The Empowering Blowjob…

…And the mountain of fried chicken…

Hello readers! It’s been a pressing week for me, the one nice man I arranged a date with disappeared again… The first time he ignored me for a week which I easily brushed off, but now I think its deliberate. Usually I wouldn’t give a rat’s posterior (how fucking fancy), men can be little shits and like to play games. This guy is different though, mainly because he has what I like to call ‘I’ll Raise Your Kid’s Well’ eyes. Unfortunately turning twenty-five pulled a lever in my mind and now I solely find men attractive based on how ‘homely’ they look. This is no joke people, six months ago my celeb crush was Ezra Miller who looks like he’d take me to a dark alley for cocaine flavoured jello shots before a light evening of scaring Christians. Now I just want to come home to Adam Scott, play monopoly and have tasteful sex at 9:30 (on the eve of my birthday I was bitten by Nos-bore-ratu…). This is what makes my second snub from Nice Guy so confusing, he looks so goddamn nice! My poor little brain is conflicted by what it sees: A kindly looking man who’s dating profile includes his mum. And what it knows: This man is a dick who’s ignoring me to lower my defences… It’s sadly the one trick that works on me, you can call me ugly, because at least that means you’re looking (there’s probably some deep issue buried there but much like a strangers dick, its better kept wrapped up).

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This kind young scamp is Ted FUCKING Bundy! I’ve got terrible taste…

 

On a lighter note I met my intended, as in the guy my work friends are trying to push me on. Lighter isn’t just a fun colloquialism either, he’s a ballet dancer who looks like he weights negative 10 pounds… I’d have to live off celery and baby rabbit tears for 10 months before I could even enter the same room and not feel like I’m making the air fatter. Luckily this won’t have to happen. He doesn’t just weigh the same as a fetus, he looks like one too, and I stand by my ‘One Year Younger Rule’. For newbies to my blog, I like to date men who are either one year younger or any age higher, the Patchy Penis is proof that this theory works… There is an upper limit of course, maybe one day after a gallon of industrial grade rubbing alcohol I’ll tell you how I found it (funnily alcohol is how I got there in the first place). I haven’t had any interactions with this young man yet but as I’m working with him I’ll give him the moniker of Skinny. The only reason I have to sleep with Skinny is that after exhaustive scientific research (me getting naked when drunk) I have discovered that fatter guys tend to have tiny thin dicks, so maybe, just maybe, Skinny has a lovely personality which will enrich my life (and a massive dong).

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Skinny by name but NOT by nature…

 

This brings me to my final conquest this week, we’ll call him Knobby (ten points if you can guess why). I had been out with some girlfriends (not Whorey for once) and I was on my way to meet my one great love, fried food. After drunkenly ordering enough food to make Fat Albert cry tears of joy (each tear having the calorie count of a small fridge) I went outside to get acquainted with inevitability of dying obese and alone.

Whilst sat on the pavement eating the energy equivalent of a nuclear bomb, someone on my periphery asked for a cigarette. He was slightly short, in good shape and looked vaguely Italian (I hope that isn’t racist, I can’t live without pizza again).  I obliged but was uninterested, like a dog with a bone, you can stroke my back but don’t you dare come between me and my wondrous mix of eleven herbs and spices. Unfortunately Knobby refused to leave me to slowly destroy my arteries and asked how I was. At this point I gave up the hunt for happiness within the confines of delicious batter and decided ‘Fuck It, if it gets you off my back, we’ll have a chat’.

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I’ve found my soul sister…

 

Knobby magicked me into his house somehow, I have no idea what dog whisperer powers he possesses because usually I’m unreachable while eating. He did ruin his gentlemanly small talk by walking the last five minutes with his cock out though… Yes my dear readers, this is not the tale of ‘How Sam Met a Nice Guy’, that would be fiction. To be honest apart from the public exhibitionist streak he was fairly nice (this is how single I am, I overlook sociopathic behaviour).

Now for the nitty-gritty, lets talk about his penis. He had the Evan Peters of wangs, not the most attractive but certainly good enough to have supporting roles on prime time TV. It didn’t knock my socks off but it didn’t make me put my shoes back on and run away either. A solid 6/10. The only bad thing was hair management, which in this day and age feels like something men should not get away with (unless they have the capability to build and wield an axe).

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Be as hairy as you want you scruffy son of a bitch.

 

Knobby had one little issue that got me down, his ‘sexy’ talk… As we walked into his house he kept saying things like “yeah, you’re getting me so hard…” which was perplexing, as I mostly talked about my evening. Is my cold aloofness to your exposed penis sexy? That sounds like unloved child issues my friend. He had a particular penchant for saying “Yeah, can you make it big and juicy?”. No. I am not a chef roasting a turkey or a fabulous gardener, juicy is a terrible way to describe a penis! Juicy is one rung above the word moist as far as I’m concerned when it comes to sex talk. Moist is for cakes, juicy for fruits (not bananas) and Knobby’s mouth was clearly made for staying shut. Against all my better judgement (luckily there isn’t much resistance in that department of my brain) I went down on him.

I had been ‘downstairs’ for about fifteen minutes when he wanted to swap over. Usually I’m impressed when a guy has the courtesy to return the favour but after a night on the town, I was apprehensive about his teeth getting so close to my body (he was already a sloppy kisser). I reluctantly left the confines of his musky thighs and let him stumble his way down my navel, the intention was sexy, the execution was unsettling. We swapped back to me going down on him, I’d tell you about his performance but much like the Fantastic Four reboot, it was bland and forgettable.

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I thought only one of them had the power to disappear from public view?

 

To my surprise, when I returned to Knobby’s knob it had gone soft. At this point in my single career I’ve learnt that men experience hurdles after drinking  a shot bottle of tequila. He asked me to “Make it fat and juicy” again and my whole body cringed. Being a professional I got to work but he kept spouting out the worst metaphors and similes about his fucking penis. They weren’t even vague and intriguing! If he said “Make my penis as firm as newly melted wax in the first winters snow” I’d of been confused enough to stay. It was all “flowing” this and “fat” that, he’d become a lobotomized Nigella Lawson. I couldn’t take it and resorted to my final line of defence, cigarettes. I sat up, calmly rolled a cig and clearly but firmly said:

“This isn’t very fun for me, I don’t have to be here.”

It felt amazing. Usually I’d suffer for another thirty minutes of verbal torture assaulting my ears before I had the courage to leave, but after all I’ve been through I’ve discovered my limit (sadly the same cannot be said for my drinking but hey, baby steps). I would absolutely encourage all my single friends to find the confidence it takes to tap out mid-blowjob and walk away like a boss of your own body. Knobby was obviously upset and tried to make me stay, men get so sweet when you dangle an orifice in front of them. I walked out of his house, called a cab and went home to a glass of Merlot and a vibrator.

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I had to imagine the flames…

 

That is all the news I have for you this week my lovelies, Skinny hasn’t started yet and I have no dates planned. I hope you readers have the confidence to bail on sex like Nicolas Cage bails on good movie roles, and if you already have that courage then respect to you powerful people.

Have fun and stay sexy!

Stats:

Cigarettes: Are my candle in the darkness, without them I’m blind.

Diet: I ate a Shamu sized portion of junk food and had a half portion of penis.

Emotional state: Britney post the 2016 VMA’s

Exercise: I walked for like two hours trying to find a Mr Mime on Pokemon Go, the most amount of work I’ve ever put into a man…

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