… Some of them … are great. Just gotta know your way around them, is all.”
So today I went to my local hangout. And lo and behold, who is working the day shift? It’s my bartender from the weekend: the Star of my Fake Fantasy!
And realistically, as IF I would have really done that … after all, what would have been in it for me? I usually reserve BJ’s for guys I really want … or really love … or at least know a bit … or the really clever ones who manage to pounce on me at that exact moment between the eighth and ninth Jager Bomb …
Okay! Scratch all of the above. But there definitely is a fine art to getting me to give a BJ … I don’t even have it down pat yet! It’s kind of like Steak Tartare. Sometimes the mere thought of it makes me want to ... Hell no! Other times ... sure.
One guy (no, I didn’t burst his bubble and tell him the truth) wrote the following to me:
And anyway, the fantasy was a whole lot more interesting than what I actually was doing. In reality, I was at my place, hanging out with my landlady’s son, Z (18-year-old Major-Stoner-Major-Hottie) and three of his friends – all teenagers - playing Bong Ping Pong and getting as baked as we could as quickly as possible.
“So why does she not just peruse of one of these nubile little bodies?” I hear you ruminating.
Believe you me, boy-oh! In any other situation, I would. Believe me I would! (That would be my sole prerogative!) But when I am stoned, I get soooo … NOT sexy. I mean, I’m stoned, I’m baked, I’m cooked, I’m high … hmmm … and the number of languages I know how to say that in! Eeek … so that’s what I’ve been doing with myself since finishing my studies: Travelling to different countries, getting high and learning how to say, “I’m high” in that language!
Ani mastula, Je suis pété, Soy … ummm … Okay, guess I was too high to even learn how to say it in most countries after all!
Anyway, like I was saying, when I am stoned … or high on most drugs (Cocaine being the exception) … I become, like, asexual. And the last thing on my mind is sex. I mean, I am high for goodness sake! There are so many other things to think about and feel …
Like on grass: food, music, the stars, dancing, laughing, trying to figure out what the hell Jim Morrison means in most of those songs (no, I am not crazy about The Doors).
… Humm … better yet, I’ll let Bill Hicks sum it up ever so succinctly:
Or Acid: oh, wow! Okay, that IS one that is unreal to have sex on … but your mind is SO all over the place that sex is usually not foremost on the list of ”Things To Do While Tripping on A Hoffman 2000”! And another Bill Hicks quote to back up my line of thinking here:
Thus Saturday night found me lying there on the chaise longue with four teenagers getting as stoned as … well, to quote Saul in Pineapple Express, it was so good … it was like: “the dopest dope I've ever smoked. Smell it. It's like... God's vagina”.
Unfortunately we ran out and had to do a trip to the dealer’s house but, as high as I was, I was sorted and had the perfect excuse if we got stopped by the cops (no, none of the teenagers even have their learners! So I had to drive), courtesy once again of Pineapple Express:
Before I was even totally horizontal on the bed, he had my jeans and panties off and was burrowing like an excited mole. Next thing I remember is whispering in his ear “Tell me what you want” and slid down his body and started to ... you know ;-) (see what I mean about getting me at the right time?).
Things got a bit hazy after that (yes, I was that drunk) so sorry that I can’t regale you with more saucy details! But imagine how much more sorry I was when I woke up and didn’t remember anything! Not to mention the insane hangover I was nursing. (Btw, I did subsequently find out that he was actually pretty damn awful in bed.)
Weird, hey?
I might be totally out of it on most drugs but I have always remembered everything while high on them (LSD, Cocaine, Ecstasy, Mushrooms), including having sex and it was always awesome. But alcohol … huge mistake. It might make people look better but it certainly doesn’t make them appear better in bed!
And I’ll leave you with this thought (yes, once again from the incredible Bill Hicks):
So today I went to my local hangout. And lo and behold, who is working the day shift? It’s my bartender from the weekend: the Star of my Fake Fantasy!
And realistically, as IF I would have really done that … after all, what would have been in it for me? I usually reserve BJ’s for guys I really want … or really love … or at least know a bit … or the really clever ones who manage to pounce on me at that exact moment between the eighth and ninth Jager Bomb …
Okay! Scratch all of the above. But there definitely is a fine art to getting me to give a BJ … I don’t even have it down pat yet! It’s kind of like Steak Tartare. Sometimes the mere thought of it makes me want to ... Hell no! Other times ... sure.
One guy (no, I didn’t burst his bubble and tell him the truth) wrote the following to me:
“Hi Elizabeth. Thanks for making my day with your diary post. I have always had the suspicion that women were just as normal when it comes to sex. I really started paying attention when you referred to your Anglican parents (same!). Where you literally had me by the balls was the rimming and sticking your fingers up the guy’s ass - WOW! I like that - It is the first time that I see a woman actually expressing doing that. Well done with your fixit sex!”Well, I’ll just leave him with that thought … after all, ignorance is bliss!
And anyway, the fantasy was a whole lot more interesting than what I actually was doing. In reality, I was at my place, hanging out with my landlady’s son, Z (18-year-old Major-Stoner-Major-Hottie) and three of his friends – all teenagers - playing Bong Ping Pong and getting as baked as we could as quickly as possible.
“So why does she not just peruse of one of these nubile little bodies?” I hear you ruminating.
Believe you me, boy-oh! In any other situation, I would. Believe me I would! (That would be my sole prerogative!) But when I am stoned, I get soooo … NOT sexy. I mean, I’m stoned, I’m baked, I’m cooked, I’m high … hmmm … and the number of languages I know how to say that in! Eeek … so that’s what I’ve been doing with myself since finishing my studies: Travelling to different countries, getting high and learning how to say, “I’m high” in that language!
Ani mastula, Je suis pété, Soy … ummm … Okay, guess I was too high to even learn how to say it in most countries after all!
Anyway, like I was saying, when I am stoned … or high on most drugs (Cocaine being the exception) … I become, like, asexual. And the last thing on my mind is sex. I mean, I am high for goodness sake! There are so many other things to think about and feel …
Like on grass: food, music, the stars, dancing, laughing, trying to figure out what the hell Jim Morrison means in most of those songs (no, I am not crazy about The Doors).
… Humm … better yet, I’ll let Bill Hicks sum it up ever so succinctly:
“They lie about marijuana. Tell you pot-smoking makes you unmotivated. Lie! When you're high, you can do everything you normally do just as well – you just realize that it's not worth the fucking effort. There is a difference.”Or Ecstasy: Seriously? On Ecstasy, I just wanna love everybody! Not be in a bed with one person having sex … I wanna be out there on the dance floor flitting around, touching everyone, loving everyone …
Or Acid: oh, wow! Okay, that IS one that is unreal to have sex on … but your mind is SO all over the place that sex is usually not foremost on the list of ”Things To Do While Tripping on A Hoffman 2000”! And another Bill Hicks quote to back up my line of thinking here:
One time, me and three friends dropped acid and drove around in my dad's car. He has one of those talking cars, we're tripping, and the car goes, "The door is ajar." We pulled over and thought about that for 12 hours. "How can a door be a jar?" … "Why would they put a jar on a car?" … "Oh man, the freeway's melting!" … "Put it in the jar."Or mushrooms: lol! What fun! But more often than not, more ethereal than sexual feelings coursing through one’s body. And the giggles! Bill Hicks again:
“Isn’t it great? Mushrooms grow on cow turds. I love that. I think that’s why you giggle the first hour. Waaah ha … Heaven is in a cow’s butt. I know where Heaven is … hee hee hee … in a cow’s ass!”So, no. Sex is not first and foremost on my mind when I am high.
Thus Saturday night found me lying there on the chaise longue with four teenagers getting as stoned as … well, to quote Saul in Pineapple Express, it was so good … it was like: “the dopest dope I've ever smoked. Smell it. It's like... God's vagina”.
Unfortunately we ran out and had to do a trip to the dealer’s house but, as high as I was, I was sorted and had the perfect excuse if we got stopped by the cops (no, none of the teenagers even have their learners! So I had to drive), courtesy once again of Pineapple Express:
Police Liaison Officer: What the hell is that? What the hell is that?
Dale Denton: Oh, oh, it's a roach. It's a joint. I have anorexia. Honest …
So Saturday afternoon, evening and night were spent in a haze of marijuana smoke, munchies and eye candy.
Hmmm, should I perhaps have just gone out that night, drunk myself into a stupor and see where (or with whom) I ended up? It wouldn’t be the first time so what the hell?
Well, I’ll tell you what the hell. For some reason each time that happens … it usually doesn’t end well, either because I don’t remember it or the guy is totally useless in bed.
One example from the not-so-distant past: last year when I was in the weird stage of being with some one but really not being with them (I had left Europe 6 months previously and in that time had seen my boyfriend once: he had come out to visit for one month). So I was not available. But I guess my subconscious thought otherwise …
I went to a concert with friends, but then somehow ended up at this huge club alone at 4 am. I was propping myself up on the bar (well, trying to), wondering how the hell I was gonna get home (I had gone out with said friends) and whether I had enough for a taxi, when in wandered family friend’s son’s best friend – lets just call him Little Shit … because that’s what he was underneath the thin veneer of charm and smarm … as cute as he was, trouble seemed to follow him around like a bad smell.
But on that particular night, he was my Saviour (see how alcohol warps your mind?). He offered to take me home and we left. When we got back to the house, I wandered off up to the main house and left him to go to Best Friend’s Cottage.
“No! Come with me,” he said and being an accommodating drunk that night (yes, I am different types of drunk all the time: accommodating, belligerent, charming, sexy, weepy, fun, quiet … depends on the spirit and/or the mood), I didn’t think and just turned around and submissively followed him. I lay down on the bed about to pass out.
Think again!
Hmmm, should I perhaps have just gone out that night, drunk myself into a stupor and see where (or with whom) I ended up? It wouldn’t be the first time so what the hell?
Well, I’ll tell you what the hell. For some reason each time that happens … it usually doesn’t end well, either because I don’t remember it or the guy is totally useless in bed.
One example from the not-so-distant past: last year when I was in the weird stage of being with some one but really not being with them (I had left Europe 6 months previously and in that time had seen my boyfriend once: he had come out to visit for one month). So I was not available. But I guess my subconscious thought otherwise …
I went to a concert with friends, but then somehow ended up at this huge club alone at 4 am. I was propping myself up on the bar (well, trying to), wondering how the hell I was gonna get home (I had gone out with said friends) and whether I had enough for a taxi, when in wandered family friend’s son’s best friend – lets just call him Little Shit … because that’s what he was underneath the thin veneer of charm and smarm … as cute as he was, trouble seemed to follow him around like a bad smell.
But on that particular night, he was my Saviour (see how alcohol warps your mind?). He offered to take me home and we left. When we got back to the house, I wandered off up to the main house and left him to go to Best Friend’s Cottage.
“No! Come with me,” he said and being an accommodating drunk that night (yes, I am different types of drunk all the time: accommodating, belligerent, charming, sexy, weepy, fun, quiet … depends on the spirit and/or the mood), I didn’t think and just turned around and submissively followed him. I lay down on the bed about to pass out.
Think again!
Before I was even totally horizontal on the bed, he had my jeans and panties off and was burrowing like an excited mole. Next thing I remember is whispering in his ear “Tell me what you want” and slid down his body and started to ... you know ;-) (see what I mean about getting me at the right time?).
Things got a bit hazy after that (yes, I was that drunk) so sorry that I can’t regale you with more saucy details! But imagine how much more sorry I was when I woke up and didn’t remember anything! Not to mention the insane hangover I was nursing. (Btw, I did subsequently find out that he was actually pretty damn awful in bed.)
Weird, hey?
I might be totally out of it on most drugs but I have always remembered everything while high on them (LSD, Cocaine, Ecstasy, Mushrooms), including having sex and it was always awesome. But alcohol … huge mistake. It might make people look better but it certainly doesn’t make them appear better in bed!
And I’ll leave you with this thought (yes, once again from the incredible Bill Hicks):
“I think it's interesting the two drugs that are legal, alcohol and cigarettes, two drugs that do absolutely nothing for you at all; and the drugs that might open your mind up to realize how badly you're being fucked every day of your life? … Those drugs are against the law. Coincidence?”x
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