Human Nature

If anyone asks, I've been here this whole time.

Do I even try to explain the gap, the massive self imposed hiatus?

I say fuck it.

Let's get right to it.

If you are reading this during 2020, with the back of your ears burning from the cheap elastic, then I want you to imagine a world less complex. 

Imagine no lockdowns. 

No songs about social distancing.

Imagine a time before you knew you were actually the one suffering from halitosis and not Deborah from your office. 

Put on some old school Drake songs, before he became another rapper who knocked up a stripper, and pretend the only virus impeding your sex life is the herpes sore you get on your lips from time to time. 

******************************************

Just like that, I was sitting between two strangers watching the Coca Cola bubbles settle in my plastic cup. It can’t be over already, I thought to myself.

“Ms.? Ms., would that be all?”

The nagging voice of the flight attendant woke me from the day dream my whole trip had turned into.
The ten beautiful days in a warm country. Sunrises over balconies and sunsets on the beach. It all condensed together into a single picture in my mind. Perhaps more like a comic page of postcards, highlighting the most memorable moments that keep me busy repeating them in my head.
The 4th of 5th postcard would be where John makes an appearance. A tad later than I would have preferred, but I can conclude with certainty that any time with John is better than none.

We both were part of the only two large groups on the beach that night. The setting, highly reminiscent of high school movies, when two rivaling schools travel out of state to compete in a sporting event. The evening before the big event is always a pivotal point in the plot line, generally set in the woods, or on a beach with some form of fire. It felt oddly similar, and warm, and perhaps that is why I could slip out of my responsible mentality and back to the younger, wilder spirit I once embodied.

“This seat taken?”
I raised my head away from my cocktail and cigarette to attach a face to the deep voice I had just heard.
“Ahh.. um.. yeah, go a head” I finally got my brain to establish a connection with my mouth.
“John, what’s your name?”

As the words reached my ear, my brain could hardly slow down. I lowered my gaze to my thighs seated on this poorly painted picnic table on a beach. Images of my past life started flashing in front of my eyes; the men, the liquor, the laughs, the uncontrollable desire to connect physically. The most beautiful beach. I took a deep breath in, slowly closing my eyes, and as I finally raised my chin back up, my eyes opened wide and it was me again.

I’m back.

“Anna” I answered, giving away only half a smirk

“Are you with these guys?” Phrasing a statement as a question, John gestured at my friends closer to the water. 
“Nah I don’t know who they are” I tried making a joke to see if I could get John’s dimples to appear again.
No dice, hard man to impress. But I like that, at least I used to like it.

The conversation that ensued was a tad cold, and John seemed to be perpetually unsatisfied. I wasn't able to decipher if it was situational, or maybe he was born looking like an old man printed on a 5 dollar bill. Either way, the pheromones he had been producing were making my vagina flutter.

Have you ever had that?

People always talk about love and the amazing feeling of having butterflies in their stomachs. I never felt that. I have no idea what the greatest poets were writing about. Now, vagina butterflies - that’s science - that’s what is real. 

It’s sitting alone on a Friday night in your house reading a novel and wishing you had something inside of you.
It’s the first touch of a man from your office you’ve desired and wanted for a long time.
It’s meeting perfectly muscular John, with the most piercing grey eyes, with dimples, and glistening brown hair, on the most beautiful beach, with a blanket of stars above us, and the buzz of tequila in your veins.
“Are you always this miserable?” It came out of me like an uncontrollable sneeze. Oh god do I say excuse me? I questioned myself.
And before John was even able to react, my friends dropped more drinks on our table.

We spent over an hour or two talking, mainly the two of us, with different people joining and leaving periodically. As time passed and the drinks continued to multiply John appeared to be more relaxed, even letting his dimples take a few turns winking at me.

The night grew darker, and the lanterns decorating the beach grew dimmer, but John’s eyes remained just as piercing. Every time his eyes met mine I could feel that feeling. That 1000 volt spark. I knew that he knew, that I knew, that he wanted me, and that I wanted him. Was that too much? That’s exactly what was happening. Sometimes we embarrassingly learn that we are wrong, but I was about to find out that my 6th sense wasn’t rusty after all.

I suddenly felt John’s arm on my thigh under the table, shifting my white silky dress with his hand. I couldn’t tell what else I was feeling along with his fingers, and then when it was too late to take a guess I felt the cold metal of his vape pen approaching my lips, but not my mouth.
He was moving the vape pen up and down, sliding its tip in-between my folds. Up and down as though his tongue was tasting me for the very first time. Just as I was starting to move my hips to the feeling he had awakened in me, John slowly took his hand back from under my dress. His vape pen, his side kick, silver with a white tip making its first appearance out in the open.
I couldn’t blink, staring at the little fumigator that escaped too early.
Then what I witnessed started a category 5 hurricane inside of me.

John, unphased, and completely engaged in the conversation between him and my friend, moved the vape leisurely towards his lips, wrapping his lips around the tip and finally taking the deepest inhale I had ever seen.

My mouth involuntarily opened to the sight of John's eyes giving away the slightest hint of pleasure. His taste buds registering the delicious enigmatic recipe of the natural female lubricant. Or for the savages in here - my delicious pussy juice.   

John got up as the guys’ conversation came to a pause, but not without grabbing my hand first.

We walked away from the crowd and down closer to the water. 

The lukewarm ocean water had made the sand wet and malleable. John, who was easily half a foot taller than me leaned over and met my lips with his. I opened my mouth to welcome his tongue in as my hands moved magnetically towards his body clenching his navy t-shirt. I felt my dress being lifted as his hands caressed my naked thighs, feeling my curves and nesting right at the dip of my lower back. He pulled me closer as our feet sank deeper in the wet sand. Between the hot air around us, the wet sand engulfing our feet, his lips on me, and the wetness developing between my legs, it felt as if every single inch of my body was moist. My long brown hair wildly blowing against the wind and covering both of our faces increased the passion tenfold. Both of us knowing exactly what the other wanted without prior discussion or long and over rehearsed script of pursuing one another. There was no build up, no coy texts, no dinner dates, no "I don't sleep on first dates", just two adults doing what adults should be doing. I grappled with John's boardshort strings, trying to release his dick into the open. It didn't take long before his cock sprung out like a Jack in a box, it takes me longer to open cereal boxes. I lowered my knees to the ground and started maneuvering him into my mouth. Stretching the bounds of my inner cheeks I took all of him in. I stroked and sucked and licked every bit of him. My mouth moving in and out, perfectly synchronizing with my hand, ensuring that at all times all of his phalic surface area was being rubbed. John lowered himself, grabbing my hair with one hand and leading my face towards his. Kissing, we parted only for a second, me to pull his t-shirt over his head and him to slide the spaghetti straps off my shoulders. He leaned over top of me sandwiching me between the sand and his rock hard body. We continued to kiss, not as hurriedly as we were at first, and then his lips started travelling south. My neck, the clavicle, down to my nipple; flicking and lightly sucking it. His fingers were inspecting the folds that had been violated by his vape pen. I could tell he was barely holding himself back from spreading my legs wide open and diving right into my oasis. God, I love a man who loves to eat pussy. He caressed my abdomen with his hands and when the last bit of his self control evaporated into the salty air, John firmly spread my legs open and discovered Narnia. His tongue circled my clit and I swear the rhythm matched the waves crashing. I felt his finger slide inside of me as he continued to lick me. When I could no longer ignore that I needed to feel more of him inside of me I started to narrow my legs in around his head. He got it. He wanted the same thing. 

There we were. Just like two seals on episode 6 of Planet Earth. The only thing missing was David Attenborough narrating us. "The male homo sapien has secured his lineage by successfully mating with a female homo sapien". Psych, we used a condom. 

John and I climaxed at the same time. Just kidding. I don't fucking remember. I was pretty intoxicated. I did cum though and so did he. So will you. 

I landed in Toronto with two more stamps on my Passport and John's memory stamped in my memory. No social media exchanged, no numbers exchanged, just body fluids. This is all you need sometimes. It's human nature. 

Jealousy and Control

“First there is desire. Then passion. Then suspicion. Jealousy. Anger. Betrayal. Without trust there is no love. Jealousy. Yes, jealousy will drive you mad!”

It starts off as a casual encounter. A few texts, exchange of naughty pictures perhaps, during those late hours of the night when you might be feeling a little too brave.

So innocent.

He puts forth his best efforts to impress you, and you fall harder and harder with every affectionate word or gesture. Then he drops this one on you; “why did you go out to a club?”

This is the stage that I never want to reach in a relationship. The stage where jealousy is no longer contained in the sub primitive part of your partner’s brain, and starts revealing itself in attempts to control you.

That’s usually the point where I lose my shit.

Not only is it when I start to get extremely defensive, it is also when I start to purposely sabotage the relationship and do exactly what it is that I am apparently not 'allowed' to do. Like a little child who’s just been told not to do something, I purposely pull my pants down and go potty on the side walk. Don’t tempt me.

I never understood jealousy or the idea of ownership, which for me go hand in hand. Why can’t two people have a harmonious relationship and still continue living their lives and do what it is they like doing when they are apart?

Have you paid my father two goats and a camel and I wasn’t aware of the exchange?

First of all I believe in setting parameters. If there are certain activities or behaviors that one cannot tolerate, those should be communicated face to face when the boundaries of a relationship are established. Without that talk, I am free to assume I can do whatever my little heart desires.

The funniest part is that it’s not like I suddenly picked up crack smoking like Rob Ford, I merely partook in an activity that he was well aware I enjoy doing from time to time. So why is it that suddenly it became a problem? Is the next step dungeon shopping? Because if it is, I hear that leasing is a lot safer, financially.

Trying to control your partner’s actions will not guarantee loyalty. Note, that at any given point there are at least 5-10 men vying for your woman’s attention. That exact thing that you first found attractive in her is sure to catch others' attention as well. Just because you might be able to eliminate some opportunities by directing her to avoid certain environments, doesn’t stop her from being noticed in other places. Coworkers, doormen, waiters, construction workers, those are all around (I didn’t say they were quality men).  

Also, if you found yourself a quality woman, you should know that the attention is constant. You knew what you signed up for when you decided to buy a Rottweiler, don’t stuff it in a purse and insist on taking it to Wal-Mart with you.

Now I know that this issue goes both ways and women get loca with jealousy as well, especially when a hot woman walks by and they look at her like she’s their biggest threat since reverse parking. However, we are a lot more passive aggressive and usually reveal our jealousy when another issue has surfaced. “You left the milk carton on the table again! I bet you fucked all those strippers at Rob’s bachelor party too!”

What it comes down to is trust, and some self-esteem. Also, a good pair of balls.

Now stop being a jelly belly and enjoy the quality woman you were able to catch. Let her shine under the disco lights. If you treat her right there’s no reason she’ll run off with the pool boy.

Alter Ego

He took a seat across from me. The table seemed like it was a mile long, but even with the distance between us I could sense the sexual tension filling the space between us, like smog, making my vision slightly fuzzy.

I wondered if he knew he possessed unthinkable sexual appeal, the kind that made women visualize themselves completely bare and vulnerable, ready to turn into bimbos playing with their hair and only able to get “mhhm”s and “aha”s out of their mouths.

I had to remind myself that these types of thoughts are not welcome in a business meeting. This is a prospective client and I would have to respect this professional relationship and conduct myself accordingly.

My boss banged his palm against the table and started to shift his chair backwards. The sudden movement caught me off guard and I realized I had no idea what was discussed while I was practicing the Kama Sutra in my brain with Mr. D.

I managed to squeeze out a smile and nod at my boss as he left the boardroom with the 4^th body that was occupying a seat at the table. I didn’t know whether I was supposed to follow or stay seated, so I turned back to face Mr. D.  

He lifted his elbows off the arm seats and rested his arms on the desk; reaching for the business card I presented him with when we first entered the establishment. He stared at it for a second too long, which made me feel a little uneasy, then looked up and back down again. I could see him studying it and then noticed the smirk that crept up slowly on his face.

What’s so interesting, I asked myself. Then he spoke.

“So…Anna..” he dragged the last ‘A’ of my name for too long, “do you want a tour of the plant?”

“Yes, most certainly, that’s my favorite part; learning about the business”

“Eager – I like it!” he rose up from his seat.

“Mhhm” the bimbo in me managed to squeeze out, I forced my arms to stay down along the sides of my body. Don’t touch the hair Anna! Don’t touch the hair!

He gestured for me to leave the room with his hand and walked behind me.

The whole time he was walking behind me I felt his eyes burning my back and ass.

“Turn left” he instructed as we finally reached a wall at the end of a very long hallway.

So I did, and then he stepped in front of me to open a door to what I expected to be the entrance of the plant.

I was wrong.

Swinging the door open he grabbed me by my waist with one hand, and with one swift motion managed to pull me into a small supply room, then closed the door behind us with his other hand.

Exciting

My back was against the door and Mr D. made sure it would stay that way by standing an inch away from me and supporting his body weight on his right arm that was pressed beside my head on the door.  

“Anna…” again he dragged the ‘A’.

Then what followed made me gag without having his cock lodged in the back of my throat.

“Lee…”

Fuck

He continued “I like your writing and your alter ego”

Damn it. He recognized me.

My neck snapped and my head felt like it weighed 1,000 lbs. I lowered my gaze and saw his left hand approaching my thigh. I then noticed it; a wedding band.

Oh was I ever so disappointed. Not only at myself, for the lag time it had taken me to realize this fine man was married. Us women are programmed to scan for wedding bands oh and bulges too. Yes, just like men, we are fucking perverts. I was also disappointed because one of the Kama Sutra positions that ran through my dirty mind would have been executed perfectly against the box of printer toner. Not today.

“Want another story?” he whispered against my lips and the moist breath coming out of his mouth reached my tongue and made me swallow back my saliva.

I took my hand and ran it against his left arm. Starting at his shoulder, scratching his bicep, moving closer to his hand and then grabbed his fingers as they were moving my skirt up.

I exhaled in return and looked at him straight in the eyes.

“First of all, Anna Lee is not who came in to your office today, who I am at work is not who you read about, and second of all” I grabbed his ring finger, twisted it, and lifted it to his eye level “at least have the decency to take off your wedding band before you expect to wet your dick with the fluids of another woman other than your wife”

He backed off and leaned against that same toner box I wanted to lean against.

“I’m sorry, this relationship will have to stay strictly professional” I concluded.

I turned around, opened the door, and walked out. He followed behind me until we ended up at the boardroom where my boss was sitting alone sans that other 4^th body.

I excused myself and decided to go get a drink at the water fountain, leaving my boss alone with Mr. D.

When I came back they started walking towards the office entrance and then we were off, walking towards the parking lot.  

“He liked you!” my boss announced

“You have no idea” I thought to myself

I hate cheaters.  

Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

Lazy Sunday shopping day with my best friend, that's the day we met.

I saw him behind an intricate display of colorful items that were on sale. He was leaning nonchalantly against a wall and was surrounded by his friends.

They all sort of looked alike and blended in together, but that's when you know that someone might be different, when he stands out from the crowd. He definitely stood out. Maybe it was the way he was looking at me, like I was sizzling bacon with a side of sunny side up eggs the morning after a drinking binge. Perhaps it was an illusion I created in my mind because I wanted him so badly, regardless, I knew that at that point we both chose each other and I wanted nothing more than to take him home with me.

There's nothing more powerful than mutual attraction. Sex sucks when the need is not equal. I personally feel like a hooker if the man who I just let fuck me does not share the same desire for me as I do for him.

Many men can agree that when they meet a woman that catches their eye they want nothing more than to possess her. To have her only to themselves, to take pride in the fact that this trophy they have won for themselves will not be passed around and fondled like the Stanley Cup. I never understood that feeling of possessiveness until I met Roger that lazy Sunday afternoon.

Though the initial attraction may have been physical, his demeanor and gentle ways are what won me over and made me fall completely head over heels for this God.

If that wasn't enough to make me lose my mind over him, his full 8 inches did, over and over again.

I'd come home frustrated after work and Roger without fail would make me forget that someone stole my Tupperware from the fridge (WTF people?).

He was a perfect gentleman and was waiting for me to let him know when I was ready for him to explore my tidy bits.

So when I took him home that first time I unwrapped him and without hesitation grabbed him by his rod.

I could tell he enjoyed it too. He was so vocal in bed, I fucking loved it. The louder the better, I hate prissy little men who are overpowered by the sound of the bed creaking. I need some Darth Vader huffing and puffing and Serena Williams grunting.

He started off by teasing my clit to produce more moisture before he ripped into me with his bulldozer of a cock, I needed the right amount of lubrication. 

The best part of it all is that he wouldn't stop until I was completely finished and satisfied.

At night once we were done with our sexathons, Roger would lay beside me peacefully. I'm usually not an ear person and I know this is going to sound psychotic but his fucking ears were adorable. He seemed so small and compact when he was sleeping; he never bothered me and gave me just the right amount of space not to feel smothered like I sometimes did when the man beside me assumed I enjoyed having his armpit hair on my neck.

I started to become obsessed with him and whenever I was out with my friends I found myself feeling lonely. I'd catch myself imagining us in bed, dreading the hours ahead that would keep me away from being home with him. My friends noticed the shift in my mood and started teasing that I'm becoming needy.

But I didn’t care, I was needy. Roger was always on my mind.

Now if Roger proposed I'd give up my mid night shenanigans with men in a heartbeat, however, even though same sex marriage is legal in Toronto, marrying your sex toy isn't.

Meet Roger

Got an E-Vite to hell and I RSVP’d

I’ve often wondered about the complexity of the bond that is created between two individuals. Be it in a platonic or romantic relationship, there must be so many different aspects that contribute to the attraction.  Even though at times this attraction might seem so effortless and as if it was established out of thin air, there is always a lot going on behind the scenes. I personally have a lot of requirements when it comes to finding a mate and from what I have gathered I am not the only one. Let those requirements be superficial in nature or profound, regardless, they are a collection of characteristics that we have built from experiences we have had in the past which we desire in a potential mate.

Wow that’s some deep shit.

Let’s get to the good part.

I could spend this whole post describing the personality characteristics and physical attributes that I would desire in a potential mate, and make it sound like my EHarmony profile. However, truth be told that this list is just about as valid as the Miranda rights when they were read to Jodi Arias. Completely pointless.

The only thing I care about is a large cock.

Such a controversial statement, I know.

I hear little dicked men with SPS (Small Penis Syndrome) yelling at the atrocity of it. Also amongst the voices I hear little dicked men saying that it’s not about the size it’s about using it right. Of course it is, and Megan Fox is not only hot, she’s also a talented actress. Sorry to burst your bubble but not once after a fuck night did my girlfriends ask me how the man used his dick. The first question was always “how big is it?” don’t believe me?! Well, that’s because you probably have a small dick.
I also usually ask about the foreskin. Just like diamonds - size and cut are all that matters.

Yes, I might want a man who’s considerate, funny and successful, but if I find out that his dick is nonexistent I will cut my losses and continue on my journey.

Even if it means jumping out of a moving car...

We worked together and had chemistry. We would to go for smoke breaks behind the building. He used to pick me up and pin me against the hallway walls, kiss me passionately. I found him extremely attractive until one day he came to pick me up from a party. I jumped into the passenger seat of his Benz and after he drove to a side street and parked on the side of the curb we started making out like two hormonal teenagers. I was wearing fishnet stockings and he was pulling at the delicate structure with his fingers leaving marks on my thighs. I decided I wanted to check the goods so I lowered my hand down to his bulge. I remember thinking he might not be as aroused as I was but after I decided to feel him against my bare hand I realized his dick was the size of chapstick and wasn’t going to expand, since it was already at its full capacity. I was genuinely shocked like the American population during Clinton’s confession in 1998. I made up the excuse that I had to go back because I forgot my friend at the party and forced him to drive me back. I ended up jumping out of his car before he even stopped, after I barely released myself from his grip holding onto my thigh and arm. I suspect I may have been too transparent.

That wasn’t the only time I cut someone off because their cock wasn’t significant enough.

My girlfriends always ask me why do I only carry Magnums, and I always tell them it’s because I would never be with a man who’s cock in a magnum looks like a hamster in a clear ball, that’s just silly.

Simple as that, small cock means no Anna. In fact, if you are reading this thinking 'Oh, Anna disappeared one day I wonder if that's why?' Stop the wondering, you found your answer.

I can imagine my first boyfriend gloating reading this article and all I have to say is: fuck you asshole your dick was the smallest I just didn’t know better and couldn’t compare it to anyone else.

I am fully aware that this post is going to make some men very angry, and I am sorry.

Actually wait... I’m not.

The female body has been dissected and analyzed more times than Michael Jackson’s body at the morgue. You think I go to the gym so I could live until I’m 80?! No! I do it so I could get laid, so grow thicker skin assholes.

I know I’m going to hell for this or coming back in my next life as a small dicked man, oh well, at least I’ll be driving a nice shiny Benz.

Regardless, you must like this post, or else I’ll know you have a small dick and got offended – just sayin'.

Dreams

Most women dream of meeting their prince in shining armor; someone to sweep them off their feet and carry them away into the sunset.

What do I dream about? Sun. How can I even begin to picture a sunset when the sun doesn’t even rise here in Toronto?

Alright, it has nothing to do with the sun.

So what do I dream about? I dream about the perfect sexual encounter. I dream about toe curling, spine tickling, eye rolling, lower lip trembling, breathtaking, and fingertip numbing orgasms. I dream about the day I find the man who makes me stutter when I try to yell his name in bed. I dream about seeing white light in a pitch dark room when that perfect man is convulsing on top of me, and he is not my dentist inducing me with anesthesia.  

Maybe I wish I was a classy girl with a classy dream. A classy girl that wears cardigans and only let’s a man get to first base after the third date (with the exception of Taylor Swift who has all bases loaded at all times).

I’m lying –my dream is awesome and I don’t give a fuck.

No matter what dream we might have, no matter how different, let it be Kim Jong-un dreaming of one day being able to shop at Gap instead of Gap Kids, or Anne Hathaway dreaming of one day not being lied to when people refer to her as beautiful, or my dream of having Jake Gyllenhaal turn out to be that sex god I’ve been looking for, the naivety and certainty is the same, believing that one day we’ll live the magical moment when our dreams will come true.

Unlike other people out there, I take my dreams very seriously. Like a patchy squirrel searching for nuts, I constantly scan my surrounding area for a good pair of nuts myself. From time to time a man will come along that will evoke that hopeful feeling of one day seeing my dream come true, and when that happens, I make sure I hold onto that man for as long as I can, just until the hope disappears again.

This is why as much as I might love one night stands, I almost always prefer steady fuck buddies. One night stands might be exciting but steady fuck buddies help reinforce the belief that my dream is not dead. One night stands are different for men. No matter what hole a man will stick it in he will leave satisfied. Women don’t always do. How many times did I have sex with a man who finished before I did having to go home and use my fingers shamefully regretting I wasted another number? As many times as Facebook changed its layout – too many times! (Seriously Facebook enough with that shit).

Steady fuck buddies help you to always stay prepared, they give you a reason to bid on Plan B on eBay (don’t ask how I know it’s sold there), and have the confidence to drunk text each other without regretting it in the morning. With a fuck buddy you get to learn about each other’s style and you know that the sole reason for having that relationship is to satisfy one another sexually.

Only a fuck buddy will know to wrap his fingers around my neck just as I’m about to reach an orgasm because struggling to breathe strangely turns me on. Only as a fuck buddy I know to show up at his condo at 3 am in the morning, wearing red lacey lingerie under a black trench coat, because the color red makes his cock salute like a soldier. And only a fuck buddy won’t get offended when I tell him that he should leave my place before I wake up in the morning, because morning sex and breakfast is for couples. I don’t need to know how you like your eggs. I already know that you like your egg whites on my face.  

But even with all these fabulous qualities of a fuck buddy, something always goes wrong. Somehow the intrigue eventually dies out, the attractions dissipates, or in my case an ex-girlfriend forces her way into his condo making me hide in the closet before I jump out yelling “we will replace these shelves for free, thank you for shopping at IKEA!” and Bolt for the door like a Jamaican athlete.

The fuck buddies come and go, cardigan bitches keep dating every man and his best friend, and Kim is still spinning in tea cups. But our dreams never die.

Can You Spell 'P-S-Y-C-H-O'?

My girlfriend sent me a screen shot of her conversation with a man, she was talking to on an online dating website, and it reminded me how pathetic I was.

Let me share

 

Of course she had to remind me of Devin.

Now, I know it’s hard to believe that i am a romantic with all these stories but genetically i was wired to believe in a happy ending. The X chromosome is accompanied with a lot of disadvantages; PMS, pregnancy, high heels, and slightly inferior driving skills.

OK! Horrible driving skills – APRIL FOOLS!

With all the disadvantages of being a woman that i must live with the hardest one to accept is my brain’s ability to automatically be able to play the ending credits of “The Notebook” the second I meet a man I am interested in. and course the second those thoughts alter my behaviour the man’s brain plays the opening credits of “The Exorcist”.

Devin was a southern U.S marine stationed in Afghanistan. We met online.

I know, right after this introduction you’re already thinking ‘the end’ but no... I like to live dangerously. I jump into the shower before I turn the water on, I drink vodka with red bull, I pour more than half a cup of milk into my cereal, and I stick my hand in the biohazard basket at the walk in clinic. I live on the dangerous side of life.

He lured me in with his pictures and his sweet southern demeanour which translated through text.

Fine, it was solely his picture, holding a machine gun. Middle Eastern sun reflecting off his tan tight skin wrapped around his muscular body. I got my daily dose of vitamin D just staring at his picture. The time difference made it difficult because by the time i finished work it was already late into the night in Afghanistan, but i did what any reasonable woman would do, i put aside all my work and focused all my attention on him.

We spent hours talking about how he would assemble his guns and paint them (dear lord I hate myself) and shared funny stories about our past. The more i spoke to him the more he sounded like he was different than the pitiable roster of potential men in my life. Sometimes a 7 looks like a 10 when it’s surrounded by 3’s. I don’t know what it is about men living in metropolitan cities, they are all so... girly. They shave their arm pits for god’s sake, and live with their mothers until they are 30.   

Email turned into skype, and talking about guns turned into a private show case of his pistol, I mean pistols. I played with the camera settings on my lap top for 10 minutes until my face structure resembled that of Angelina Jolie’s and wore the most flattering shirt to my tits along with pink bunny pj pants – they didn’t fall into the frame of the image. As far as Devin was concerned i was a goddess. I never revealed any of my private body parts (not an April fool’s joke) because i knew that i wanted him to respect me. Electrical sparks were flying – then again it could have been just the drool dropping from my mouth and hitting the keyboard whenever he stood up. His pistol was SO big, no wonder Americans are considered bullies in third world countries. I was scared too.

The more we spoke the more i was drawn to him. I pictured him coming back from deployment and releasing all his tension in-between my legs. Perhaps I’ll leave sex to my thoughts only. All men are such good lays until we actually do it. Devin would be different I brain washed myself, unlike that man who fucked me on a bed sheet on the floor like a Mexican painter, I won’t have to finish his work with my vibrator.

As time passed, Devin and I wouldn’t go one day without talking.

Then it turned sour. Devin activated that genetic defect i was born with. He started teasing the romantic part of my brain. Instead of ignoring it like most men, Devin faced it and encouraged it to take over. He started talking about the future, not only his future, but OUR future.

Woah...

It was time to Google wedding dresses

OH?! That’s not the logical next step? I’m sorry, I cannot see clearly with this dirty dancing/notebook/titanic montage that is playing in my brain.

That is when I marked the end of this love story with Devin.

The second i started to get more enthusiastic and open to all his sweet offerings of a wonderful future; sipping sweet tea on a wraparound porch of our white painted farm house while watching our neighbor’s son marry his cousin in their backyard, I had to pull all stops on Devin and my sweet little fantasy.

I was youtubing “wedding songs” when my friend called me and told me Devin messaged her on that same online website I had met him.

He wanted to show her his pistol too.

Illiterate men can’t even spell pistol. I’ll stick to them.