes, I am a total sucker for puppies.

Within a few seconds Jackson had brought me a big stuffed toy.

I tossed the toy a few feet from my chair and Jackson leaped after it in total joy.  We played for a few more minutes.  I thought Jackson would like it better if I threw the toy far for him.  It was a big waiting area and there was no one there.

I can't throw with my bum right arm so I threw the toy with my left arm.

I shouldn't have done that.  I really, really, should not have done that.  I have absolutely no coordination with my left arm.  The toy did not go where it was supposed to.  No, instead it went somewhere else.  One of the stuffed animal's legs clipped a big hurricane candle holder as it sailed through the air on it's way to somewhere else.

Crash!

Broken glass everywhere!

Jackson cowered from the noise as if he'd been the imbecile who broke the (brand new) salon decor.

I scooted the puppy to safety so he wouldn't walk in the shattered glass as I yelled, "I'm SO sorry!" really loudly.

The owner of the waxing salon walked out and tried to be polite about the fact I'm a societal reject.  I, of course, told her I'd pay for the broken hurricane.  (And I did prior to leaving.)  Nonetheless, I was humiliated and had just pissed off the woman who would be yanking out my pubic hair.

It is never a good idea to piss off the person who will be ripping out your pubes.

She told me to go get undressed while she swept up the broken glass.  

At this point I was not only humiliated but also very flustered.  I'm sure that makes what happened next understandable.

I went into one of the waxing rooms and removed my clothes.  Did I mention the salon just relocated?  Well, they have these new, tall, tables for clients to lay on.  Next to the table is a stepping stool to help you get up on the table.  As the owner was outside sweeping up the mess of broken glass, I attempted to climb onto the table naked from the waist down.  The stepping stool slid on the new, slippery, floors.  It crashed into a floor lamp.  The floor lamp crashed against the window making a loud noise, but neither the lamp nor window broke.  My body went flying onto the table with a huge, loud THUD.

Silence.

"What happened?" she called from outside the door.

"Nothing's broken, I promise," I shouted back.

A minute later she joined me with a skeptical look in her eyes as she glanced around the now dissheveled room.

She began the process of a brazilian bikini wax.

A few minutes later I asked, "Am I peeing on you?"

"What?" she replied aghast.  She quickly removed her hand from my crotch.

At this point, I think she was seriously considering a career change.

I tried to explain.  I drank a pot ton of coffee right before my appointment.  The commotion of the shattered hurricane, almost breaking the floor lamp and window concurrently, and then flying through the air to fall on the table had made me need to pee.  Now I felt something warm ... down there and I thought maybe I had peed without realizing it.

She stared at me.  She stared at my spread eagled display.

"It's just the wax you feel," she said as she questioned my sanity and my control over my bladder simultaneously.

I apologized profusely again.  

She continued ripping the hair out of my lady parts.

I inquired about what Jackson might be doing all by himself out in the waiting area.  She confessed she hoped he wasn't chewing up anything.  In an attempt to be friendly and make amends, I asked her if perhaps Jackson would like to join us.

So you see, it all really makes sense.  

That is exactly how I ended up on a table with my legs spread apart in the air, hot wax on my vagina, and a Portuguese Water Dog licking my hand.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Updates For The Curious

Welcome to today's hodgepodge of unrelated topics.  There's a reason for this crappy disorganized post, but I'm not sharing it.  Instead, I'm just going to update you on some topics I've written about recently.  I'm really behind on email and many of you have sent in questions or comments.  Hopefully as I ramble today I'll answer some of your questions.

By the way, before I get started ...

I love writing Twenty Four At Heart.  I also love every single one of you who takes the time to stop in to visit.  When you have time to leave a comment, send an email, tweet me or contact me in any way I'm thrilled.  (Except for the emails from That Perv and he knows who he is.)  I try my hardest to get back to you, but as 24 has grown it hasn't always been possible.  Recently, a few people have been quite blunt in letting me know I suck.  I do - I admit it.  I apologize.  

I'm doing the best I can.

Ok, then.

Spanderella.  As a reminder, Spanderella is the married woman who wears only skimpy amounts of spandex and haunts PT.  My post on her didn't fool many people in the Money Town community.  I tried to disguise her identity but no fewer than six people contacted me knowing Spanderella's correct identity.  It must be a new Money Town game ... read Twenty Four At Heart and guess which resident might be hidden in a post.  

I will do better in disguising my "characters" in the future.  (Either that, or maybe I'll start giving a prize to the first person to correctly identify them?)

A Harmless Affair?  Infidelity is a topic everyone seems to want to discuss, and discuss, and then discuss some more.  I can't believe the number of people who have shared stories of love and betrayal with me since this post published.  I will be sharing some of those stories with you, but I'm trying to space them out a little so I don't overwhelm you with nonstop relationship stories.  I'll have another one written up soon.

Going Brazilian  I doubt many of you have forgotten that I "live tweeted" my first-ever Brazilian Bikini Wax last month.  It's now four weeks later.  The salon I go to requires a return visit every four weeks for all of their Brazilian customers.  Guess where I will be today?  

 

Ouch!

My friend, Jane Devin, has begun her amazing journey around the United States.  She has already begun blogging about her trip, but her website address has changed since I wrote about her.  If you're interested in following along on her journey you can find Jane at Finding My America.

I'm not very good at keeping secrets.  I'm very excited about something I will be sharing with you in a few weeks ... closer to Thanksgiving time.  For now, all I can say publicly is that I think you will be very interested in the topic.  Ok, I can't resist.  I'll give you one hint.  Dr. Nichter might be involved.  Do you remember him?  

I haven't seen The Torturer in ten days because I've been busy taking care of my very sick son.  Ten days doesn't sound like a long time, does it?  Ten days of no torture is wonderful in many ways.  On the other hand, since I can't move my arm myself, I'm very dependent on having him move it for me.  When that doesn't happen all my surrounding muscles begin atrophying and causing problems.  I will be reunited with The Torturer tomorrow.  I expect it to be a painful wonderful reunion. 

Also, my son is feeling better - thank you to all of you who have been wishing him well.  I know some of you have emailed requesting my Chicken Soup recipe.  To be honest, I don't have one.  I make it slightly different each time depending on what ingredients I have on hand.  I will try to post a basic Chicken Noodle Soup recipe (as it exists in my brain) later this week.  Probably on Friday - but don't hold me to that, okay?

One of my favorite holidays is coming soon.

I've always loved Halloween.  

My 24th birthday will be on the Monday after Halloween, November 2nd.  To celebrate, I have something very special planned for you.  Mark your calendars!

Oh, I can't wait!!

© Twenty Four At Heart

My Bionic Nipples Are Still Making Me Blush

I am writing this while blushing.  Really, really blushing!

I received a phone call the other day and I'm still embarrassed over the conversation.

Sometimes there is "fall-out" from my writing.  Once or twice my writing has come back to bite me in the ass.  I've tried to learn from those negative experiences.  Right now, I'm puzzling about how I can be so shy in person and so bold here on 24.  When the two worlds collide ... embarrassment reigns.

The phone call the other day was from Dr. Nichter.  I mentioned him earlier this week when I wrote the two posts about the Plastic Surgery Party (here and here).  Dr. Nichter was calling me to thank me for writing those posts.  He appreciates the publicity and was kind enough to let me know.  Dr. Nichter is a really nice man.  I mean that sincerely ... I really like him and I think he's a good person.  (He travels all over the world donating his time to help people with deformities, etc.  He's that nice.)

Ok, back to my inability to stop blushing ...

Let me give you some quick history.  When I underwent my breast reduction last June, the doctor and his staff knew a few things about me.  First, they knew a debilitating car accident had prompted my visit.  Second, they were aware I'm a writer.  I was trying to recover from the reduction in time for a writer's conference in Chicago.  As a result, we talked about my writing a lot.  Some of the staff members asked the name of my website and I refused to give it to them.  Let's face it, I make fun of a lot of things here on 24.  I wanted to be able to write about my reduction in a light hearted way and not be concerned about the doctor or his staff reading what I wrote.

I did just that.  I wrote about my reduction.  I even shared with you stories of my bionic nipples.  I told you of the unexpected pleasure and embarrassment my newly uber-sensitive nipples brought.  I never did discuss their extreme sensitivity with my doctor.  I was too embarrassed for one thing.  Also, I figured the sensitivity would pass.  

It hasn't.

With my decision to write about the Plastic Surgery Party came the knowledge my past posts might come to light.  However, I convinced myself a busy, successful, surgeon would not have time to do more than lightly peruse my posts about the party.

I was wrong.

One of the first things Dr. Nichter said to me was thank you for my posts on his party.  He followed that by informing me his phone has been ringing off the hook as a result of my writing.  He, jokingly, told me he now has a five year waiting list of women who want bionic nipples.  He even asked me if he had remembered to explain to me how to change the batteries in them.

<blush>

He laughed.  

I laughed.  

My face is still red with embarrassment.

I'm thankful the doctor has a sense of humor.

I'm thankful he's not offended by mine.

Dr. Nichter went on to ask, "Do you know why you have those bionic nipples?"  He then proceeded to explain to me the reasons for their sensitivity.  He also told me to enjoy them.  

Before we hung up the doctor suggested I "be careful how [I] use them out there."

Did I mention I'm still blushing?

© Twenty Four At Heart

A Harmless Affair?

Infidelity is a topic I've touched on a few times before.  In the past two weeks, however, I've had some pretty heated infidelity discussions with friends.  Why?  Because it seems more and more people I know are involved in affairs, contemplating affairs, feeling guilty over affairs, divorcing because of affairs, or trying to repair the damage from them.

After all, who doesn't want hot, steamy, passion in their life?

The other day I found myself vehemently arguing the negative impact of affairs with someone who was countering my argument by saying affairs can be harmless to a marriage and possibly even have a positive impact.  

Positive for who?

The pro-affair argument came from a man.

Does gender determine your opinion on this topic?  Do most men think affairs are harmless and most women disagree?  Would the same man express his pro-affair opinion if he discovered his wife had an affair?  Or if she retaliated after discovering his affair with one of her own?

My pro-affair acquaintance argued that if his wife never found out about an affair, it would be harmless.

I made the following points:

1.  If you have an affair, you have to assume at some point it will be discovered.  To assume no one will ever discover, and reveal, your infidelity is naive.

2.  Even if your partner never discovers your affair, the energy you expend on the affair (mental, emotional, sexual, psychological) is energy you are not funneling into your marriage.  By giving less to your marriage you are hurting it whether or not your spouse knows the reason behind it.

3.  If you are having an affair, or seriously contemplating an affair, there's something lacking in your marriage (or yourself) that needs attention.  To convince yourself that your marriage is "fine" or "great" while you get involved with someone else is nothing more than denial.

4. If an affair is never discovered, the participating spouse is still plagued with destructive guilt for years to come.  

5.  If an affair is discovered, it often takes years to rebuild even a fraction of the trust which existed between spouses prior to the betrayal.  (If the marriage survives, which it often does not.)

The pro-affair gentleman countered with:

1. Having sex on the side might make a person happier and more willing to stay with their spouse for the long term.

2. What about prostitutes?  What if a man uses a prostitute once in awhile and there is no emotional attachment?  If the wife never finds out and it's only an occasional thing, what is the harm?  (Assuming he uses condoms to avoid bringing home diseases to his wife.)

To that I replied, "Really?  Because ewwwww!"

He added he, personally, would never hire the services of a prostitute.  He was just trying to make a point that going outside of your marriage can be harmless.

Can it?

What do you think?

Are affairs ever harmless?

I'm really curious to see if the opinions on this topic vary a lot by gender.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Secrets

Do you have any secrets?

I bet you do.

I think everyone has secrets.

I'm not telling you mine.  What?  Do you really think I would take my deepest, darkest, secret and publish it on the Internet?  Actually, I don't think I have too many mysteries to share even if I wanted to.  I do, however, have a few secrets.  I'm of the opinion that everyone does.

Have you ever wondered at what point undisclosed information becomes classified as a secret?

Can secrets between a couple actually be a healthy thing for a relationship?

Do all secrets destroy trust?

The married man who has an affair but never reveals it to his wife has a secret.  The wife of that man may know he had an affair but perhaps she's chosen never to reveal her knowledge.  She also has a secret.

I have girlfriends I feel I can tell anything to.  Anything.  Whether it be the condition of my uterus or my frustration over an argument with Briefcase.  They, in turn, can pour out their hearts to me.  We can chat on the phone, or over a cocktail.  We offer each other support, advice and companionship.

Do I then go share these conversations with my husband?

No, I do not.

To me, it's girl talk.  It's what we women do.  We talk, we share, we confess our hearts to one another.  

Do we have secrets?  I suppose we do.

Do I think of our conversations as secrets?  No, I don't.  I think we share confidences.  Is there really a difference?

Almost every family has "family secrets."  Uncle Joe may wear dresses when no one is looking.  The entire family knows, but no one discusses it.  Parents may get divorced and tell the kids, "It's no one's fault."  In reality, maybe mommy has had ten affairs and can't stop abusing alcohol.  Sometimes a secret is the same as a lie.

When is it wrong to keep information to yourself?  

What if you don't tell your spouse something because you don't want to hurt her feelings?  What if your wife gets jealous easily so you "never mention" a platonic female friend you are actually very close to?  What if your husband questions you unmercifully about everything you do so you "forget to mention" certain things in your day just to get him off your back?  In both these situations, the "secret" may actually be harmless information which is hidden so it won't be misconstrued.

I know some of you will say all secrets are bad.  Some of you are thinking spouses should know absolutely everything about one another.  

To that, I say bullshit.

Look in the mirror and then look again.

Everyone has secrets.  I, personally, think keeping some things to yourself is healthy.  I'm not condoning cheating or outright betrayals of trust.  I just think every individual needs a little space to call their own.  Sometimes not sharing everything can be better for a relationship.

What do you think?

Is it healthy to have a secret?  At what point does a secret become a betrayal?  

© Twenty Four At Heart

Going Brazilian

If you are a family member, or know me even remotely in person, this is a post you should NOT READ.  I'm writing intimate details about my lady bits today.  

If you don't like explicit posts, come back tomorrow.  If you want to gloat over my "sex writing" then stay.

I know many of you are enjoying cool fall weather.  I'm not.  It's hot as hell here and likely will be for a few months to come.  As a result, I swim a lot.  Swimming a lot means being in a bathing suit a lot.  Being in a bathing suit a lot means I like to keep my cooter well groomed.

I usually go to a waxing salon once a month for a "French bikini wax."  A French bikini wax is when they wax any hair outside of your panty line.  In addition, they wax the top part of the V so your hairline begins lower.  The esthetician waxes the top of the V so you can wear a low bikini if you want to and not have any stragglers hanging out.

Have the men all departed yet?

I'm a natural blonde.  

(See, I warned you ... TMI - right?)

Most blondes have way less body hair than non-blonde people.  I'm sharing this info because I've received a zillion emails with questions about bikini waxing and I want you to realize my experience may very well be different than yours.  I also have very fair, extremely sensitive, skin.  I've tried shaving and I get a terrible, irritated, rash.  Shaving my twat is not an option for me.

Less hair = a positive for waxing.

Sensitive skin = a negative.

All of this leads up to my appointment yesterday morning for my first-ever Brazilian Bikini Wax.

What is a Brazilian?

Just to confuse us all, different salons have different definitions.  Some salons consider a Brazilian Wax one where every single hair is removed front to back except for a small, trimmed, "landing strip" in front.  Most salons here in Orange County, however, consider a Brazilian Wax one where every single cooter hair is removed leaving the recipient completely bald down there.

I went bald.

Front to back baldness!

I also decided to Tweet the experience live.

My waxing esthetician didn't mind.  She thought it was hilarious.

An hour before my wax I tweeted:

Getting my first Brazilian Bikini Wax this morning.  Maybe I should have a couple cocktails before I go?

People began tweeting me with brazilian bikini waxing tips.  For instance, one person told me to take a couple Advil an hour beforehand to avoid pain and inflammation.  I immediately popped two.  Another person told me about No Scream Cream which helps with the pain if you use it prior to waxing.  (I didn't have enough time to go buy it.)

A man asked me about Penis Waxing for men.  Yes, a lot of men do get their privates waxed these days too.  My esthetician tells me they often walk in with a chub but after that first cloth strip goes riiiiiiiiiiip they are flaccid as can be for the remainder of the waxing.

<snicker>

Some of you corresponded with me regarding laser hair removal also.  I've not tried it, but I've heard mixed reviews.  Laser is supposed to be more painful, take up to 6 visits, and I've heard many women do experience some regrowth after a one year period.  Regrowth means a return to waxing.  (Maybe some of you can share your laser hair removal experiences with me in the comment section?)

I took a shower, of course, before going in.  After all, my poor esthetician was going to be up close and personal with me.  Then it occured to me ... what if I stayed a little damp down there from my shower?  Would the wax not work?

I did the only reasonable thing I could think of.  I blow dried my muff.  Yes, I really did.  Just a tip, if you ever blow dry your snatch you don't want the temperature setting of the blow dryer on hot.  Just sayin' ....

Whew!

It wasn't long until I sent out the following tweet from the salon:

Getting undressed!

A minute later, I was on my back on a table waiting for the esthetician with only a small hand towel covering my most delicate parts.

I tweeted:

Scared!  Waiting ...

At this point, my blackberry began flashing frantically at me.  It seemed like all of twitter had joined in on my Brazilian Bikini Wax.  The messages were coming at me faster than I could possibly reply to them.

The esthetician entered the room.  She began waxing my cooch as I lay flat on my back with one leg "frogged" out to the side.

(Exactly how many slang names for IT are there?)

On the third riiiiiiiiip I tweeted:

Holy Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

This was quickly followed by another tweet where I wrote:

This is a little embarrASSing!

By this time, my other leg was also frogged out.  I was still flat on my back.  My esthetician was making me laugh between my gasps of pain.  She got a generous tip for that alone. 

A few minutes later I tweeted:

Owwww!

Followed by:

The wax is burning my cooter!

Then:

Shiiiiiiiiiiit!

And eventually:

Half bald!

Also?  You, and people like you, on Twitter were hilarious.  Here are just a few of the comments sent to me while I was undergoing my Brazilian:

@TwentyFour:  Things just clenched on me.

@ TwentyFour:  bow chicka bow wow!

@ TwentyFour:  may the force be with you

@ TwentyFour:  You're cracking me up.  Live!  First time Brazilian Wax Tweets!  Totally better than labor.

@ TwentyFour:  that does it ... never getting a Brazilian

@ TwentyFour:  omg!  ha ha ha!

@ TwentyFour:  imagine it without the ibuprofen

@ TwentyFour:  My hoo-ha is having sympathy pains

@ TwentyFour:  Like childbirth, it's worth the pain

@ TwentyFour:  *shakes head while trying to continue working*  (from a man)

@ TwentyFour:  I seriously love that you have the balls to tweet this!

@ TwentyFour:  Your live tweeting your bikini wax?  You're all kinds of awesome, that's what you are.

@ TwentyFour:  ::raises a glass::

@TwentyFour:  they are so awful!  Get a bag of frozen peas to sit on.

@TwentyFour:  newborn baby bald?  Ouch!

@ TwentyFour:  no way could I do that!

@ TwentyFour:  the woman who did mine said "the first is the worst."  Thank gawd, huh?

@ TwentyFour:  WHAT THE F&%K ARE YOU DOING?  Run!  Run!

@ TwentyFour:  will you be able to walk?

@ TwentyFour:  is it true you have to get on all fours?

<no it isn't.  I was on my back the entire time.  First, with just one leg frogged out and then with both legs in a frog position.  At the very end I grabbed each knee, spread my legs, and lifted them up as if I was going to push a baby out.  I never left the table or got off my back!>

@ TwentyFour:  would you do it again?

<Yes, I plan to.  I love the results.  Sexaaay!>

@ TwentyFour:  I need a detailed play by play

@ TwentyFour:  please tell me you'll write a blog post on this

@ TwentyFour:  mental image is too hot to be at work  (from a man)

Some of you asked, what is the cost and how long does it last?  Cost varies greatly by salon.  My technician (at a waxing-only OC salon) charges $60 for the first Brazilian and then $50 each time after provided you return every four weeks.  The first Brazilian is supposed to be the most painful.  In time your skin gets used to it and also your hair regrowth slows down.  I have a friend, however, who lives an hour and a half away and has a salon she loves that only charges $25.

I sent out two more tweets about my experience.  

The first said:

I am completely bald front to back!

About forty minutes later I wrote:

Well, that wasn't so bad.  Heh ...

Then I went home and sat on a block of ice for a few hours.

© Twenty Four At Heart

He'd Like Me To Powder My Nipples

As I left for Santa Barbara last week I stopped along the way for a boob check with my plastic surgeon.  For my new readers, I had breast reduction surgery last June at the urging of my shoulder/orthopedic surgeon.  If you're a new reader I'll just have to sum up the whole story like this:  Car Accident.

Anyway, last week was my final "post-surgery" check-up.  I'm slightly disappointed because I love the plastic surgeon's office.  The people who work there are so nice.  The people who come in as patients are so fun to write about.  I'd like to hang out there entirely for writing purposes.

I had to wait around for quite awhile because the doc was in a "consult" with a new patient and "it lasted a lot longer than expected."  Do you know what that means?  It means someone made an appointment to come in for a nose job and really wanted to ask about having their entire body nipped and tucked.  

Fine.  I hung out and talked with the staff while I waited.

Eventually I found myself bare chested in front of the doc.  He looked at me and smiled and said, "You're a very interesting person."

Okaaaaaaaaay ...?

I'm glad he thinks so, I guess.

Maybe he could mention it to my family?

Perhaps I could even cover up my boobs while we discuss it?

Doc is very interested in my writing.  He's also very interested in the Internet.  He's also very interested in marketing his practice on the Internet.

Let's leave it at that for now.

In any case, he suggested I begin powdering my breasts with this:

This is a sunscreen powder with a SPF rating of 30.  The rays of the sun can go right through clothing.  (I already knew this due to my very scary run in with melanoma a few years back.)  The doc informed me I should powder my breasts with this each day to prevent scars from forming on the thin surgical lines he left behind.  

What lines?  They're pretty much gone already!

The sun's rays can really increase scarring though and I have enough scars on my body already without adding to them. 

I love the idea of a powder sunscreen.  It isn't sticky.  It isn't greasy.  I don't feel like I have sunscreen on.  It's water resistant.  I used it on my face, neck, and yes, breasts when I was in Santa Barbara.  It works.  I'm fair skinned and I didn't get the least bit sunburned with it on.

For those of you who are interested, it's made by Colorescience and I think it needs to be purchased through a doctor (dermatologist or plastic surgeon).

However, the sunscreen is really not the point of my story.  (Forgive me for getting sidetracked, but it's kind of a cool product.)

The point is, the doc wants me to powder my breasts each morning.

My breasts with my now bionic nipples.

My bionic, hyper-sensitive, send-me-over-the-edge-into-total-ecstasy nipples will be interacting with this brush every day.

 

Do you suppose I should send my doctor a thank you note?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Love-All?

This is a tale of the very rich and very bored.  It's a true story with a few minor details changed to protect my ass.  It's a story which took place a few years back.  Recently a friend reminded me of the details and I just knew it was a perfect story to share here on 24.

It goes without saying that the events I'm about to share took place in a very wealthy neighborhood in the OC.  I know you'd figure that out in less than a millisecond, but I'll just inform you of that detail right upfront.

Bored rich housewives find all sorts of ways to amuse themselves.  How the Orange County bored housewives amuse themselves seems to provide me with an endless amount of blog fodder.  In this story, a group of thirty-something housewives took up the game of tennis.  Tennis is taken quite seriously by the bored, rich, women in Orange County.  Entire soap operas could be produced surrounding the tennis dramas which take place.

This particular group of bored, rich, tennis playing, OC residents consisted of seven women.  They nicknamed themselves The Spectacular Seven.  They, clearly, thought quite highly of themselves.  By the way, they weren't referring to their tennis skills when they decided on The Spectacular Seven as their group name.

Six of the women were married at the time this story took place.  All seven women had fairly young children.

Did I mention they were bored?  And rich?

They decided it would be fun and exciting to have lovers.  Not just any random sex partners would do, however.  The women solicited a group of young men (boys?) from the local public high school.  Were all the boys 18 and of legal age to have sex?  I don't think they were, but I'll be honest here and say they could possibly have been.  

Soon there were two groups formed.  One group consisted of The Spectacular Seven.  The other group consisted of several horny high school boys.  (Even if they were 18 they were, in my opinion, boys and not men.)  The women would schedule sex dates with the boys.  The women would pay the boys for their services.  The women would then rate the boys on their bedroom skills afterwards.

The boys opened a checking account to handle the funds they were receiving.  Their parents were under the impression the boys had formed a lawn grooming business.  I suppose, in a way, they had.

<smirk>

The fun and games went on for quite awhile.  The Spectacular Seven would assign the boys points based on their rating system after each "date."  The boys would be evaluated on categories such as stamina, size, proficiency with oral sex, etc.  The women would share their evaluations of each boy with each other on a regular basis. 

The women were happy.  The boys were happy.  The husbands and children of The Spectacular Seven were clueless.

Until one day ....

One of The Spectacular Seven women was in the middle of a sex date when her husband surprised her by coming home from work in the middle of the day.  This also surprised the high school boy she was in bed with.  As you can imagine, quite a scene unfolded.

The end result involved the husband divorcing his wife.  The husband contemplated informing the husbands of the other Spectacular Seven women what was going on, but he decided against it.  He wanted to just get on with his life and leave the "entire nightmare" behind him.  Of course, the other women were scared he would inform their husbands so they immediately ceased contacting the boys for sex.  

The boys all went on to graduate from high school.  It is my understanding that every single one of them is now in college and doing quite well with their studies.  Either that or they or pleasing their professors in some other way.

© Twenty Four At Heart

A Poem

I'm on my way to North Carolina today.  I actually left at about 4 a.m. Pacific time this morning.  Ugh!  

You have no idea how tired I am.  I'm also very behind on my email, etc. and I apologize for that.  This will hopefully be my last trip for awhile.  I hope to get caught up soon.

The purpose of this trip is to move my son to college for his freshman year.  (Yes, I'm sobbing!)  

Yesterday I was at the taping of two Dr. Phil episodes.  I will tell you all about my experiences there as soon as I can.  

Since I'm traveling, I thought I'd share two poems with you today.  One of my male friends sent them to me awhile back.  I've been saving them for a travel day when I knew I'd be too busy to write.

Also - remember you can still join me on Friday afternoon/evening in Charlotte if you live in the vicinity.  I'll be at Roosters restaurant for Happy Hour beginning around 4:30 in the afternoon.  I will be in very casual attire - probably jeans and flip flops. 

Do they wear flip flops in North Carolina?  : )

I'm getting really excited to meet some of my Carolina friends.  (Both South Carolina and North Carolina friends are going to be there!)

A Woman's Poem

Before I lay me down to sleep, I pray for a man, who's not a creep,

One who's handsome, smart and strong.  

One who loves to listen long.

One who thinks before he speaks,

One who'll call,

Not wait for weeks.

I pray he's gainfully employed,

When I spend his cash, won't be annoyed.

Pulls out my chair and opens my door.

Massages my back and begs to do more.

Oh!  Send me a man who'll make love to my mind,

Knows what to answer to, "How big is my behind?"

I pray this man will love me to no end,

And always be my very best friend.

A Man's Poem

I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with huge boobs,

Who owns a bar on a golf course,

And loves to send me fishing and drinking.

This doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit.

The End.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Well Endowed Men

** I will be in Charlotte, North Carolina this Friday, August 21st.  Anyone in the area is invited to join me at a very happy (!) Happy Hour at Roosters in the South Park area.  I will be arriving there around 4:30 in the afternoon and I may not leave until closing.  : )  If you need more details please email me at [email protected] **

I apologize in advance.  This post on Well Endowed Men ended up being longer than I expected.  <snort!>

As you know, I've had Well Endowed Men (WEM) on my mind lately.

"Why 24?" you ask, so innocently.

Well, it began when I was on the beach in Hawaii.  No, I wasn't checking out all the men walking by.  Well, not overly checking them out.  Instead, I overheard a conversation between two women who were sunbathing next to me on Kaanapali Beach one day.

Mind you, I wasn't trying to eavesdrop.  At least, I wasn't trying to at first.  After awhile I couldn't resist.  One of the women was sharing with her girlfriend how BIG her boyfriend is.  He's not big in the sense of being 6'4" tall and a body builder.  Well, maybe he is.  I'm not sure what his body is like.  She wasn't talking about that kind of bigness.  Apparently, he's very, very, well endowed in the male equipment department. 

Put bluntly, the man's got a big cock. 

I wanted to ask her, "How big is he?" but then she would have known I could hear their conversation.  

I was curious.

We will have to use our imaginations.

This woman, however, was not a satisfied customer of Mr. Big.  She went on for a good twenty minutes about how a) he doesn't even try to please her in the bedroom b) how he expects her to "worship" his LARGENESS and c) she can't possibly please him with a blow job because he's, um, more than a mouthful and blah, blah, blah.  She went on and on nonstop about his SIZE and her issues with it.

By the way, "more than a mouthful" were her words, not mine.

Her comments reinforced the stereotype many people have about Bigger is Not Necessarily Better.  Maybe there are men out there who are extremely well endowed and know how to please their partner, but maybe not.  Extremely big dicks alone do not make a man a good lover.  

What?  Do men think the world should just be grateful for their size?

I decided I should do some research.

Stop laughing. 

I mentioned in Friday's post, I'd like to interview any Well Endowed Men who'd be up for it (so to speak ... ) via email over the weekend.  I also put a Twitter request out for WEM.  In response, two men offered to answer my questions and be a spokesman for Well Endowed Men everywhere.  A huge (how huge?) thank you to OnlyAMan and TheMuskrat for volunteering to put it out there for you.

<snicker>

My interview questions are in bold print.  The men's responses follow.  "O" signifies the response from OnlyAman and "M" signifies the response from The Muskrat.  (Yes, these are their bloggy names.  I don't think M's birth certificate really says The Muskrat on it.)  In some cases I've had to edit their responses ever so slightly.

1. When did you first realize you had more to offer than other men?

O:  My dad would talk about John Holmes and how he was well endowed and then snicker.  He never really came out saying it, but he made sure I knew I needed bigger pants. 

M:  When I was around 12 or so and was smaller than all my peers, my folks took me to an endocrinologist to figure out why and whether I'd ever be 6'3'' like my Dad.  Part of the exam involved looking at my package to see if I'd started puberty or not.  When the doc finished her brief look, walked outside into the hall, and then summoned a couple of the Vanderbilt medical students to, "come see this anomalous penis!" I knew all was well for the young Muskrat.  

2.  Does IT get in the way when you walk?

O:  At first it did .. when playing sports I had to get longer shorts than everyone else on the team.  I noticed when swimming that others would be looking at me 'down there' and I had to get swim shorts with a sturdier material to hide it.  I've had to get a wider cut of pants.  I've gotten used to it.   

M:  Not so much when walking or running as when swimming.  I wear Under Armour boxer briefs, so all is well while terrestrial.  But in the water, the drag coefficient is just horrendous.

<24 stops typing until she can get her laughter under control!>

3.  Do you ever wish you were smaller?

O:  NO!  I don't wish I was smaller - I am happy with how I've been blessed.  : )

M:  Did Einstein ever wish he was dumber?  What the hell kind of question is that? 

4.  There's a stereotype that Well Endowed Men aren't really very good in bed.  Is this true?  (Rumor has it they think just being present in all their BIGNESS is enough and their partner should do all the work.)

O:  At first I did think that.  Then my wife said move and I did.  Now she's happy.  A lot.

M:  That's fucking ridiculous.  I've been asked to pay for surgical removal of permanent smiles before.   

5.  Do you think a well endowed man is more sexual than a smaller man?

O:  No.  I think a smaller man gets the same amount of sex but in proportion.  It may seem like less but it's not.

M:  People with strong legs like to run and jump.  People with strong deductive reasoning skills like to work puzzles.  Guys with giant johnsons like to fuck. 

6.  How big is big?

O:  Think of the guy who built the Empire State building .. and the guy who built the Sears Tower just to be bigger .. and then Donald Trump who is building a bigger tower.  Well, they all have inverted penises that match compensation value of their ego vs. their penis size divided by pi.  Which means they're big douche bags.  I don't know why I'm saying this.  I'm just big ... or so I'm told.  

M: Bun length hot dogs arouse my feelings of sympathy.    

7.  Do you try to please your sexual partners or do you think they should just be grateful for Your Largeness?

O:  I aim to please.  I am not about myself.  I do what I do and that's all I'm going to say about that.

M:  There is no "try."  There is only "do." 

8.  When you're in public do people ever notice and/or stare at your package?

O:  Yes!  Especially when it's wrapped in brown paper and wrapped in string ... Oh wait!  That package!  Yes - this is why I hate going swimming in public and wearing pants that are too tight.

M:  As much as I would like to wear my old highschool wrestling singlet to court, I don't.  I don't wear the type of clothing that would allow people the opportunity to stare.  Most straight men don't.

9.  Do you want them to?

O:  I used to but now I don't care.  My wife notices all the time and she's the only one who matters.

M:  I want them to notice my enormous hands and feet instead. 

10.  What happens if you're too big for your partner?

O:  I was told that sometimes it hurts, but most of the time it's fine.  And that's a quote.

M:  Either, Open up and say 'Ahhhh'! or you're fired.  

11.  What's the BEST thing being well endowed has added to your life?

O:  Everywhere I go a lot of men want autographs signed by my penis.  (Actually, I don't think it's added a lot to my life but my wife sure enjoys it.)

M:  Besides hearing, "Wow, you have a nice dick!" from more than one woman upon introducing it to her?   Knowing I could change my name to Pete Peckler and make some great films. 

12.  What's the WORST thing being well endowed has created/caused in your life?

O:  True story:  I was peeing in a urinal and let go of it and it dipped.  Not fun.

M:  Lawsuits for impersonating Ron Jeremy's likeness.  Until they realize how much handsomer I am (and less hairy). 

Well ....  

I don't think I can add a thing to the answers of these two men.  Also, I don't think I can stop laughing long enough to top anything they've said.  (Why does every sentence sound dirty all of a sudden?  Top them?)

Once again, a monstrous <snicker> thank you to OnlyAMan and TheMuskrat.   

** You can read a follow-up to this post by clicking here. ** 

© Twenty Four At Heart

A Bachelor Party Gone Too Far?

I have an interesting story to share with you today and I'm curious as to what your opinion will be.  It's sort of like the recent hit movie The Hangover, except completely different.  I'm also wondering if my male and female readers will vary a lot in how they look at this situation.

This story is absolutely true.  It's also very sensitive so I'm changing the names of everyone involved along with a few inconsequential details.

I have a friendly acquaintance with a woman named Tanya.  Tanya was very excited to become engaged to her long time boyfriend, Dave, about six weeks ago.  Tanya and Dave are about 30 years old and this will be a first marriage for both of them.

Dave has a friend named Mike.  Mike got married three weeks ago to Dawn.  The two couples hang out together a lot.  They're at similar life stages.

Are you following this?  Tanya and Dave just got engaged and Mike and Dawn just got married.

About a week ago Tanya used Dave's digital camera with Dave's permission.  As she was reviewing the photos she took she found some very explicit photos Dave had taken at Mike's bachelor party.  Strippers had been hired and from what Tanya saw things had gone too far.  She was pissed.  

Tanya confronted Dave and demanded he tell her "everything" that happened at Mike's bachelor party.  Dave did.  Dave even told her the part where he went looking for Mike, opened a bedroom door and found Mike having sex with one of the women hired as a stripper.  A few nights prior to his marriage Mike had sex with a whore stripper at his bachelor's party. 

Tanya was disgusted and dismayed by this information.  She and Dave discussed it at length because she felt it was her duty to inform the unsuspecting Dawn of Mike's indiscretion.  Dave was adamant that Tanya stay quiet and not disrupt the three week old marriage of his friend Mike.

By the way, Tanya and Dawn are friends but the primary friendship had always been between the two men.

About a week ago the two couples went out to dinner and a movie as a double date.  During the course of the evening, Tanya found herself talking to Dawn as the two men were immersed in a discussion of sports.  Tanya told Dawn her brand new husband of three weeks had paid a whore stripper to have sex at his bachelor's party.

Dawn waited to confront Mike until later that night when they got home.  Mike lied to Dawn and told her he most definitely had not touched another woman since they began dating.  Mike convinced Dawn that Dave and Tanya have set out to destroy their marriage for some unknown reason.  

Dawn believes her new husband.  

Dawn now hates Tanya for telling lies and trying to destroy her marriage.  Mike now hates Dave for telling Tanya what happened and "causing" all these problems.  The two couples are no longer speaking.

Dave is angry with Tanya for telling Dawn the details of the bachelor's party.  He had forbidden her from sharing the information with Dawn when he disclosed it.

What do you think of this little soap opera?  Who's right and who's wrong?  Is it okay to have sex with a paid whore at a bachelor party since you aren't married yet?  Is it okay to lie to your betrothed about it?  Does it happen all the time at bachelor parties?  

Should Dave have told Tanya?  Should Tanya have kept her mouth shut?  Was she doing the right thing by informing her friend what had happened?  Would you want a friend to tell you if your wife/husband had sex with someone else just days before your wedding.  (Men - reverse the situation - what if a male stripper came to your wife's bachelorette party and she paid him for "one last fling?")

I can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts!

© Twenty Four At Heart

My Nipples Are Causing Problems

I've got bionic nipples.

It's the weirdest thing.  I went in for breast reduction surgery and I came out with bionic nipples.

My nipples are uber-sensitive.  My nipples have a direct, and very electric, connection to my lady parts.  (Remember when I lost my clit?  Well, no need for alarm, because it's definitely back where it belongs.)

Some of you may think this is a wonderful, positive, development in my life.  Having bionic nipples is tougher than you might think though.  It's not good when you don't have control over your own body.

Especially since, did I mention ... um, I'm not allowed to have sex for several weeks.  Doctors orders.  No sex under any circumstances.   

Let me repeat that, I have bionic nipples and I can't have sex.  Not even with my friend Rabbit.  There are medical reasons for this, but I'm not going to bore you with them.

Now that I'm getting out and about a little, my nipples are causing all sorts of problems.

The other night Briefcase and I went out to dinner at Charlie Palmer with Briefcase's boss, Mr. CEO.  It's very hard to find something to wear to a nice restaurant that looks good with a sports bra and protruding nipples.  Mr. CEO doesn't know about my surgery and, of course, he wanted to hug me.  I've never realized how often people hug in our society until it become painful to do so.

In any case, Mr. CEO leaned in and gave me a hug.  I tried to concave my entire chest so he wouldn't hurt me.  It worked pretty well, except his arm accidentally brushed across my breasts as we moved apart.  Well, I nearly had an orgasm right there, fully dressed, with Mr. CEO and Briefcase dressed in suit and ties.  I bit my lip, fanned myself off a little bit, and tried to distract myself with visions of Mr. CEO firing Briefcase on the spot for having an out of control wife.

Briefcase's eyes met mine and lingered for a few seconds too long.  I'm not sure if he was simply intrigued with what he saw when he looked in my eyes, or if he was scared shitless his boss just gave me an orgasm out in public.

Bionic nipples, combined with no sex for weeks, are really a bad thing.

My biggest fear is that I'll turn into The Moaner.  And dear Gawd, if that happens I'll have to go into hiding.

Last night I attended an Orange County bloggers event.  It was held at the Irvine Spectrum.  This is the second time I've attended a meet-up with these very nice folks.  Several of them read Twenty Four At Heart and they were quite thoughtful in asking how I'm feeling and inquiring about my recovery.  I'm still not feeling 100% so I didn't stay too long, but it was nice to stop by for awhile.

The problem occurred when I went to leave.  I had parked in the Nordstrom lot and walked to the restaurant where we were meeting.  As I returned to my car, I entered Nordstrom with the idea of cutting through the store to the parking lot.  Right as I entered the store, there was a big group of hot, twenty-something men walking out.  I somehow got caught in the middle of their group.

Damn!

And I say that in both a very, very good way ... and also, in a very, very bad way!

As I tried to extract myself from the middle of their group, I got jostled against a couple very (sigh) firm chests.  Did I mention these guys were hot?  As in, I all of a sudden had trouble catching my breath, hawt?  And when one of them admonished his buddy, "Be careful of her!" and tried to help me by reaching across to grab my arm, but in the process brushing against my nipple ... 

Because my nipples are very out there lately, and everyone seems to be brushing against them, did I mention that?

And then ... and then, I positively came undone right there in Nordstroms with all those hot guys surrounding me.  It was nearly too much to handle.

So you can see, this is a problem!

I did talk to someone at the meeting last night who used to work in a plastic surgeon's office.  We discussed this little ... side effect ... some women experience from reduction surgery.  She said things should calm down a little in time.

In the meantime, what do I do?  I can't go into hiding.  Every day that goes by I'm regaining more and more of my strength.  I'm getting back to my real life and real activities.  I'm having nightmares of orgasms at the grocery store.  I'm afraid I'm going to publicly embarrass myself.  

Oh wait, I do that all the time anyway, don't I?  (Publicly embarrass myself, not have orgasms at the grocery store!)

Honestly?  I'd tape my nipples down if I could.  My nipples, however, are still all taped up with surgical tape and I don't dare change anything until I see the doctor again.

What's a girl to do?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Men Vs. Women - Again

Last year I did a series of posts on men, women, and the gender gap between the sexes.  That conversation opened up some very frank sexual discussions on Twenty Four At Heart.  

Those posts were read by Neil Kramer over at Citizen of the Month and through them he and I began to become acquainted in the way blogging people sometimes do.  Now, several months later, I consider Neil a friend although we've yet to meet in person.  Two nights ago Neil began a Twitter conversation and it got me thinking about a lot of those same male/female issues again.

Neil began the whole discussion by saying women understand men better than men understand women.  I commented back that women, in general, are more intuitive with their people skills than most men are.  I added also, men are too caught up with their penises to be developing intuition towards women or some of those same people skills.

Disclaimer:  This whole conversation was based on generalities.  You don't need to tell me about your Uncle Larry who is in touch with his feminine side and has amazing, intuitive, people skills.  Nor do I want to hear about Aunt Imelda who spends all day touching herself in a corner and has no people skills whatsoever.  I realize full well these stereotypes don't always apply.

Generalities, okay?

Let's back up.  Do you agree with the statement women understand men better than men understand women?  Personally, I agree with Neil on this one.  I think women understand men better than men understand women.

Are women more complicated than men?  Maybe.  I don't think I'm complicated in the least.  When asked, Briefcase however, says I am.  He tells me I'm less complicated than many women he's met, but I'm "certainly not simple."

Really?  I had no idea he thought I'm anything but extremely easy to figure out.  In fact, if asked, I'd say I'm transparent.  Hmmm.

Are men too dense or unwilling to figure women out?  Too dense?  I don't think so.  Women spend time trying to understand and anticipate the needs of the people who are important to them.  The men I know (*ahem*) don't give it a thought.  Men, the majority of time, tend to show up and then deal with whatever's on the table.

Do you feel men are the more complicated sex?  Let's be honest here.  Men are pretty easy to please.  Good sex, good food, and lots of ego stroking.  Does it really take much more than that?

Neil went on to contradict himself a few times throughout the evening.  Initially he stated men don't think about naked women all the time.

Stop laughing!  

Of course men don't think about naked women all the time.  There are moments when men think about food or their work.  Wasn't there a study done with results indicating a sexual thought goes through a man's mind approximately every 7 seconds?  Clearly, that leaves 6 seconds for other non-naked thoughts to fill a man's mind.

Neil asked if we (Twitter) thought he'd jump into bed with a woman if he came home and found one in his bed. 

Unless she was absolutely and extremely repugnant (meaning: dead), yes Neil, I do. 

He seemed to imply most men are too romantic to do so.  

Isn't he funny?  I think that's one of the reasons I like Neil so much.  He makes me laugh all the time.  I especially laugh when he makes statements like that.  

Romantic?  

Men?

Theoretically it's possible for a man to be romantic.  In most relationships, once the initial courtship is over, romance is scarce if existent at all.

Then Neil asked me point blank if I, personally, assumed he would be checking me out when we meet in Chicago at BlogHer (writer's convention) in July just because he's a man and I'm not.

I replied no and I meant it.  I certainly don't expect Neil to be checking me out at BlogHer.  

Do I think Neil will be checking out many of the young, hot, mommy bloggers he openly covets while he's there?  Absolutely.  I think it would be physically impossible for him not to.

Next Neil contradicted his earlier statement by asking if it bothers women that men sexualize everything we do.  He asked if women "just accept it."  

Which is it?  Are men not thinking about us naked all the time or are they sexualizing everything we do?

When I enter a room and my now bionic, hyper-sensitive, nipples pucker prominently do the men in the room assume I'm hot for them?  Because, honestly, I'm probably not thinking about those men at all.  In addition, it isn't even crossing my mind they are noticing my boobilicious nipples.  I'm busy thinking about other things.

If I bend over to pick something up, what happens?  Are the men in the room noticing my not-as-firm-as-it-should-be (meaning: jello) ass and thinking about doggy style sex?  Or do they just think, "Oh look, 24 dropped something."

There's a lot of points up for discussion today.  What do you think?

© Twenty Four At Heart

An Inappropriate Post About a Man and His Drill

As some of you may remember, I've been working on my house off and on for quite awhile.  After wasting a few years on post-car accident surgeries and misery, I've been trying to get my life back in order.

Quite awhile ago I ordered a plasma stand to hold our TV.  We already had a funky piece of crap stand, but it really needed to be relocated to the local dump.  I was warned when I ordered the new one that it would take a few months to arrive.

It did.

Two weeks ago it was finally delivered.  The night it arrived I asked Briefcase to please put the TV onto the new table/stand.  (Since I'm sort of one-armed and TVs are heavy.)  He looked at the new stand and said, "There are no holes for the wires to go through," and then he sat on the couch to watch ESPN do some very hard work.

The new TV stand has been sitting around with nothing on it for two weeks.  Briefcase is, um, not handy ... to put it as politely as I can.  

I was going to call a handyman to come help me, but the store where I bought the stand said they could send someone out at no charge.

This week I got this message on my home answering machine:

Twenty Four, this is XXXX from XXXX.  James can come out to your house tomorrow afternoon to drill your holes.  <pause>  <giggle>  Oops, I don't think that sounded quite right.

My son, PR, and I?  We laughed till we cried when we heard the message. 

At 2:00 the next day James showed up.  While waiting for him to arrive I procrastinated doing chores by Tweeting:

I've got a man coming to drill my holes any minute now.

Those ladies on Twitter?  They are horny bitches.  If you're a man and in need of some action, I can't recommend Twitter highly enough.  You should especially follow the hos chicks who follow me.

I started getting all sorts of offers from women on Twitter for James before he'd even arrived.  I thwarted their efforts to steal James away to have their holes drilled.  Jeez, they were even offering to pay money for him!

Then the doorbell rang.  By that time, my mind was completely in the gutter.  I couldn't help myself, I immediately checked out his drill.  James had a big drill.

I showed James to my living room so he could drill my holes.  

James looked confused.  James looked deep in thought.  There are times when a woman wants a thinker, but it's never when she's waiting to have her holes drilled.

I sent out a quick tweet:

OK, this is no good. He's confused over what should go in which hole. FAIL.

Shortly after, James started making a lot of noise and I updated Twitter with this information:

Jeez ... he's got a huuuuuuuuuge drill!

James worked fast once he got the hang of it.  Too fast, really.  It's always nice to have a man who takes his time.  It wasn't long at all until James was thanking me (for the opportunity to drill my holes?) and on his way.

I updated all the ladies who were anxiously waiting for news on James with this:

The man with the big drill just left. He was a disappointment.

The whores on Twitter were not surprised.  I got all sorts of comments back saying, "it figures," and "typical."

Apparently, the bigger the drill . . . oftentimes, the bigger the disappointment.

At that point I went back and reread my Twitter stream.  I decided I needed to start being more productive for the day so I sent out my final tweet on the subject:

I'm all sorts of inappropriate today.  How unusual.

Who me?

©  Twenty Four At Heart

I Knew My Life Was Erotic?

I've been a little restless these last two weeks.  My schedule has been busy, but my mind has not been stimulated.  I've been going through some painful turmoil with my arm and the resulting PT, MRI, doctor visits, thirty foot needles, etc. have been time consuming.  Briefcase flew out for a week long trip on Mother's Day.  My kids have been so busy I've barely seen them.

I'm restless.  I'm antsy.  I need ... something.

I downloaded a few highly recommended books to my Kindle.  I consumed them in no time.  I was tired of thinking books.  I decided to download an Erotic Novel.  Technically, I guess it's a Romance Novel but ..?  I don't read trashy novels very often.  Once in awhile I'll read one at the beach when I totally want my brained turned off and my body turned on.  Probably one book per year filled with mindless smut is enough for me.

Now, I'm not going to tell you the name of the book I downloaded so don't ask.  It's supposed to be hot and steamy and rawr!  Instead, I find myself laughing out loud and mentally editing the book as I read it.

In the book the heroine has "two strong sexy men catering to her erotic whims."  First of all, I immediately nicknamed the heroine Ho Ho.  Once I did that, it became very difficult to take her exploits seriously.

Ho Ho has two men wanting to please her.  

How many women really want two men?  I mean in reality, not in fantasy.  Two men to drop their socks on the floor, invite guests over unannounced, bitch about the bills, leave the toilet seat up, and "forget" to mention when their family is coming to visit.  

Hypothetically, of course.

There are a lot of threesomes in this particular book which I wasn't expecting.  Not that I really took any time to form expectations, but I figured it would be a typical romance novel with a man and a woman who overcome obstacles to eventually be together. 

Isn't that the case in just about every heterosexual romance story out there? 

Instead, I'm reading about Ho Ho and her two men.  One of her men is Genius and the other is Hung.  

Stop laughing!

Once in awhile she spends some *time* just with Genius.  They discuss physics while they're getting physical.  <snicker>  Other times she spends *time* just with Hung.  Ho Ho and Hung definitely do not discuss physics together.  Ho Ho and Hung do take a lot of showers together though.  

Showers with very slippery soap as it so happens.  Oh, and there's a conveniently located shelf in the shower at the perfect height for ....

Frequently Ho Ho, Genius, and Hung all get together at the same time.  

I don't think Ho Ho knows that Genius and Hung sneak away together now and then too.

And oh yes, one time Ho Ho snuck off with one of Genius's female staff members too.

This book has something for everyone I suppose.

I just wish I could stop laughing long enough to take it seriously.

Do you ever read romance or erotic novels?  Does anyone have any good recommendations?  Perhaps novels with an actual plot in addition to steamy romance?

© Twenty Four At Heart

He's Horni

Some of you heard me go off on this subject via Twitter last Friday afternoon.  A man named Horni came to visit Twenty Four At Heart and I had a field day with his name.

It really was the greatest thing.  It snapped me right out of my funk.  I mean who on earth doesn't laugh at a man named Horni?

Like most websites, I have a statistics program associated with 24.  It tells me how many visitors I get.  It also tells me what city and country they're from.  It's not completely accurate, but it gives me a general idea of what areas of the world are logging on.  For instance, I only have a few readers in Vietnam, but I have lots in Australia and New Zealand.  

Once in a great while a person's actual name will pop up on my stat program.  This rarely happens, and I think it's a result of the owner setting up their computer incorrectly to start with.  I have no idea who most of you are, and I'm sure you prefer it that way.

(By the way, if you want to get to know me better or for me to get to know you ... leave comments.  My regular commenters often end up becoming my real life friends.)

Anyway, last Friday afternoon I clicked over to my stat program and saw a man named Horni XYZ was logged on from a European country.  Honestly, I have great blogger luck because shit like that just falls in my lap.

I sent out a tweet saying:

Some guy named Horni from XXXX is on my blog right now.  He shouldn't move to the US with that name.  He would need to change it.

Of course I couldn't leave it at that.  No, once I get on a roll there's no stopping me.  I quickly added the following:

And then how would it feel to be Mrs. Horni?  Or if you had to say, "I'm married to Horni over there?"

What followed was a general discussion as to whether everyone on Twitter wanted to get Horni.  I could release his IP address out to the Twitter population and then anyone who was interested in getting Horni could get in touch with him if they wanted.

(For those of you who are paranoid, I would, in reality, never, ever, release anyone's IP address ... but if I ever WAS going to, for sure it would be Horni's.)

Can you imagine being Horni?

What's it really like to be Horni all the time?

"Hi!  I'm Horni."

"Nurse, please get Horni."

"Next time please be louder Horni."

"Raise your hand if you're Horni."

"I woke up Horni."

"I'm Horni and I'm an alcoholic."

And on and on ... and on and on!

If Horni were a regular reader, I wouldn't be writing this post.  And Horni, if you're back here again today I apologize for getting so much joy out of your name.  According to my stat program it was Horni's first visit to Twenty Four At Heart.  My stats also told me he found 24 by googling, "lost her clit."

Horni really is horny.

© Twenty Four At Heart

A Treatise on Male Sexuality

I was a few months into stumbling my way around the blogosphere when a name kept popping up everywhere I went.  Some guy named Neil was apparently really famous and everyone who was anyone knew who he was.  Except, of course, I was no one and I had no idea who he was.  I went in search of his website and found ... a man writing about his talking penis.  His penis was telling him to do one thing, but he was arguing with it.

What the hell?

This was the famous Neil?

More out of curiosity than anything, I stopped by Neil's site, Citizen of the Month, again.  And then again.  And then again and again.  I'm hooked.  Neil is one of the few writers who can leave me reflecting deeply, make me laugh out loud, and at times make me feel angry or sad ... sometimes all from reading the same post.  I never know what to expect when I visit Neil, but I do know I've never been disappointed.  I am greatly honored and thrilled he agreed to write a guest post for Twenty Four At Heart.  (Except, I think now I OWE him ...!)

Suzanne and I immediately clicked as bloggers because we both have an affinity for writing... uh, posts about sex.   Hey, why not?!   Two weeks ago, she asked me to write my first guest post on this blog.   I was excited by the opportunity, but I procrastinated until the last day, and I know why.  By asking me to be a guest poster while she is on vacation, Suzanne was hoping that I would titillate her readers with an interesting tale of male sexuality gone bad and... 

…uh, maybe now is a good time to discuss another side of male sexuality -- performance anxiety!    You see, men can walk around all day with a hard-on the size of the Chrysler Building, but when they finally get into bed, and their woman rolls on top of them and whispers into their ear, "F**k me, honey.  F**k me like I've never been f**ked before,“ anxiety can set in, and the brain can pressurize into overload, which can have a negative effect on all muscles of the body, including the most important one of all.  I am not talking about the heart.   I am talking about the penis.   Most men assume that after the heart fails, and the soul leaves the body and goes up to heaven, the soul of his penis accompanies him, because, after all, it is called Heaven for a reason, which means he will be using his dick... a lot... hopefully, with the hottest babes from all human history -- like Cleopatra and Lady Godiva.

Hey, you wanted to know how men think about their sexuality, Suzanne.  This is it!

I should also be honest about my blogging persona.   I might write about sex a lot, that doesn't mean I am getting any of it in real life!  I have a theory that those bloggers who write the most about the sex are usually the ones getting THE LEAST.   After all, when someone has been doing the nasty on the living room carpet all night, the last thing this person wants to blog about in the morning is doing the nasty on the living room carpet all night.  What fun is that?  The one who is writing about doing the nasty on the living room carpet all night is usually the person who is sitting on the living room chair watching American Idol and eating a burger from McDonald's, and saying to himself, "What the hell am I doing with my life!  I should be doing the nasty on the living room carpet with some beautiful woman.  Damn it.  And if that isn't going to happen tonight in reality, I might as well BLOG about it like it DID HAPPEN!"

So, don't get the wrong impression about me.   I think about tits and ass all the time FOR A REASON --frustration.  I don't want to spend all my time thinking about tits and ass.  It is the result of me being separated from my wife.  I would MUCH rather be using my mind reading great literature, if only the very mention of Jane Austen didn't make me think about going down on her in the bedroom of her English countryside estate.

I write about sex less to titillate, than to explore my own masculine mind.   I hope that my female readers will get some insights into how men think, and why God deserves some of the blame for turning us into such assholes.   Are we really created in HIS image?   Do you think any man really wants to get an erection in the middle of a crowded Burger King because the two burgers he ordered reminds him of an ex-girlfriend's ass and the way they felt in his hands?  It is torture!

I used to think it was wrong that Orthodox Jews separated the sexes during religious services.  Now I can understand the reasoning.  If you are truly trying to pray, having a sexy woman next to you is too much of a distraction.   Sexy woman always trumps God. 

One of the things I like about blogging is that it gives me a better understanding of the opposite sex.  Suzanne is a perfect example of a blogger who is brave enough to write about her sexual mind.  I don’t find it salacious.  It gives me insights into women.  I hope she is learning something from me.  

One thing I hope women can learn from male bloggers is that we are more complex than you imagine.   We don’t think with our penis all the time.   Male sexuality is complicated.  Men get confused because we get conflicting messages from our culture and from women themselves.    Images of sexuality distort our minds, especially pornography, as I once wrote about in this post. 

http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2008/07/01/a-critical-look-at-this-porno-clip/

Recently, I tried a writing experiment.  I wrote my blog post as a woman, a senior citizen, and imagined what she would think about when she saw a younger man masturbating in a shower stall. 

http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2009/03/12/the-canasta-group-of-boca-raton/

I asked my readers if the piece sounded like it was written by a woman, because I spent a good amount of time trying to capture the "voice" of a woman.  After I published it, every single woman told me that it was CLEARLY written by a man -- for one simple reason.  There was too much attention given to the man's penis!

"Women do not obsess over a man's cock like that.  That is what men do!" wrote a female blogger.

I still have a lot to learn about women.

The Day I Lost My Clitoris

The strangest thing happened last week.  I lost my clitoris.  

No, really I did.  

It went missing and I was in full blown panic trying to find where it went.

I suppose I should start at the beginning?

Briefcase was being all ....  Well, you know, one day.  

Obvious about his intentions, I guess you could say.  

He was giving me the *wink* when he looked at me and grabbing my ass when I walked by and making suggestive comments that men think are sexy.  (Which, by the way, AREN'T!)

Why don't men understand what's sexy to them is not sexy to women?  Pumping their fist up and down making jerk-off motions with a goofy grin on their face does not turn us on.

Nonetheless, I tried to mentally gear up for a romp.  

Nothing.  

I just couldn't get in the mood.  Something is very, very, wrong when I'm not in the mood.

Later that evening, Briefcase and I were doing the horizontal when I interrupted The Main Event to say, "I think I've lost my clitoris!"

"What the hell?" he asked.

(I really didn't think anything I do or say could possibly surprise him after all these years, but I guess I was wrong.)

"My clit has gone missing," I announced emphatically.

He promptly went looking for it.

No clit.  It was gone.  MIA.  Disappeared!  Poof!

I decided to roll over and go to sleep.  I mean, what's the point of sex without a clitoris?

Well, Briefcase didn't think that was a good idea, at all.

"You need to find your clitoris," he announced, "And I really think you should find it now!"

"Did you check my vagina," I asked?  "Maybe it went in there to hide."

"I checked," Briefcase answered sounding hurt.  "Did you not even notice?  It's not there."

I spent the next two hours searching the house and I couldn't find it.  I looked under the mattress, behind my pillow, in the button drawer, out in the garage and even in the refrigerator.  (Which, by the way, would be so brrrrrrrrrrr!)

No clit.

Finally, much to Briefcase's chagrin, I fell asleep without it.

The next day I started to panic.  My clitoris had not returned on its own overnight.  I went searching in the sex toy drawer, but my clit was not there.  I thought I would just get near the sex toys and it would come running back, but no such luck.

My heart began racing.  What would happen if my clit never returned?

I called one of my good friends, Diane, to ask if she'd seen it.

"I most certainly have never seen your clitoris," she replied.  Then she paused and added, "Maybe it met up with mine.  Mine has been missing for the last five years."

"Five YEARS?!" I screeched.

"Menopause," she acknowledged sadly.

My mind raced.  I'm too young for menopause.  I mean, aren't I?  There are always aberrations though.  What if my clitoris went missing for the next five years?  Or maybe even for forever?  I was becoming increasingly agitated at the thought.

I called Briefcase at work.  He was in a meeting, but I told his secretary it was very urgent. Briefcase picked up the phone a minute later.

"Diane's clitoris has been missing for FIVE YEARS!" I announced upon hearing his voice. 

"What did you just say?" he asked even though I knew he had heard me perfectly well.

"Diane lost her clit FIVE YEARS AGO!" I said increasingly alarmed.

"Oh my God, poor Jeff!" said Briefcase sounding distraught.

"Jeff?  JEFF?  You're worried about Jeff when Diane doesn't have a clitoris?" I asked.

"Twenty Four I'm in a meeting with my CEO right now, we will have to talk about Diane's clitoris later," Briefcase said and then he promptly hung up on me.

(Do you find it at all odd that we were planning to have a discussion about Diane's missing clitoris when Briefcase got home from work?)

Also, there was a disaster of a Clitoris Crisis going on and he hung up on me?  What the hell?  Where are the man's priorities?

I spent the remainder of the day anxious about my missing clitoris.  I looked everywhere for it, but alas, my clit was nowhere to be found.  Eventually, later that night, I fell into a deep but restless sleep.  I dreamed of sex.  Wild, hot, intense sex.  I woke up to find Briefcase touching me and wonders of all wonders ... my clit had returned sometime while I slept.

And that's my ** Happy Ending **

© Twenty Four At Heart

I'm All About Balance

Wow, I've got a lot of whores reading this blog.  The comments on yesterday's post were hilarious!  How funny is it that people were begging to be considered a whore?  And trying to prove to me they are whorish enough to get into my whore club?  And telling me they could improve on their whoring abilities if I'd just give them a little time?  And asking if I could make whore blog badges for them to display on their own blogs?

You make me laugh my ass off!

I was embarrassed to see I had several first time visitors stop by yesterday.  I'm sure I successfully scared them away.  Imagine stopping by for a first time visit and seeing my contest to join a Whore Club.  I'd like to add, I find it hilarious that some of you would like to name the Whore Club Twenty Four's Twats.

Ha!  You're a creative group!

I had some law enforcement folks visit yesterday too.  I'm not even kidding.  Once they realized I'm not running the future Mustang Ranch they moved right along.

Sometimes I forget I'm not writing just to my best friends when I sit down to pen Twenty Four at Heart.  Other people with rules and agendas and strong opinions wander through here too. My apologies to all of them.  I'm an offensive human being and I openly admit it.

Also?  It's kind of creepy because there are automated robots out there in cyberspace. They secretly roam the web and find stuff for people and/or companies.  I don't really understand how they work, but there's no doubt that they're creepy and supernatural. 

I'll have an announcement on the contest winner tomorrow.

Yesterday I ate a Balance Bar for lunch.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with them, they're protein bars stuffed full of vitamins and other (gag!) healthy stuff.  I'm sure you're wondering why I ate a balance bar for lunch, aren't you?  

Because what I ate for lunch is fascinating, isn't it?

And no, this is not a paid product endorsement.

It has something to do with bathing suits, St. Lucia, bathing suits, and the fact I haven't tried to lose one ounce of my precious body fat in preparation yet.

And yes, my body fat is precious.  Someone has to appreciate it and if I don't, who will?

As an aside, let's place bets on how many days it will be until I hear from the Balance Bar people, shall we?  Since I know they'll be stopping by I'll just say this right now.  If they'd like to give me a lifetime supply of Balance Bars for free (those suckers add up!) I'll go on a diet and document right here on 24 how those yummy (bleh!) bars helped me look 24 again.

A lifetime supply probably consists of TWO.  I think it might be possible to force down two in a lifetime.  Like all protein bars, they taste like ass.

In any case, as I was choking down delighting in my peanut butter flavored bar lunch I contemplated the wrapper.  I realized my life, really, is all about balance.  I should be a role model or something because I'm all about moderation.

Let me give you a few examples.

If I have a cup of very hot coffee in the morning with a whole box of few Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies for breakfast it balances out very nicely with a protein bar for lunch.

If I have one or two or five margaritas I make sure to eat a full plate of nachos with them to absorb the alcohol.  Balance! 

If I don't exercise for four six twelve months it's absolutely no problem.  Why?  Because I can then exercise three times a day every single day for a month before I go to St. Lucia and make up for it.  That works, right?  

If most women have one sex toy, I *hypothetically* might have been gifted a full collection.  For the sake of balance, of course.  (I wouldn't want to wear out any one toy too quickly!)

If other people slowly tan in tanning booths beginning with 3 minutes a session, I find a way to burn my cooter to a crisp with a 10 minute exposure on my first visit.  Why waste visits after all?  Less visits means more time for balance in my life.

Do you have balance in your life?  Do you practice the art of moderation?  And most importantly, can you say crispy cooter ten times real fast?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Infidelity

I know this subject has come up before, but I feel like I need to "write this off my chest."

Everywhere I go lately, I hear story after story of affairs.  Maybe it's because I'm now (gulp) in my forties, but I haven't ever encountered the sheer numbers of unfaithful individuals I seem to now.  It would be easy to dismiss it as an Orange County phenomenon but I don't think that's the case.  Yes, there are an abundance of people in the OC with no morals or values, but I don't think it's much different than many other metropolitan areas.

What never ceases to amaze me is how people rationalize their infidelity.  They, or their partner, are "having marital problems" so the rules don't apply?  I know a long term marriage is not easy and has its ups and downs.  I know all marriages don't, and shouldn't, last. 

I've been married a very long time.  

I know there are times when it's not easy.

In fact, I know there are times when it's just damn hard.

But really?  Who ever said when the going gets tough, it's time to start screwing around? If the marriage is over, why not end it before getting involved with someone else?  I'm not a prude, I understand temptation and lust.  I'm not the morality police ....  I'm just an observer.

I've found myself surrounded by two situations recently and they both hurt my heart.  I'm only going to write about one today.  The two situations are really fairly similar anyway. They have varying details, but they have a lot in common.

A female long-term friend of mine has had a flirtatious "friendship" for years with a man who is not her husband.  Over the last year, as her marriage has become stressful, she has turned to this male friend more and more.  Their relationship crossed the line from an emotional affair to a physical one.  Very recently she has left her husband and immersed herself in the new relationship.

She is emotional and raw from her marital turmoil, but thinks throwing herself immediately into another relationship will be the cure.  I'm sure it's a boost to her self esteem to feel wanted ... but does she really feel her rebound relationship is the answer to her life?  To me, it seems clear she is just seeking security because she's afraid of being alone.   

I don't want to go into the details, but for many reasons this is (in my very humble opinion) the last thing she needs right now.

What about her new "boyfriend?"  Doesn't he see red flags all over the place?  Doesn't he see that his presence is more about assuaging her emotions than it is about him?  Or does he rationalize all this information away?  Are men just happy if they're getting sex?

That was a ridiculous question, wasn't it?

This situation is hurting my heart.  It's painful to watch.  It's painful to hear her talk about it.  It's hard to keep my mouth shut when I want to cry out, "Stop!  You're making a terrible choice and it will cause you a lot of pain down the road."

It's to the point where I can't be around my friend right now.  She hasn't asked for, and doesn't want, my advice.  She can't see anything but her own emotional need to run from one man to another.  My heart hurts because I'm watching a train wreck in the making. It's become easier to walk away than watch.

When it's over ... and I know it will be eventually, I'll be there for my friend if she needs me.  Right now, I can't be.  It's too painful.  I feel like I'm mourning our friendship because I've had to walk away from it.

Have you ever stood by and watched a friend make terrible choices?  What did you do? Did your friendship survive?

The Beach

I was at the beach and I was alone.  The beach was set back in one of my favorite little coves.  The sun was warm and intense, but not uncomfortably so. I was lying on my stomach on a blanket.  The warmth of the sand rose through the blanket to my skin.  The sun beat down on my back, penetrating me with its heat.  I spread my legs so that they could tan evenly.

The warmth of the sun was intensely erotic.

The scent of cocoa butter and coconut lotion filled the air, intermingling with the salty scent of the sea.  The waves crashed rhythmically on the shore lulling me into near sleep.  I was in a state of total relaxation and bliss.  Eventually I drifted off to sleep.

I have no idea how much time passed, but at some point I awoke and he was there.  I felt his strong hands kneading me, massaging me with oil.  His hands were arousing me as he stroked my legs.  I should have been alarmed, but I wasn't.  I felt completely safe.  I feigned sleep so he would continue.  If he knew I was awake, he didn't acknowledge it.

His seductive caresses continued as he worked his way up my legs.  At one point I moaned in pleasure.  I heard his breath quicken.  I could feel his nearness, but still, neither of us spoke.

He massaged my legs, my back, my neck.  His hands trailed the length of my arms and when our hands finally touched I gasped.  

For one fleeting moment time stood still.  

His sensual, slow, movements were now a thing of the past.  The tension between us filled the air.  I was instantly in his arms.  The mutual need between us was urgent and strong.  

It was hot, steamy, compelling sex.  I cried out in pleasure.  My cries were muted by the sound of the waves.

And as always, the waves crashed over and over again.

Cupid is an Asshole

Do you like Valentine's Day?

Does anyone past the age of 24 really like Valentine's Day?

As a parent, I realize hearts and flowers and having someone important in your life are all very critical elements to teens.  Once we grow up, what then?

I'm the first to admit I'm not the most romantic person on earth.  I'd rather give or receive a laugh-out-loud funny card than some long, mushy, Hallmark poem.  (It would be different if it was a poem written from someone's heart ... but let's talk real life, okay?)  

It isn't that I don't like romantic gestures, because I do.  I just don't care for contrived, forced down your throat, gestures.  I also hate over-crowded restaurants with "set" menus for the evening.  Bleh!  (I'd rather go out the night before, or the night after, V-Day when it's less crowded and restaurants provide better service.)  

Quite honestly, the most romantic meal in the world would be if a man put the effort into making a candlelit dinner for two at home.  This is something I must be content to merely fantasize about.  If Briefcase were to make me dinner it would consist of a bowl of Cap N Crunch and a 100 watt light bulb. 

Seriously.

I've been polling people all week on their Valentine's thoughts.

For men, it seems like Valentine's is a holiday they hate except for the hope of sex if they come through with the right gifts.  They know they're not screwed if they fuck up the expectations of their significant other.  There's a mix of dread and fear on the part of the men I talked to.  They know there are expectations centered on them. They don't want to mess up, but at the same time they'll be relieved once it's over.

As an aside, Briefcase was not one of the men I talked to.  He's off sunning himself in the tropics still.  I would bet a good deal of money he doesn't even know Valentine's Day is this weekend.

Women?  Well, we're all different.  I guess that's what makes it such a challenge for men. Most (but not all) of the women I talked to felt flowers were a must.  I think it goes back to our teen years when only one or two sluts girls walked around high school with roses from their boyfriend on Valentine's Day.  All the rest of us socially inept teens looked on in awe and hoped someday we'd get flowers too.  

Some women, however, think flowers are a waste of money.  Some want chocolate, but others feel chocolate is insensitive if they are trying to diet.  Some women like sexy lingerie and others feel it is a gift "for the man" and not for them.  And on and on it goes ... confusion, angst, and the effort to get it "just right."

Maybe that's the very reason so many couples mentioned to me they fight a lot on Valentine's Day.  Cupid is an asshole, or so it seems.  Couples all over the world are getting in arguments because of him.  (OK fine, maybe it's also because of poor communication.)

One of the best Valentine's Days I ever had was the first year Briefcase had to travel and be away for the holiday.  We were newly married and I was crushed he would be gone. I had zero expectations going into the day.  Briefcase must have felt very bad about his absence because he created surprises for me all day long.  Flower deliveries (two!), gift deliveries, a card informing me we had reservations at a nice restaurant for the night after his return.  Every few hours, all day long, there was another little surprise.  It was fun even though he wasn't home to celebrate with me.

When he did get home, I made sure he knew how appreciative I was of his thoughtfulness.

Sigh ... newlyweds!

My worst Valentine's Day?  When Briefcase completely forgot it even was Valentine's Day. Then he called as he was driving home from work to ask what was for dinner.  I was so mad at that point, I told him to drive through Taco Bell and pick up his own dinner. 

Surely you're not surprised I can be a bitch?

What was your best or worst Valentine's Day?

The Harem

The Torturer is in Las Vegas this week for a big physical therapy conference.  You'd think I'd get a week off if he's gambling and whoring around playing hooky, but instead he set me up for appointments with one of the therapists who works for him.  Sub PT and I are friends at least.  Yeah, "real life" friends who talk on the phone and go out for coffee together and stuff like that.  

I wish it meant she won't hurt me, but I know better.

As you know, I had a couple rough weeks with my rehab recently.  When I left PT last Wednesday The Torturer stormed off unhappily.  I arrived on Thursday only to be summoned to his office and told to "pull up a chair."  I felt like I was going to the principal's office.  Really, I'm not very good with authority figures.

I think I lack respect.

Plus?  My whole relationship with The Torturer has pretty much consisted of me lying flat on my back.  It didn't feel right to be sitting across his desk from him about to be scolded.

Wait a minute ... did I just write my whole relationship with him has consisted of me lying on my back?

In any case, The Torturer had a "serious talk" with me.  I felt like a three year old.  I hate shit like that.  Maybe I'll tell you about it soon, but not today.  Then I went on to have my PT session with both of us in very somber moods.  I warned him before I left of my intention to write at his expense while he's out of town (and away from the Internet).  

He said, "No 24, you are not going to do that."

Well, yes I am.  

Today I'm going to tell you about The Torturer's harem.  

I'm changing the names of the people I'm writing about because unfortunately an awful lot of people in Orange County know who I am now.  I don't know how my anonymous blog ceased to be anonymous, but it's an unfortunate fact.  

The Torturer collects women like a ten year old boy collects baseball cards.  One (or two) of every variety and flavor.  On any given week, a particular woman might be his favorite. He's nothing short of predictable though.  By the next week he almost always has a new favorite.  He's not married; it's his prerogative 

What all these women see in him is beyond me, but I've known him for fourteen years so I don't see him in the same light they do.  He was highly offended recently when I mentioned he's "not marriage material."  I was puzzled he was offended, because ... really?

The Torturer loves women and the Money Town women love him.  Many of them are married, but they don't care.  He tells me he stays away from the married ones.  (I pretend to believe him.)  

For clarification purposes, what follows are strictly my observations and interpretations of the events I see at PT.  I have a vivid imagination.  I'm just mentioning that in case The Torturer decides to check in on what I'm writing via his iPhone while he's in Vegas.  I'm full of fiction - remember that!

I've mentioned Short Shorts before.  Short Shorts initially came into PT for a minor injury.  I think she stubbed her toe or something.  She should have been out of there in a week.  No matter what the weather, Short Shorts shows up in the shortest shorts imaginable with her ass cheeks hanging out.  She's fairly attractive and thrives on being noticed.  And oh yes, she's married.

A funny thing happened.  After Short Shorts had about three visits with The Torturer rubbing her feet, she decided her butt hurt.

I'm not even kidding.  She and The Torturer spent a few weeks back in a private room intensely working on butt massages (or whatever), and then she was discharged.  She keeps coming back.  Poor thing, her butt starts aching after a little while I guess.  Last week she showed up again.

The Torturer said to me, "Oh look, Short Shorts is back."  Then he tried to remember her real name and he couldn't because I've brainwashed him.  He cursed at me a few times as he went off to find her chart so he could remember her name.  Then he assigned her to a female PT because I think he's had enough of her ass act.

Next on the list is Ms. Hypochondriac.  I'll call her Hypo for short.  She always has a list of aches and pains and she is only too happy to go on and on about them for hours on end.  It began, supposedly, with a neck problem.  Hypo does nothing all day but obsess about herself, her body, her various aches and ... The Torturer.  

Hypo is the ultimate Money Town woman.  She is attractive, keeps her figure close to flawless and pretends she is years younger than she is.  She is married to a Toxic Man who provides her with a ton of money, a beautiful home, a shiny Mercedes, and opportunities to travel and vacation frequently.  She shows up to PT in extremely small squares of spandex and nothing else. Over the last year she determined her neck problem has led to pelvic issues.

Should I repeat that for you?

Hypo told me her neck problem has somehow developed into a problem with her pelvis. Now she thinks she needs The Torturer's help with her ... girly parts.  Well, with that general area, anyway.

Who am I to judge?

Honestly, I've met Hypo's husband, and the man would shit if he saw her behavior at PT. She is all over The Torturer.  As in, she can't keep her hands to herself for more than thirty seconds.  If you say Hypo's name to any of the staff at PT ... you will see an instant smirk, followed by a quick attempt to be professional.  Hypo has been in and out of PT for decades, I think.

Once in awhile The Torturer discharges her or something.  She's suddenly gone for a little while.  (Not that he seems to mind the attention, but maybe he gets bored with her after awhile?) She always comes back.  She's like a bad penny that keeps showing up.  In fact, she even told me she's got "nothing else to do" and "can't imagine" her life without The Torturer.  

Pathetic much?

I'd gladly offer her all of my upcoming appointments, but The Torturer would never allow it.  It's really too bad.  I know she would love to take my place.

Next up, is Hardbody.  

Hardbody and The Torturer are "friends."

Hardbody just hangs out at PT all the time for no reason whatsoever.  She's not a patient. She is just there.  She comes in and reads books about maintaining zero percent body fat. Or whatever.  Hardbody is married too. I could write more about Hardbody, but if I do my life might end soon.  It's probably enough just to let you know she exists.

Then there's Rueful.  Rueful is a very nice woman.  She is single, and a physical therapist.  Rueful is head over heels in love with The Torturer and he doesn't reciprocate the feelings.  Rueful doesn't work for The Torturer, but they've known each other for years.  She's come to visit him and I've met her.  She's very, very nice.  Sadly, it only takes one look into her eyes to see her intense longing for The Torturer.  In turn, The Torturer has apparently made it clear to her they are "only friends."  This doesn't prevent her from calling him, arranging occasions to see him, etc.  It's really quite sad.

Unrequited love.

Out of the entire harem, I'm pulling for Rueful.  She's in Vegas with The Torturer this week at the PT convention.  With enough alcohol, maybe she'll get him to reconsider her as an option.

There are other women in the harem too.  There are cougars patients who make fools of themselves on a regular basis.  Money Town women do not have enough to do.  Also? Money Town women have no morals, and no shame.

Really, I could go on and on. 

Nonetheless, I think that's enough for one day.  By now you should have a good feel the basics of the harem. 

It makes for some great entertainment while I'm at PT!

This Post is Rated X

Good-bye family members!  Do you know me in real life?  Well then, good-bye to you too. This post is rated X.  It's not intended for the faint of heart.

Okay, now that no one is left reading, I'll commence with my writing.

The Internet world is a strange one.  We make friends with people we never meet.  One of my Internet friends is Alan.   He loves to write primarily about his family, movies and music.  Alan and I "met" shortly after I began blogging when someone (I forget who) made a list of a zillion new Internet writers.  We were both on the list.  Somehow we connected, discovered we share an extreme love for music and have stayed in touch ever since.

Alan doesn't usually blog about sex.  However, he recently wrote about an item he found while perusing ... sites ... on the Internet.  His post made me laugh out loud and he gave me his permission to also write about it.  Alan made me "promise" I'd tell you he doesn't own this little gadget himself.  (Sure, I believe you Alan.  Really, I do!)

Today I'm going to show you Alan's the Sex Counter Cock Ring.

The product description states:

"A stretchy, orgasm-enhancing cock ring that actually counts your BPM - otherwise known as Bonks Per Minute!  Slide the cock ring over your penis and enjoy a longer, harder erection as well as the fun of knowing how many times you've thrust per session!"

Bonks Per Minute?  

Bonks?

Does it come with an alarm system?  If you're wearing your partner out with too many "bonks" does it tell you to hurry up and finish?  Or ask you if you had a bit too much alcohol and are now suffering from whiskey dick?  

Does it talk to you like a car's GPS system?  Does it insult you as "Limp Larry" when you're not quite up to (** ahem **) performing?

What if you're a "one thruster"?  Does it give you an error message and say, "Act Incomplete"??

Maybe it even provides your ... equipment with a nickname?

It seems to me like this would be anxiety inducing for a man.  (Not being male, I can't say for sure.)  I picture a little old lady standing in the corner of a room counting off sexual thrusts in her notebook and "grading" the man on whatever she feels is just the right amount.

This is kind of the same concept, but the little gadget is actually strangling his dick at the same time it's counting.  (Can a dick be strangled?  I'll be honest, I know nothing about cock rings.  And now I'm embarrassed I just admitted that.  Do most women know about cock rings?  Am I a disgrace to the female gender because I don't know anything about them?  Do some cocks wear lots of rings?  Do dicks ever get strangled by cock rings?)

Also, how does it count a thrust if, instead of a straight in and out thrust, it's more of a ... oh, never mind.  I'm blushing just thinking about it.

Also, is it getting warm in here?

I think I'm getting side tracked.

In any case, what do you think?  If you're female, would you want your man wearing this? And if you're male, would you want a thrust bonk counter?  

Barbeque Butt

I'm still out of town.  Most likely, I'm having terrible Internet withdrawals like any good addict.  I'll be flying home tonight.  Let's all hope my return flight is on time.  (And that it doesn't CRASH!)  If it's on time, I'll be back tomorrow with an announcement on the contest winner.  In the meantime, here's a joke my sister forwarded to me on email recently.

A man and his wife were working in their garden one day and the man looks over at his wife and says: 'Your butt is getting really big,  I mean really big. I bet your butt is bigger than the barbecue. With that he proceeded to get a measuring tape and measure the  grill and then went over to where his wife was working and measured  his wife's bottom. 'Yes, I was right; your butt is two inches wider than the barbecue!!!' The woman chose to ignore her husband. Later that night in bed, the husband is feeling a little frisky. He makes some advances towards his wife who completely brushes him off. 'What's wrong?' he asks. She answers: Do you really think I'm going to fire up this big-ass grill for one little weenie?

Sex Toys And Sandwiches

You can continue to enter my Decadent Indulgence Contest through this Friday, at midnight Pacific time.  Prizes include a Breville Panini Press and a Decadent Indulgence sex toy.  They add up to a combined dollar value of over $250!  To enter, please click here.

Well, the contest seems to be off to a good start.  Thank you for participating and I wish the best of luck to each and every one of you!  Remember, you may enter as many times as you like.  Obviously, your odds of winning increase the more times you enter.

A few of you sent me emails saying you already have a panini press but would like the sex toy, or you have enough sex toys ** snicker ** but would love a panini press.  You can always use one of the items as a gift if you want.  

I'll be honest, all this talk of good food and great sex has really been on my mind.  I can't help you out with the sex part, so I thought I'd give you a few tips on making the best-ever panini sandwich today instead.

If you're on a New Year's diet you can modify the following with whole grain bread and low fat fillers and spreads!

Panini Tips  (Sounds kind of dirty doesn't it?)

Use the freshest, best, sourdough bread you can find.  Foccacia and ciabatta are also great options.

Optional: Fire roasted peppers are traditional on a panini, but not everyone likes them.

Fresh basil can be the key to taking your panini above and beyond an ordinary sandwich.

Use an assortment of thinly sliced sandwich meats to give your sandwich a more interesting flavor.  My family's favorite paninis include genoa salami, turkey, prosciutto, pepperoni, ham and a little cappocolla. 

Tomato, onion, avocado, and pepperoncini are all great options.  Lettuce just becomes limp when heated, I don't recommend it.  We wouldn't want limp, now would we?  

(What is WRONG with me today?  It must be the giveaway ... or something.)

Provolone and/or mozzarella cheese both melt nicely, but any cheese you like is fine.

Mincing a clove of garlic and mixing it in with some mayo makes a great, flavorful, spread.

To give the bread a great color and the perfect crispiness, brush the outside of both pieces of bread very lightly with olive oil prior to putting the sandwich in your press.  This is the KEY to a perfect panini!

Toast the sandwich in your pre-heated panini press for 5-8 minutes depending on its thickness.  You should end up with a nicely browned, crispy panini.  When you bite into it your tastebuds will explode at the combination of flavors.  The gooey melted cheese inside will send you over the top.

Are you hungry now?

You can still enter my contest to win a panini maker and a sex toy!

Decadent Indulgence - A Contest!

Eden Fantasys (not Fantasies) contacted me last month with an offer too good to pass up. They offered me the opportunity to peruse their website, pick out any sex toy I wanted, and agreed to sponsor a contest giving away the toy of my choosing.  They are not paying me anything, nor am I accepting any of their products for my own use.  But hey, if they want to give me the opportunity to give YOU something ... hell yeah!

I started thinking long and hard (**ahem**) about the zillions of toys I had to choose from. I went back and read a lot of the comments you've left me in the past.  I decided pretty quickly on a rabbit.  Several readers have mentioned in the past how much they would love to have a rabbit.  Next, I started narrowing down WHICH rabbit because Eden Fantasys has so many to choose from.

And then ... yes, and then.  I started thinking back to a few comments left on a previous post.  

Sex toy giveaway? That should boost your counter stats. Maybe you could get Williams Sonoma to throw in a panini press... and bundle the prize as a "Sandwich Some Fun into Your Busy Day Giveaway."

You are amazing! Love your blog...Posted by: sometimessophia 

And then there was this one:

Did this company happen to mention if they have a sex toy/panini press combo unit? That's one of those things that if I had one, I'd probably never leave the house. Except to get sandwich stuff, and (ahem) personal lubricants.  Posted by: Irish Gumbo 

There were more comments too regarding the joy of combining sex and good food.

For that reason, I have decided to co-sponsor this contest and donate a Breville Panini Press (approximate retail value of $150) to the winner.  That's right - the winner of today's contest will get a Breville Panini Press AND a Decadent Indulgence 3 rabbit sex toy which is valued at approximately $93!  If you factor in tax and shipping costs, the contest winner will walk away with over $250 of prizes.

You can click on the links of both items to get more details, but I want to tell you a little about them.  (Because some of you are lazy asses and won't click on the links!)  The Breville Panini Press is the one I recently purchased for myself and I love it.  My family has gone panini-crazy.  Every time the boys have friends over, or the family is watching a sports game on TV, I get a request to make paninis.  You can also grill meats, fish and vegetables on it.  It is AWESOME!

Now let me tell you why I picked the Decadent Indulgence 3.  This toy is the rabbit of all rabbits. It offers over 300 functions to tickle your ... fancy.  The buttons to operate it glow in the dark so they're easy to find.  (There's nothing worse than having your partner miss your button at a critical moment.)  The "rabbit ears" of a traditional rabbit sex toy are different on the Decadent Indulgence 3.  The DI3 has an elephant for clitoral stimulation instead of a rabbit. (An elephant has a trunk, and big floppy ears in case you forgot!)  

Ladies, think about it for a minute.  Would you rather have a tiny little rabbit in bed with you ... or a nice, big, strong, hard, elephant?  This is a toy which was designed to make the earth move repeatedly.

Whew!  Can someone hand me a fan?  I think I'm getting a little hot and bothered just thinking about it!  Sex, sandwiches, sexual sandwiches - whoops!  Did I just type that out loud?

As far as I know, this is the first-ever Internet contest offering a panini press and sex toy simultaneously.  Don't you just love it when exciting things happen simultaneously?! 

Contest Rules:

You may enter as many times as you wish.

Leave a comment listing something you enjoy as a decadent indulgence.  (It can be a bite of chocolate, a walk on the beach, a favorite sandwich, a candlelit bath ... anything you wish!)

** Make sure you type in the verification letters.  There will be a slight delay before your comment shows up after you've left it! **

Each comment you leave counts as one entry.

The contest closes at midnight Pacific time, this Friday (January 16th).

I'll be using a random number generator to pick the winner.

The winner will be announced next week on Tuesday, January 20th!

Are you one of my shy lurkers?  You can enter the contest using a fake name, just make sure to leave me a real email address.  No one will see your email address but me.

Thank you again to Eden Fantasys for co-sponsoring this very sexy, sensual, contest with me!

Go Ahead, Ask Me!

First of all, this post is not being written under the influence of pain meds.  Most likely, it will seem like it was, but I'm perfectly undrugged (my new word).  

I'm loving this week with no PT.  I feel a sense of freedom and it's exhilarating.  I'm leaving my house in the morning and getting home just before dinner.  I'm accomplishing things.  I'm out in the real world like a real person.  The icky aura of being injured or "disabled" is gone, at least for this week.  

It's a taste of what's to come ... someday ... hopefully soon. 

I have some random things I wanted to touch on today, and a few reader's questions to answer.  We've become friends, and we've got things to talk about!

So let's get started.  I've been in correspondence with the sex toy company which contacted me.  I perused their website and (oh my!) learned a few things in the process.  I have picked out a toy for a giveaway.  It's a rabbit, and a very nice one at that.  It's so nice, in fact, they are completely out of stock right now from the holidays.  They will be contacting me when they get more in, and at that time (it should be soon) I'll put it up for grabs.  So to speak.

It's going to be a very fun contest.  I have a surprise for you, but you'll just have to wait until contest day to find out what it is.

Short Shorts wore bright pink short shorts into PT on a cold, rainy, day last week.  I'm not allowed to talk about it though.  Would you wear short shorts (ass hanging out) if you knew your PT regimen meant your ankles would be wrapped around your neck?  In a public setting?  With a male PT working on you?  In cold, rainy, weather?

Just sayin' ....

I ordered the leather furniture for my family room yesterday.  And yes, I went with the Blackberry.  It will arrive in about six weeks.  I ended up getting a sofa, a love seat, and a chair.  I've already dibbed the chair for myself.  You know how they make those big, comfy, oversized chairs now?  Well, this is even bigger.  The one I ordered is called a "chair and a half," and it's huge and soooooo comfy.  It's very cool looking.  I can't wait to sit on something that doesn't have fluff falling out of it.  

The amazing thing?  The economy sucks.  You'd pass out from shock if you knew how little I spent.  It's a buyer's market right now.

Last night I was flipping through a newspaper and I saw a woman had written into a national advice columnist.  She was a newlywed and had just discovered her husband had another wife.  She was wondering if she should keep or return the wedding gifts.

Really?  THAT'S what she's worried about?

And no, her bigamist husband is not Joe the Bigamist.

I got lots of comments and questions about my brick floor.  (Not interested?  Skip this and the next paragraph!)  When we put our pool in, about eleven years ago, I wanted a bullet proof floor.  Our house is at the end of a cul de sac.  We've never had just our kids here, we've raised the whole neighborhood.  To get from the pool to our bathroom you have to enter our back door, and walk down a long hallway to get to the bathroom.  I wanted hard wood floors but knew the salt water from the pool would destroy them when kids came in dripping wet.

I came up with the idea of an indoor brick floor.  At the time, it was pretty much unheard of.  I looked long and hard to find the right person to do the work for me.  I knew I wanted a herringbone pattern and real brick.  Brick would not work for everyone, but I have absolutely loved the results.  Our whole downstairs, except for our living and dining room (and RC's bedroom) has brick floor.  Laundry room?  Brick.  Entry way?  Brick?  Downstairs hall?  Brick.  Downstairs bathroom?  Brick.  Kitchen and Family Room?  Brick.  I've since seen other homes with brick, but usually just brick accents.  Area rugs warm it up and soften the look.

Did you know a nonfat, grande, cappuccino only has 80 calories in it?  And you can add the sugar-free syrups if you need it sweetened.  I just thought I'd throw that in for all of you who are working on losing weight as a New Year resolution.  I haven't weighed myself since January 1st, but I've been very good about healthy foods and small portions.

OK, so here's the deal.  I've planned on doing this for awhile, and today seems like a good opportunity.  I get questions emailed to me and/or left in my comments section pretty often.  I try to answer people directly, but sometimes I'm rushing and don't get to it.  I'm opening my comments section today for you to ask me anything you'd like.  No subject is off limits.  The car accident, my house decorating, PT, my dogs, life in the OC, my life pre-accident.  I'm pretty boring, but if you want to ask ... I'll try to answer in tomorrow's post.  You may ask as many questions as you like. 

Guest Post!

Awhile back my friend, Miss Britt, decided to challenge herself to guest post on other people's blogs.  I sent her a note and told her I'd love to take advantage of her offer. I knew I'd be busy during the holiday season and I thought you'd enjoy having her pay a visit.  She knows we talk a lot about the differences between men and women here. Not long after, she sent me the following.  Thank you Miss Britt for paying us a visit!

Him:  How was your day today?

Her:  Fine, except for the fact that I am hemorrhaging from my vagina.  But other than THAT... good.

Him:  Umm... OK...

Several minutes later, the couple is getting ready for bed.  They share the familiarity of two people who have gotten dressed and undressed in front of one another for years.  They mill back and forth between the master bedroom and the closet, pausing at the bathroom sink to floss and wash their faces.

As she's hanging up her skirt, he stops and watches her.

Him: By the way, you looked nice today.

Her:  Awww, thank you.

Him:  I like it when you wear tights like that.

Her:  Well thanks.  Again.  I appreciate you noticing.

Him:  Maybe you should just leave the tights on.  Maybe wear them to bed.

Her:  What part of HEMORRHAGING FROM MY VAGINA  did you find sexy?

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This post is part of <a href="http://miss-britt.com/2008/11/the-guest-post-challenge/"Miss Britt's Guest Post Challenge</a>.

No Leisurely Sex Allowed

The neighborhood I live in is ridiculous.  We have rules about rules.  Everyone has to pay an "association fee" each month which is supposed to go towards maintaining the common areas of the neighborhood.  Instead, the association ends up with surplus money and they spend (waste) it on stupid things.  The idiocy of the people "managing" the neighborhood never ceases to amaze me.

Throughout our neighborhood we have speed bumps.  They've been here for years and definitely serve a purpose.  Annoying as speed bumps are to drive over, they do force everyone to maintain a relatively safe speed throughout the community.  There are a lot of kids outside playing in our neighborhood and I'm all for preserving their safety.

Nevertheless, after years of driving over speed bumps, our community recently decided to spend some money on a sign to warn people that the speed bumps exist.  Except, the people ordering the sign made a mistake and misspelled the word b-u-m-p.  Now, instead of a warning about driving conditions, it appears we have a sign warning everyone about what type of sex they can expect to have in our community.

 

One has to assume that a speed hump is the opposite of a nice, leisurely hump?

What's Next?

I've got nothing for you today.  I'm still dealing with the aftermath from yesterday's sex toy post. How do you follow a post like that? Last night I was making cranberry relish and baking bread and being very domestic.  That's me, I go from sex toys to baking bread without a blink. As I was cooking I started chatting on Twitter between tasks.  (See? A multi-tasker!)

You know what I learned?  Even men love sex toys.  Men are very intrigued even with the toys designed for women. After reading my comments, emails, and twitters I now know my female readers are a bunch of horny bitches. I knew there was a reason why I liked all of you so much.

I'm thinking my next blog giveaway may need to be a sex toy.  What do you think? Would you be interested?  Or would I end up with an extra toy on my hands? (I really think I've got plenty of toys for myself already!)

I've got to say, I have the best readers in the entire world-wide-web.  Your comments yesterday cracked me up.

Particularly this one from Amy in regard to my fondness for my new Flipper. Amy knew all the words to the old Flipper TV song:

They call him Flipper, Flipper, faster than lightning, 
No-one you see, is smarter than he, 
And we know Flipper, lives in a world full of wonder, 
Flying there-under, under the sea! 
Everyone loves the king of the sea, 
Ever so kind and gentle is he, 
Tricks he will do when children appear, 
And how they laugh when he's near! 
They call him Flipper, Flipper, faster than lightning, 
No-one you see, is smarter than he, 
And we know Flipper, lives in a world full of wonder, 
Flying there-under, under the sea!

The other comment that made me snort coffee all over my new MacBook was Jan's suggestion regarding a new movie titled 24@Heart Does Money Town.  I'm still not over that email! Hee hee ... laughing just writing about it.  Really Jan? If you only knew all the folks in Money Town! Ha ha ha!!

I also laughed at how strongly a few of you felt about certain songs needing to be on the Sex CD.  Some of you were simply outraged at the thought of your favorite sex songs not being included.  Remember, I did say I only mentioned a few of the songs in my post. There are 19 songs on the CD and I only listed 7.  You can relax, most likely your favorite sex song was included. 

I got a couple emails from people asking if I was prepared for the "fall out" in my real life from writing a post about sex toys.  The answer is, no, I am not.  I told family members not to read it.  If they do anyway, I'm not responsible for their emotional scarring.  Very few people in my "real" life know I'm Twenty Four At Heart, so hopefully no one will approach me to discuss sex toys on the street.

I'm not a sex toy expert, OK?

By the way?  "Romance" parties are all the rage with women right now so I don't think any pictures I show here are very shocking to many people.  Also, did you know the name of these parties has changed (at least here in California)?  Women now get invited to Poke Her parties instead of Romance parties.  Seriously.

As a quick side note, Joe the Bigamist called our mutual friend yesterday.  He was wondering what he should do for Thanksgiving this year.  I thought I'd pass that on because it made me laugh out loud. Life is bad when neither of your wives wants you home for the holidays.

My daughter, TR, is home from college for a few days.  I'm looking forward to enjoying some time with her.  I do have a Thanksgiving post that will be up tomorrow. You probably won't hear from me again after that until Monday.  I've got a lot of cooking to do.  And shopping.  It's time for some mother/daughter bonding time. If you're going to be too busy tomorrow to check in, then please accept my best wishes for a wonderful Thanksgiving now.  To my readers outside of the USA, thank you for your patience over the next few days as we celebrate our holiday!

A Tisket A Tasket, A Multi-Colored Sex Basket

Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap ... helloooooo?  Is this thing working?  Is anyone out there? Where did everyone go?  Oh, I know - you're grocery shopping, and cleaning, and cooking, and traveling, and visiting with family.  Well, when you get around to it, I'll be right here. I'm doing all those things too. Well, I'm going to soon.  It's Tuesday and I'm a music addict. That means before I do anything else, I have to read the new iTunes music recap from my friend Alan at A Round World Through Square Glasses. It's part of my Tuesday morning routine. After I read his review, I start perusing all the new music releases on iTunes. I try to have some self-control on my music purchases, but ....

Speaking of music ..... 

Oh wait - family members?  See ya later!  This is another post for you NOT to read. Because, really?  You might be scarred for life if you do. I might be scarred for life just by writing it. In fact, I may have downed pain pills before I wrote this post just so I can be assured I'll never remember being the author.  (By the way, I do not recommend the misuse of prescribed medications unless you're about to show the entire world your sex toys!) 

If you know me in real life, you should stop reading right now and come back tomorrow, okay? Otherwise I'll just be embarrassed for life. Strangers? Please never stop me on the street to discuss this post. I can't even imagine the Google searches I'm going to get from this point forward. 

I can't believe I'm actually writing this.

OK, back to music.  As most of you know, I wrote a post not long ago about being a Corporate Widow. One of my readers out there in the Blogosphere sent me an email.  He owns a sex toy business and offered to send me a "Sex Basket."  Well, who can turn something like that down?  

I mean, strictly from a writing perspective, of course.  

My box arrived this weekend and the very first thing I found when I opened it was a "Sex Mix" CD. Oh yes, music for screwing.  Notice I did not say music for romance. No, this is all strictly sex music not romantic music.

What does it say about me if I already owned a lot of the songs?  I won't list them all here (19 songs) but here are a few:

Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon

Animals by Nickelback

Sex, Lies and Money by Will Hoge (I love Will Hoge!)

Wild Sex by Oingo Boingo

So Hott by Kid Rock

Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground

Pussy Control by Prince

Yeah ... Pussy Control.  I'm not joking and I DID laugh out loud at that one. To be honest, it's an awesome CD.  The only song I didn't like was Pussy Control.  I'm sure MEN would like it, but it didn't do a whole lot for me.  The other 18 songs are awesome.

Next, I found all sorts of bottles and pretty jars of stuff.  What kind of stuff?  Well, there was a body splash that has pheromones in it.  It's supposed to drive men crazy-wild. Then I found creamy massage oil. In case that doesn't work well enough there is also a jar of EDIBLE massage cream.  I sure won't find that at physical therapy now will I? The last bottle was filled with flavored "personal heightener."  Because we all want our personals heightened, right?  

The next thing I found in the box was this:

 

I admit, when I pulled this out of the box, I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it. I think it's called a "Flipper."  Batteries are in the little rectangle part and then there's that other Flipper part of it.  It vibrates; it hums. Hummmmm.  I snapped a photo.  Later?  I tried to figure out how to use this device.  I discovered this little gadget is ... small but very effective. Very. I think I've fallen in love with Flipper.

Didn't your mother always tell you that size doesn't matter?!

OK, now don't laugh.  The next thing I pulled out of my gift basket box was this:

Are you laughing?  It's a neon green, glowing, pre-lubricated, vibrator.  Green, just in case you have fantasies of hot sex with Shrek.  I admit, I haven't played with this toy yet. Why?  Because I have become permanently attached to Flipper.  Don't anyone ever try to take my Flipper away from me. If I tire of Flipper (no!) I might give Shrek a try, what do you think?

I will never tire of Flipper.

The last thing in my basket was a Rabbit.  Yes, a Rabbit. I've heard about Rabbits but I've never owned one.  Here's a picture:

I haven't played with Rabbit yet either.  Why?  Because Flipper is my best friend, okay? But Rabbit is a very interesting toy.  This particular Rabbit has all sorts of tricks it can do. The main shaft vibrates, and the rabbit ears (?) vibrate for clitoral stimulation. Or you can make them both vibrate at the same time.  (Lots of buttons!)  The Rabbit has one other special trick too.  The head on this toy can swirl around in full circles and sort of wave at you as it does so.  Oh, yes it can! 

I like to "turn it on" when I'm on pain meds and giggle and giggle at the rotating dickhead.  

So there you have it.  Flipper, Shrek, and Rabbit.  Also, a whole lot of creams and lotions and some awesome music.  A huge thank you to my sex basket donor!  Even though I haven't played with everything yet, the CD alone made my day.  It may be a long time before I get around to trying Shrek or Rabbit.  Flipper is a lot more intense stimulating amazing interesting than [he] looks. 

Wow, the perks of blogging!  Who knew?!