Dont Mince Words

Good Morning Wood

If a penis grows in the bed and no one is around to see it, is it really hard?  Thanks to sexting, I know the answer to that question.

Bones is a 61 year-old Santa Barbara man who found me online.  We spoke on the phone and he was able to dialogue quite nicely, so we moved on to planning a dinner date.  That went well – three hours of good conversation ending in 10 minutes of serious kissing.  Despite the 15-year age difference, we seemed to have a lot in common.

Four days later I heard from him by text message and later that night by instant message.  On day five, he presented the gift of morning wood via a text message with attachment.  While I’d like to take credit for his sweet dreams, I’m also realistic.  I’m sure he had a piss hard-on from diuretics.

I feel that Swingers needs to be updated for the digital age.  No sexting until the recipient has seen the actual, physical hard ware and certainly, not before day six.

Brown, red, and blond camo for gray roots

When the going gets tough, the tough go girlie. It’s been nearly 18 months since I’ve seen a penis. The real, in-front-of-you kind, not the creepy ChatRoulette cyber ones. This has been the longest dry spell I’ve had since I gave it all up at senior prom. But as I get older, I seem to embrace the inactivity more. It is just easier to say no when you have a two-tiered entrance exam. (1) Is he worth shaving my legs for? If I answer yes, then we go to (2) Does he seem more fun than my dog? That answer has been No a few too many times which has driven me to new forms of attention: taking care of Number One.

In a four-day period recently, I had a serious pedicure (paraffin wax, callous sanding, etc..); I had my hair professionally colored; I bought new makeup and under eye/bag eye concealer; and I bought new perfume. Most women would agree, all of these things make us feel good. But it’s starting to get addicting. Right now I’m shopping Zappos and Bare Necessities while I try to book a wax appointment.

Hopefully I’ll snap out of this soon which will probably happen when I have to pay to get my roots done for a date that will turn out to be a waste of time. A girl can dream. Until then, I have dog walks, e-commerce, and a vibrator.

I hate texting in new relationships and have destained the medium long before my run-in with Billy , the artist who painted mangled women.  When you don’t know someone, let alone their sense of humor, a text falls flat every time.

Gary recently contacted me from an online dating site.  We emailed through the site twice, then he got my filter-the-freaks  yahoo email.  From there, he was able to download messenger and IM me.  We chatted once.  He then emailed a few more times letting me know how excited he was to have met me (that limited 40+ Santa Barbara inventory thing).  I gave him my number and suggested he call me since I can talk faster thank I can type. He didn’t call but texted “what’s up?”

Well, Gary, I generally like men who are man enough to call.  You aren’t going to get to know me 200 characters at a time.  Nut up.  That’s what’s up.