If you fall, you're bound to hit the concrete...

As previously mentioned, I attempted to break things off with Craigslist Guy because I was starting to care about him.

It's been almost 3 weeks, but he's still under my skin and in my head.  I have been doing everything I can to completely obliterate him from my mind, including fucking another guy who lives closer.  After all, the best way to get over one guy is to get under another.

However, this new guy (sourced from Tinder) doesn't quite measure up.  Sure, he's got a good-looking face and a mohawk (Mohawk Man, MM for short), and he's on the tall side at 6'3" (an inch shorter than CG's 6'4").  However, Mohawk Man has a typical Midwestern body (a little on the soft side with the slightest beginnings of a beer gut), so it's a little disappointing when I've gotten so used to cut bodies and six-pack abs.  The sex is great, but it isn't OMFG amazing.  Rather, it's more on the level with the Boy Toy, but minus the clitoral abuse (fortunately).  The whole substitution of Mohawk Man for Craigslist Guy is a bit like switching from a top shelf call drink to strictly well.  In the end, it'll do the trick, but it doesn't taste nearly as delicious.

With Mohawk Man being the option that I chose to use to get over Craigslist Guy, is it really any wonder why I committed the cardinal sex sin the last time we had sex?  That's right, I fantasized about fucking another man while fucking MM.  More to the point, I fantasized about Craigslist Guy, the very man I've been trying so hard to forget.

It started off, innocently enough, when Mohawk Man kissed me while we were in missionary position. For some reason, I thought I smelled a scent that I had only ever associated with Craigslist Guy at the very second that he kissed me.  It was very strange, considering that there was nothing anywhere in the room that would be the source of the scent.  I tried to push Craigslist Guy out of my mind and lose myself in the moment, but his eviction from the metaphorical bed was short-lived.  A few minutes later, Mohawk Man had me on my stomach and was fucking me from behind when I started fantasizing that Craigslist Guy was the one pounding me from behind.  The amount of detail that I had memorized about Craigslist Guy's appearance was slightly terrifying, if only because that is a lot of brain power I could have used memorizing something that is actually important.  Even worse, the sex actually seemed to get better with this fantasy.

Although I was thinking of someone else during sex, Mohawk Man was clearly thinking of me.  Right when he was about to climax, MM actually said my name.   That was the first time any guy has ever said my name during sex.  I immediately felt guilty about not being in the moment and actually thinking about someone else during the act of sex.  Nobody deserves that.

I'm going to Manhattan next week for 5 days.  I hope that new scenery will help me completely get Craigslist Guy out of my system for good.  At this point, all I can do is hope because I'm on the verge of being seriously screwed.

The Art of Lying

Anyone who has ever told a lie (which is anyone who is capable of speech) knows that it isn't always the easiest thing to do, and that to lie successfully does require some skill.  However, there are people out there who are so adept at lying that they almost raise it to an art form.  These people are truly fascinating to watch, but they so often make the mistake of building their lives around the lies that they tell to the point of where they start to get sloppy with their lies and then get caught.  Some examples: Frank Abagnale Jr. (of Catch Me If You Can" fame), Christophe Rocancourt, Bernie Madoff, and, of course, Charles Ponzi.  Moral of the story, keep your lies small and don't let them dominate any part of your life.

Everyone finds themselves in a situation every once in a while where a lie is necessary because honesty would otherwise destroy civilized interactions.  Only this morning, I found myself lying to get out of a scheduled interaction with Mr. Merkin that was to take place tomorrow evening (I really am too nice sometimes).  I now don't have to endure his company and unpleasant sexual actions, and his ego is still intact without having to hear the brutal truth.  So, here are a few tips on telling a successful lie:

1) Always base every lie in some truth.  In the event that the person that you are lying to does not believe you at all, you can have some evidence to show you are telling some variation of a truth.

2) Let yourself believe that your lie could be an actual possibility.  Following point 1 makes it easier to believe the lie because it could be a possibility in an alternate universe.  By believing the lie to be a possibility, you can make it sound more convincing and your body language will reflect the potential of truth.

3) If you have a shit poker face, lie only via text (email, letter, text message).  You don't want your body language to betray you.

4) If you are lying via text, then send it at a time when the receiver will not be able to read it right away, which will give you more time to engage in point 2/come up with a fully fleshed out story to cover your ass.

LA, Love You/Hate You

I went down to LA this past weekend just to relax.  On the way down, I spent the night in Fresno in a shitty Motel 6 room with a fairly new fuck buddy (because of the distance, it was only the second time I hooked up with him).  I let Fresno Boy pick the hotel room since he was paying for it, and we had joked about getting a crappy hotel room just so we can trash the hell out of the place.  We kind of did trash it in the end...I clogged the toilet and he pissed in the shower without bothering to rinse it out afterward (nothing says "you're my bro and there are no romantic feelings" quite like tolerating the scent of urine emanating from the bathroom at 6:30 am when you're standing at the sink brushing your teeth).  For the record, I will never stay at another Motel 6 unless it's life or death, I'm not a princess but I prefer it when the bedding is adequate enough to keep me from staying awake all night due to freezing my ass off.  Anyways, we ate fast food, drank beer, and fucked three times.  The sex was as good as the first time, except it didn't seem to last as long...which could be an issue in the future.  Fresno Boy is damn hot with a seriously ripped body, so his lack of stamina this time won't be enough to kick him off the casual sex list.

So I left Fresno Boy behind and drove straight to Craigslist Guy's place (4 hours in a car with no shower...not fun).  If Craigslist Guy had noticed that I still faintly smelled of Fresno Boy's cologne, he didn't say anything.  Sex with Craigslist Guy reminded me why I hadn't gotten rid of him in the past 2 years, so many positions and orgasms on my part.  As always, Craigslist Guy made promises to fuck me later in the weekend as I was leaving.

I booked a hotel room at the Thompson Beverly Hills (no more shitty motel rooms for me) and headed over there for a much-needed shower (sex with 2 different guys in less than 24 hours demands a long hot shower).  On the way over to the hotel, I accidentally rear-ended a Fresh Off The Boat elderly Asian man who is now suing me for severe neck and brain injury (yeah right buddy, I barely damaged the back up sensor that was sticking 2 inches out of the back of your minivan).  The guy even tried to steal my license and insurance card because apparently they were his to take now that I had rear-ended him.  Hell.  Fucking.  No.  Biatch.  I snapped into my bulldog lawyer mode and was like "I can tell you right now that you did not suffer any injury to your physical person and that if you bring this into court you will not recover a single penny because your irrational behavior will demonstrate to the jury that you are not capable of having perceived the situation in a manner that is believable, so your testimony will be deemed worthless."  But, of course, he sees a white chick driving an SUV and immediately thinks that he can swindle all sorts of money from me.  God, I hate being stereotyped.

Got tan from spending a ton of time by the rooftop pool.  Went to The Edison alone, which was fun, but just reminded me that being attractive is a real cockblocker sometimes.  I'm old-fashioned in that I believe that a guy should make the first move.  And while there were a few brave souls, I just wasn't interested and they were too easily deflected (one guy actually used a classic pick-up routine that I had recognized from hanging out in pick-up artist circles online for years, and I gave him an honest legitimate answer that was totally not one of the routine answers that they tell the user to anticipate...as one of my guy friends likes to say "mind = blown").

Most of my plans to get laid did not pan out because even though Fresno Boy said he would come down for the weekend, he bailed and texted me late Saturday night that he was having car issues on Friday (hello, you could have told me on Friday, or even Saturday during the day).  I then had definite plans to hook up with Craigslist Guy on Saturday at 9 pm, which he blew off without telling me, and texting him at 10 got a response that he was busy at his sister's but would be leaving soon...which turned out to be bull-fucking-shit.

Finally, at midnight on Saturday, the Back-up Plan finally declared himself to be dtf, but that I'd have to drive to his place.  I was already out with a mutual friend, so I told him I'd be there shortly after I had spent a little more time with the friend.  Well, he kept texting about how tired he was and asking how much longer he would have to wait.  Super annoying because I was going out of my way to make it convenient for him and he was only ever the back-up plan.  Anyways, I finally was heading to my car and bluntly asked him if he still wanted me to come over (which of course he did, not picking up on my pissed off attitude).  So I went over, and he was all, "You have to be super quiet" (which just annoyed me more).

We get to his bedroom and start fucking while he has Pandora going on his computer.  Then, that annoying-as-fuck song about shopping in a thrift store came on, which nearly killed my sexytime mood.  I get playing music to set the mood, but everything should be tailored to sound sexy and annoying hipster rap isn't sexy.  I got a feeling that he didn't even remember my name, which is insulting, and then he made a comment about me being on the Pill, which is even more insulting because I'm not and he and I have discussed this before.  If you're going to fuck multiple people, at least keep the basic facts straight, or you can't handle sex with more than one partner.  He also seemed genuinely amazed at the fact that I do shave down there and am tight (he actually asked me how I made my vagina so tight).

After the actual intercourse was over, he then proceeded to go down on me.  Normally, I love being eaten out, but at that point it felt like overkill, since it was late, he had already bitched about being tired, and I had already gotten off enough during the actual intercourse.  I finally get him to stop and tell him that I'll be leaving in a few minutes.  This prompts him to launch into a monologue about how he has a no sleeping over policy because girls just can't take a hint to leave in the morning.  What. The. Hell.  First, I had just said that I wasn't spending the night.  Second, I have never stayed past me welcome with him before, so I have proven myself to not fall into that category.  Third, the ONLY time I spent the night was when he asked me to because he was a hardcore cuddler and actually wanted to sleep with me.  LA makes every non-SoCal native a jaded asshole after a while, I swear.

Sunday morning found me by the hotel pool once again.  I honestly could not shake being annoyed at being stood up by Craigslist Guy, which made me realize that I wanted a little more reliability and accountability than he was giving me.  Reliability and accountability are things that only a girlfriend gets when there's sex involved, so I knew I had to end things.  I tried to, but Craigslist Guy misunderstood and apologized for not warning me that he was blowing me off.  I attempted to re-explain things and haven't heard from him since.  2 years and not even goodbye, despite me apologizing profusely for fucking up by wanting more.  I was doing him the damn favor by not forcing him to suffer through an awkward period of me acting too "relationship-y" (he told me that he's kicked another woman to the curb for acting that way) before kicking me to the curb.  He could have thanked me, but no.  It really does hurt like hell, but whatever.  It couldn't have lasted forever...

Bad Sex...Part 2

...and then he immediately goes down on me, which means that I get a few minutes of blissful silence, a break from the constant commentary.  At first, it's not bad because, unlike a lot of men, Mr. Merkin actually knows his way around down there.  However, it rapidly becomes apparent that this guy is a one-trick pony and continually assaults my clitoris as if it isn't the most sensitive part on a woman's body.  After a while, an abrasive tongue against a delicate nerve ending starts to be really uncomfortable, like rough clothing rubbing against a bad sunburn.  But I, ever polite and not wanting to hurt Mr. Merkin's feelings, pretend to continue to enjoy the assault while praying that it will end soon.

Eventually, he does come up for air and leaves my poor clitoris to recover a little...and immediately insists that I start blowing him again so that he can get hard enough to fuck me.  I comply to Mr. Merkin's demand, if only because I know that it will keep his face from out between my legs.  He gets hard again after several minutes of more explicit instruction on how to handle his cock (because, obviously, it's been forever since I've blown him that I need to be reminded for what he likes and doesn't like).  We begin fucking, and Mr. Merkin starts throwing out odd requests, like wanting me to breathe out so that he can inhale my breath and wanting me to press my nose against his closed eyes.  The odd requests threw me off, which prevented me from being able to truly relax and enjoy the sexual experience.  Piece of advice, if you want to engage in anything that might be considered kinky, then clear it with your partner first instead of just assuming that they will think it's the sexiest thing ever.

At this point, I am already having difficulty with getting into the sex because of the weird requests (though saying that they were requests is something of a misnomer because they were more like instructions similar to the blow job instructions).  Then, it got worse.  Just as I was starting to build up to a climax (I am one of those lucky bitches that can get off on vaginal intercourse alone), Mr. Merkin pulls out.  And he does this almost every single time that I get close to an orgasm.  What. The. Hell.  It's almost as if, subconsciously, he doesn't want me to actually find the experience pleasurable.  All of my pleas for him to go faster and harder so that I could actually get off are completely ignored.  When Mr. Merkin finally orgasms, he talks about how great the sex was (smile and nod, people, just smile and nod) and how rare it is that two people are so into the sexual act and each other for it to be that crazy good/powerful (clearly, I deserve an Oscar for my convincing portrayal of someone who isn't completely not turned on at all, or really having any fun).

The rest of the post-coital talk leaves me wanting to look for an emergency exit.  First, Mr. Merkin keeps talking about his rising comedy career in a way that I feel any moment he's going to ask me to buy stock in it.  Total fucking sales pitch that could have been told to any random person walking down the street.  Following his attempts to sell me his career like a time share (was I supposed to whip out a check book or have him come with me to the nearest ATM?), Mr. Merkin went on and on about how I was completely his type (ummm...okay?), how hot it was that I was so skinny (really, dude should be spending at least some time running a pro-ana website), and how hot it was that I was seven years younger than him and enjoyed pointing out how old he was when I was essentially in jailbait territory (someone clearly has suppressed pedophile fantasies).

Much of the rest of our time together continues like this, alternating between bad sex and awkward conversation, with a number of moments where I stated that I should go only to have him refuse to let me leave sprinkled throughout.  It finally becomes light enough where I can see him more clearly, and he goes down on me in a last ditch effort to keep me from leaving.  Well, the fact that it was finally light out really screwed Mr. Merkin over.  I looked down between my legs at his naked body...

...only to see a thick patch of curly body hair on his lower back.  No other noticeable body hair was present anywhere on his back, ass, or thighs from what I could see.  It was so completely random that it looked like someone had super-glued a merkin down there (hence the nickname).  Now, whenever I think of the guy, all I can picture in my mind is that weird patch of body hair.

Anyways, fast forward a few days later.  Mr. Merkin wants to meet up again.  I ask if he'd be willing to meet up for coffee (anything where I wouldn't have to see the body hair patch).  This wouldn't work for him, apparently, because "when we meet in person, we fuck."  Thanks for the total lack of freedom, wannabe sex dictator.  Mr. Merkin also commented that he noticed I didn't orgasm.  If you think your partner NEVER climaxed the ENTIRE TIME you had sex, and that sex involved multiple rounds and you giving oral sex....do you think they loved having sex with you and that it was the most amazing sexual experience that they ever had to the point of where they're dying to repeat the experience as soon as possible?

I have honestly never wanted to get naked with a person for a second time less than with Mr. Merkin.