Dont Mince Words

Bedroom dirty talk is the convergence of creativity and tolerance. I’ve been a dirty talk connoisseur for about twenty years. I have classic and timeless standards. At this point, I rarely need to add to my repertoire. The other night, I heard a new one.

I would be willing to bet that most people get into dirty talk via long-distance relationships. I know I did. During my first college break, I called a boyfriend to wish him happy holidays. Shortly thereafter, on his request, I began to describe what I was going to do to him when we got back to school.

Dirty talk sentence construction is a no-brainer and one- and two-syllable words prevail. “The next time I see you, I’m going to wear my black teddie, and then I’m going to pour honey on you and lick it off.” Once I converted from a phone sex dirty talker to in-person, I had to be more serious in my delivery-no more filing nails and multitasking on the phone. My sentence constructions needed to merge with all the senses. “Show me how happy you can make me with that hard cock,” I would say with wild eyes. I enjoyed watching reactions to my nasty soliloquies. Dirty talk became my favorite sex accessory. For my partners, my lovers lexicon was a value add that packed the kind of excitement you have when you see large shrimp at the all-you-can-eat brunch buffet.

My latest prospect and I had a lot of good chemistry. There seemed to be some kindda-sorta-maybe relationship hope, not that I really know what that is (my only definition being “I’ll know it when I feel it.”). We had good conversations and good times… until the dirty talk. I’m creative and I can keep up with any smut-mouthed male. This time I was stumped.

“Suck my cock like mommy,” he said.

My brain uttered a big Scooby “Arrrggggg?” and I blocked out the statement and moved on before the mood was crushed by analysis. Later on, pillow talk turned into story time.

“So, do you want to hear the story about my mom?” this 40 year-old man asked.

I was anticipating sharetime – that time when lovers bond over dysfunctional pasts and grow closer. It appeared, as a 14-year old, he let his mother orally service him. This was not the story I wanted to hear. What ever happened to having an abusive father and an alcoholic mother? This was not my movie… this would never have a happy ending.

One day my life will not feel like a string of Sex in the City episodes; however, now I can say, I heard one I’d never heard before. Creativity and tolerance ceased merging that night and a contact was permanently deleted from my address book. Can a girl ever be better than mommy?