Red Light District Lips

My mother always tells me not to wear red lipstick.
“Anna, red lipstick makes you look like a street walker”

I never listen – fuck it, I’m a peacock.

“You have beautiful lips”

I turned my glance and noticed a tall handsome man standing to the right of me, as I exhaled the smoke from my cigarette.

“Need a light?” noticing the unlit cigarette between his fingers, I offered him the lighter in my hand.

He noded directing the cigarette to his mouth pressing his lips on the filter.

Passing the lighter from my hand to his, I got what seemed to be a flashback, but not of any past events in my life, something more like a movie trailer; a porno and the star of it is yours truly – Me. I suddenly felt the rush of hormones surging from my brain going down south. It’s my sixth sense; it never disappoints me I already know that this perfect well suited man will be having dinner for one at the Anna Buffet. And unlike those Asian buffets - you can stay for lunch and dinner.

He led the conversation by talking about the weather and all I did was stare at him with, what I can only imagine, very glossy eyes, since I was already on my 5^th drink.

Whoa Anna 5^th drink?!

I don’t know whether you’re judging because it’s too much, or too little, regardless all I have to say is that after about half a dozen drinks, I speak French fluently – and it’s not one of the languages listed on my resume. My Swahili isn’t too bad either, but it only comes out in the cab on the way back home.

I slapped myself sober in my mind and told myself to straighten up. It’s been a while, and if my sixth sense proved to still be functioning, I could be a very chipper customer at Starbucks the next morning, accepting the first drink they make me without asking the barista to redo it – without the foam. Is it that hard to get it right?!

What’s a while you might ask? Well let me share with you my rule.

I believe that a woman should not sleep with two different men in one month (unless it’s in the same sex act i.e. threesomes and orgies or what not). If you were a citizen of Annaville, the female population would only be allowed to have a different sex partner after that time of the month. I just don’t believe in sharing yourself with every man out there that frequently. I mean if you’re already having that much traffic going in and out of you, might as well charge tolls, just saying.

“What time is it?” I asked the not only handsome man, but then also, as the conversation revealed, the very wealthy business man from a certain Midwestern state.

“Just about a quarter past one” Richard replied (I don’t remember his name but Richard sounds wealthy).

“Are your friends inside?” Richard followed up with a question

Shit, how long were we standing outside for? I completely forgot I left my two girlfriends on the dance floor when I left to the patio to smoke.

“I’m alone” I decide to lie, I felt like playing, it’s the vodka, silly Goose

Richard’s eyes lit up and his mouth curved into half a smile.

If I wasn’t as devious as I am I would have thought I had some competition, Richard has a sixth sense too.

I love role play but the best kind is when the other half doesn’t even know you’re playing.

To make a long story short I told Richard the reason I was alone is because I was working...

 As a prostitute...

Grabbing my hand Richard led me through the crowd onto the busy street.

Once we crossed the road, we entered through the doors into a quiet luxury hotel lobby.

“How much for the night?” ‘21’ ignited on the elevator panel and the doors opened up.

Shocked, for a second, almost forgetting my disguise, I managed to come up with a response...

“First time is on me baby...”

Smooth Anna, real smooth...

Who says that?! A hooker you get on deal ticker, that’s who.

I wasn’t going to take any money for sex, and that’s the only thing that popped into my now floating in vodka brain.

I stared at Richard’s tight behind as he approached his hotel room door.

Finally we were inside

“What do you want me to do for you tonight?” I asked like the prostitute that I am.

“I’ve never done this before...” Richard confessed.

Bullshit! And you also don’t beat your dick like a piñata as if it’s your Quinceañera every single day. Lies.

I took off Richard’s jacket and walked him to the table next to the bed. As he leaned on it with his back I reached with my hand to grab his cock over his pants. My hands moved over to the belt trying to release it. But the alcohol had turned my fingers into butter and Richard’s belt into a Rubik’s cube. Greatttttt....

Getting frustrated I finally managed to solve the puzzle. I grabbed Richard’s cock and guided it into my mouth like a cold cherry Popsicle on a hot summer’s day. Savoring the flavor, licking all around, making it wetter and wetter, as I slid my Red lips and tightened them to the sound of Richard’s groans. I opened my eyes and gave him that “sexy porn star dick in mouth look” you know the one, where you look like the Puss in Boots from Shrek. Men love that shit.

Richard lifteds me from the floor and I saw fire in his eyes. He turned me around and bent me over the table. Rubbing my clit from behind with one hand and twisting my ponytail with the other I started to get weak in my heels as Richard’s strokes became more slippery and his grip on my hair got tighter.

He took me from behind and let’s just say I got fucked like the prostitute I led Richard to believe I am.

Adjusting my skirt which turned all the way backwards I stumbled all the way to the bathroom.

After cleaning the make up from under my eyes, and readjusting my ponytail which ended up closer to my forehead and made me look like a heat-stroked rhino, I stepped out to find Richard in his robe lying in his bed.

I grabbed my purse from the table and blew Richard a kiss goodbye before I left the hotel room.

As the elevator slowly made its way down to the lobby, I decided I should probably call my girlfriends, since the last update they got from me was that I will be finding my own way home tonight.

Opening my purse to get my phone I noticed cash that wasn’t there before...

Thanks Richard, you made me feel like a whore.

If you’re wondering how much cash was in there, let’s just say the homeless person down the street was very happy... and so was his drug dealer.

Come on - I wasn’t going to take it... that’s just extra taxable income.

Excuse me, "Imma let you finish in a minute but Anna's blowjob was the best of the year"

“Let’s go beat him up”

I see why I keep you bitches as my friends.

Whenever my ego is bruised or my lady parts need waxing I can always count on my girls to be there.

“Why do you even care?! You don’t even like him!”

On a scale of getting a seat at a Sisqo concert to a Justin Bieber I’d like to believe I’m closer to Justin Bieber when it comes to the availability to secure a spot in my venue. Sure, security might slack after happy hour, but no one’s keeping count.

So when I finally decide that a man is worthy enough to pin their flag in my soil, I do it in hopes that it would make for a great story. Let’s all pretend I did this for the team.

If twilight taught me anything, it is that a story doesn’t have to be good to be told, or made into a movie. In hopes that this might someday make for a great porno movie plot; here it goes.

And like any ghetto girl in a movie theatre watching a scary movie, as the story unfolds, I’ll keep reminding the protagonist to turn away from the brains eating zombie.

Our first rendezvous that’s worth mentioning took place in a coffee place.

He ordered a flavoured latte. All he had to do was order a cake pop too and i would’ve stood up right there and then and left. I already dated a bisexual. Real men drink espresso, sexually curious men order triple triple.

He told me he lived in his parents’ basement. Need I remind you, you’re an adult male, shouldn’t you be living alone, eating copious amounts of Mac n’ Cheese and clogging your toilet with paper towels and condoms?

We spoke about our jobs and he mentioned he only has his high school education. I know, I know, some of the greatest entrepreneurs never even got their post secondary education, but unless you’re Jewish I expect you to have some sort of paper decorating your parents’ study room wall, even if it’s a diploma from a community college in basket weaving and beading.

He also made it very clear that he has a certain affinity to a particular ethnic background. His ex girlfriend whose heart he apparently broke tickled that fancy and I didn’t fit the category. That should’ve been my exiting cue, that’s a race I could never win against, but I believed I had a chance, and so did Romney.

The biggest turn off had to be his timid demeanour. I felt like a lioness entertaining a zebra during tea time.

As though all those clues were not enough, I led myself to believe that I might actually enjoy corrupting this lad, after all, I always wanted to fuck a virgin, and since that goal was starting to get harder to achieve, you know, with federal laws and all, he was the next best thing.

I invited him over.

Stop yelling at me! I know that the gas station looks abandoned and probably operated by a serial killer, but I really needed gas.

We were watching a movie, wait no, we watched 4. It took him 8 fucking hours to make a move.

I asked him to bring wine and it was a Saturday night. Isn’t that a clear green light to make an advance? Or should I have put on Britney Spears music and belly danced for you while mouthing the lyrics to “Hit Me Baby One More Time?”

Perhaps “Like a Virgin” would’ve been better suited for the situation.

It took some time but eventually he started caressing my thigh. Ever so slowly, he kept frisking me up and down my leg.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

Clearly, you want me, you’re touching me and building up tension, but honey after 8 hours of conversation, the anticipation had me lubed up better than Nicki Minaj’s greasy hair weave. Let’s fucking move on.

So I just kissed him, okay?! I took matters to my own hands, this little boy trapped in a man’s body needed some guidance and so I decided to guide this little bear scout.

We advanced from the couch to my bed and my pants were lost somewhere along the way.

There I was, bare bottomed like a Skype interviewee. His head started making way down south and I had the biggest smile on my face, because all I kept on thinking about are my vulgar friends who texted me “get that pussy licked” right after I told them he was coming over. We’re a classy bunch.

I think he didn’t pay attention during health class or just didn’t watch enough porn, because oh did I forget to mention he only watches “passionate porn”, wtf does that even mean?! That shit puts me to sleep harder than an accounting lecture.

It was my turn to return the favour and I went straight for the goods. His dick was semi hard. I don’t know about other gals but I’m not used to that. Most men I was with had their cocks arrow straight and Arnold pumped when they whipped them out of their pants. His limp uncircumcised dick was just there, staring at me like a hipster in a knitted hat on Queen Street. My automatic reaction was to perform CPR, it’s not my fault, and I thought it was dead.

I was told to slow down.

Am I hallucinating?

Okay... let me slowly stroke your cock like those actors do in your passionate porno collection. Maybe we can duet “I Will Always Love You” as you ejaculate.

We proceeded to have sex and it ended rather quickly.

He fell asleep on my bed and I decided to pass the night on my couch.

I think I just raped a man.

The morning after - I made him breakfast, Anna a La Carte. Twice girlfriends!! Twice!!!

He finally left my house only after I told him my friend was coming over with tampons, bridal magazines and a Bridget Jones’s Diary DVD, that’s the way to scare a boy.

A Boy, that’s all he was.

And why do I care?!

The same reason Kanye West wears Kim Kardashian’s skirts – Ego.  

It’s a good thing I let him sleep over because he texted me saying his piece of shit car broke down on the way back home, and he would’ve gotten raped the second time if he was all alone on the highway at 4am.

Fucking Christ

Winter holidays.

What a wonderful time to share with your loved ones, eating, drinking and disguising the fact that all you can think about is the major deficit you now have in your bank accounts. Left with only pennies and expired condoms in your pockets. After spending the money you don’t have, on gifts you are not even sure the people in your life will keep or re-gift, thanks to Oprah’s clever way or recycling unwanted goodies. I don’t know about you, but I only recycle men.

What a wonderful time indeed.

Stripped is the real value of holidays, and religion has been put on the back burner.

I have no problems with that personally, and no one else seems to object to it either, at least so it seems.

But if religion no longer plays such an integral part in its most dominant area; the celebration of it, why does it still pop up at the most unrelated times and cock blocks me, like a nerdy friend that pulls on my elbow at 2am when I’m just about to seal the deal with the hottest bar tender, because she can’t wait to go home and watch reruns of Honey BooBoo.

We met on an online dating website and he had all the credentials; a tall, dark, handsome Greek.

Yes, I’m that vain. Don’t judge me.

We had a great conversation and he seemed like he wouldn’t get too freaked out if he later found out I documented every little detail of my sex life on a blog online. Maybe I should start making men sign a disclaimer... then whip them with a skillet burning in 50 different red shades over their knees as I’m reverse cow girl fucking them... oops wrong story.

We decided to meet, in a public place of course, and I put on the best “girl next door” show like I learned from watching Elton John’s concerts. After all, why not give real dating a chance, real dating with a heterosexual man, that is.

Plus, it’s always a challenge. It’s a topic of much discussion amongst us girls. That secret recipe that makes men want to wife you rather than just fuck you. The hypothesis is that sex is somehow related and that the introduction always acts as a catalyst; to a disaster or a prosperous relationship. The dosage frequency and magnitude are all factors. It’s an equation that is so precise that is yet to be discovered, thanks to Albert Einstein being a loafer, but one day I will have my light bulb moment. For now, I’m in the experimentation stage, and this time around I was withholding the topic of sex completely to see how well it would work out for me.  

I imagine the date went well because the next time this fucktard decided to message me he asked me if I’d ever consider to convert.

“convert?”

“yeah, to Christianity”

“well, depends how big the ring is”

“i’m not joking”

Woah, woah, woah.

Are you saying that because I didn’t share the details of my dirty mind with you, those thoughts of crawling into your lap in the middle of the restaurant, pretending my mouth was a cork screw and your cock is the neck of a Sauvignon Blanc, you suddenly view me as the respectable woman that I am, and not just a vagina on legs?

You want to wife Anna Lee?

I feel so dirty.

I don’t have time for that bullshit. Life is short and my bucket list has a lot more cocks to get in bed with that I haven’t gotten a chance to seduce.

When I politely rejected his marriage proposal he completely cut me off.

Ouch, is that what rejection feels like?

I think my automatic reaction when someone tries to cage me is self sabotage. Other women would have jumped on the possibility to spend Sundays in a church and live on the Danforth a block away from their mother in law, but the only Greek I agree to commit to at the moment is a Souvlaki dinner after a drunken night.

I fired up all five cylinders and decided I wanted a chance to feel wanted again. Jesus cock blocked me, and no religious figure is going cock block me unless it’s the Easter Bunny and he just decided to drop by with a mountain of kinder eggs I must assemble.

I proceeded to degrade myself by proposing that we don’t have to get serious and can date casually. Well, that was “in between the lines” of my very inappropriate sexts, which lead to us deciding to meet again.

This time, it was for drinks and a lay. I think he got such a whiplash when he saw the other Anna come out that night. The “girl next door” was replaced with the “horny braless flower watering MILF neighbor”.

As I swallowed the last drop of my third gin and tonic, I subtly licked my lips to encourage the production of testosterone in his brain and manmilk in his balls. He got the hint and gestured at the waiter for the bill.

 On the drive over to his place I suffered from the horrible case of sticky fingers and started playing with his zipper, releasing his cock out of his confined jeans I started caressing it like a Persian kitten. To my surprise he was very well endowed, and I was so horny; it almost made me forget I was a woman on a business trip with a very important task to complete.   

He moved the gear to “park” and I displeasingly pulled my hand back into my lap.

As I stepped out of his car he was already beside me pinning me against the car window hands entangled in my hair and pelvis protruding my personal space.

“Are you wet baby?” He whispered in my ear as he slid his hand under my skirt.

"mhhm” I whimpered. “Let’s go inside I have a surprise for you” I commanded, the mission is still on.

We stumbled into his house and barley made it to his bedroom hitting every possible piece of furniture on the way. He started undressing me when I had to catch his wrists and push him on his bed.

“I want to put on a show for you”

I walked back to my purse which was stranded on the floor with half of its content poured over, and got a hold of my scarf.

"I want to tie your hands so you won’t be distracted when you quiver with pleasure”

“Oh I like where this is going” he took his shirt off as I cat walked towards him.

I tied his hands to the bed board and started kissing him gently, slowly shifting downwards licking along his abdominal line and taking his pants off completely to reveal his massive erection. His cock was so hard I think the mystery of what was to come next got his balls in preparation to conceive triplets.

I climbed off the bed and walked over to the television stand.

"Do you mind if I put on some music?” I asked innocently

“Go ahead baby”

I took out a DVD from my purse and inserted it into the player.

A bright light came on the TV with the title “PASSION OF THE CHRIST”

I pressed Play.

His face was priceless and the funniest part of it all was the erection in front of his face.

“Have fun with your homeboy Jesus!” I announced

I collected my purse from the ground and waltzed out of his house.

Religion is overrated

Beyonce Did It First

The phone rings

FUCKING JESS!!!  Christian is just about to tie up Ana.

Fuck my hormones.

“You have 10 seconds to tell me what you want, or I’m gonna make you dig up Paris Hilton’s sex tape for me. I’m just about to get to the juiciest part in 50 shades and you ruined the god damn moment”.  

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Jess I told you already, it’s Friday and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to read 50 shades and turn my bed into a water bed because Sleep Country ran out”

“I have breaking Facebook news”.

Oh snap. Jess has hit the soft spot.

She rarely brings me Facebook news, but when she does I know it’s something worthy.

I let out a very loud breath, “this better be good, I’m putting my bookmark in”

“Your asshole ex-boyfriend is a fucking idiot and doesn’t know the first thing about post-breakup etiquette”

“Yes, I know Jess, you called me to tell me that?! Perhaps you should shock me with the fact that he likes to shove brooms up his ass too?”

“hahaha” Jess laughs, she has way too much energy this Friday, usually she’s in bed before 7pm.
“So... “ I rush her

“You need to get ready, we are going out tonight. He accepted an invite to some event”

Tsk, tsk, tsk

Rookie mistake. Common mistake.

I’d like to share something with the male population...

Ya’ll like to believe that the next girl you will meet will not be a psycho like your ex. And every single time you meet a new girl, you believe that THIS one is the normal one that you’ve been waiting for. But fellas, you never learn from your experiences.

When women meet men they act like presidential candidates.

They have their platforms ready, well rehearsed speeches, naked pictures of their junk on some stripper’s phone, and many, many vague promises, including peace. Once the election has been won, that’s when true colors start to show.

 This is when you want out!

But hey!  This isn’t Canada; we don’t call a new election every month just because you think you’ve been tricked. We remind you that you’ve supported this decision 140%, just like Russia’s population.  

You’re screwed. You get stuck with this crazy bitch that gives amazing head, and you don’t want to lose the privilege of fucking without condoms.

However eventually, all good things must come to an end, and when you finally rode out the term and the relationship is over, you let out a sigh of relief. Like a rainbow riding unicorn, high on your freedom, you forgot the most important thing. As girlfriends we had a reputation to uphold and had to keep our insanity muted, but once a relationship is over all rules are stripped and we become psycho. Real psycho,  rabid with foam dripping down our mouths, RED ALERT PSYCHO.

That is why post break up, a man should never, EVER, make contact with his ex.

This includes keeping a low profile at all times.
Do not, for fuck sakes, make anything public about your whereabouts on the internet. Unless you want your car keyed, tires slashed, room vandalized, or worse; your porn collection erased from your computer.

 “Are you telling me I can finally get my revenge?” I ask, trying to choke down Satan’s evil laugh that’s erupting from my insides.

“All I’m saying, Anna, is that you need to look hot so he can see what he’s missing out on”.

“mmmmmmmmmmm sure” I respond

“I’ll pick you up at 11”.

I put my phone down and start manically tearing through my closet like a red neck American in the clearance aisle of Walmart.

It’s almost 11 and I’m checking myself out in the mirror...

I need a ring, my fingers look bare.

I find a big CZ ring and fit it over my ring finger... perfection.

If I had a dick I’d stick it in me for sure.

We arrive at the club and head over to the bar.

My game plan is to have as many men around me as possible, ready for when I spot my ex.
It’s easy with this dress, and it’s fairly late, so men are desperate enough to show their interest in you.

Jess bumps my elbow and I turn my head slightly to spot the ugliest man in the room; my ex.

He walks up to me and starts to engage in small talk. Clearly he’s interested and hasn’t gotten laid since we broke up.

"You reek of desperation”, I announce to him.

“You smell lovely yourself too”, he smiles, but his eyes hide nothing, it’s still the same face of the man who decided to cheat on me.

“You know there’s no need to butter me up, I want you just as much as you want me”, I say, and with this invitation we both start walking to the restroom.

The last stall to the left is empty and he goes in first. After checking that no one is looking,  I open the door, walk in, turn around and pretend to lock the door.
His hands are already all over me, caressing and lifting my dress up, trying to shift my thong to the side so his fingers could enter me. My ass is grinding against his jean confined cock and I can sense him gloating.

Dirty pig.

I turn to face him and we start kissing. He tastes like cheap whisky and cigarettes. I’d imagine that’s how the mall Santa’s mouth tastes like.

Sure I’ll sit on your lap baby...but before that I want my gift...in my mouth...

My hands travel down to his belt, unfastening it, and effortlessly unzipping and gliding his pants down to the floor.

I start stroking and sucking and as I’m doing it I’m starting to doubt what I had planned to do next.

I look up expecting to see his face but all I see is bull’s eye. He deserves it.

I start deep-throating him to distract him while I take off my ring and hold it in the palm of my hand. I slow down, and smoothly push him backwards a little. I grab his cock and slide my ring into my mouth, playing with it and positioning it the right way while stroking him in my hands. When he least expect it I slide his dick into my open mouth and yank it out with the ring cutting along his dirty dick.

I never heard him squeal that hard.

“FUCKING WHORE” is all I heard when I slammed the door behind me running for Jess at the bar.


I grabbed her and we both ran out to the parking lot.

That’s what you get for cheating.

If he cheated then you should’ve put a ring on it... i think that's how the lyrics go.... 

All the single ladies

Dick in a Box

Dear Diary

As the clock strikes twelve tonight I will turn back into a pumpkin, my chariot will turn into a mule and my glass slipper will disappear.

Nahh who am I kidding... as the little dials in my clock both focus on 12, I will turn another year older.

Oh god.

I need Botox.

No pumpkins, mules or glass slippers for me, except one ass that was my chariot earlier tonight.

He picked me up in his father's black truck.

Staring at him at the driver’s seat, I can’t recall what in the name of God compelled me to accept this proposal.

I guess that’s how you know when you’re truly over someone. The features I once used to adore shed away the perfect light that was casted on them and the truth was revealed. I secretly wish he had some narcotics or was the master of hypnosis. I can’t believe I’m about to fuck him sober. I keep fluffing my thoughts with images of Jake Gyllenhaal hoping that those images will blind me for the next 2 hours of me fucking my ex.

Honestly, looking back I can’t think of the reason why I was so drawn to him. Actually forget that, I know what it was. The rumors of his large penis. I don’t know what it is about me but I’m as gullible as George Bush’s voters. I never learn from my lessons either.

At least this time around the penis was adequate enough. So I stayed and we had a mediocre relationship that consisted of me giving him everything I had and him taking everything without gratitude or giving anything in return.

When it ended I let out a sigh of relief... my biggest fear with him has always been that one day he would run away with another man... or a broom.

The reason I’m saying this is because there were signs all along the way.

For instance he had a strange fascination with household products.

The first week of us talking he sent me a video of him shoving, what appeared to look like a broom stick covered in a condom, up his anus.

I once caught him masturbating to a Home Depot catalogue.

I know! You’re all thinking ‘why didn’t you run away then Anna?!’ but honestly it’s my entire fault. I always try to not be judgmental and be very open sexually, but now looking back I think I’m doing him a huge favour by sharing this. It might give him the courage to come out of the closet.

“hey, what’s up?” he says, and my eyes focus on a box on his lap.

“what is that?” i ask

He lifts the cover of the shoe box and reveals his soft wrinkly uncircumcised penis.

*shudder*

“it’s your birthday present...it’s a dick in a box”

Ha.....

Ok, breathe... and at this moment I know exactly how Chris Brown felt.. I never wanted to hit a woman harder.

“haha” I laugh dryly, masking the anger inside. Is this a joke?! I spent close to a $1000 dollars on your birthday present and you get me a converse shoe box with a hole in it with your penis that looks like a deflated balloon animal, sticking out of it? I swear if I had no self value I’d prick that condom before we fuck, get pregnant and live off your child support payments for the rest of my life. But I’m not OctoMom and I have no desire to bring a child into this earth that looks like Adam Sandler, because with your genetics you know it would too.    

At this point my pussy is dryer than the Sahara desert and I pray he crashes his father’s truck into the street light so I can just run back home. Oh, but cheapo didn’t even get me sneakers in that box so I guess I’ll walk.

We find an isolated parking lot and get straight to the point. He obviously doesn’t last long because he can never get any... and the brooms and plungers in his house are all packed away since he’s in the process of moving.

Chatting on the way back home he comes up with the genius idea that we should get back together. Even Vince Offer couldn’t sell me that idea, and he sold the idea that a hooker bit his tongue to a judge and some Shamwows and the Slapchop. Really I’m just not interested in having my man cat walk in my clothes like a Victoria Secret angel whenever I’m out of the house.

Very lightly I dismiss his idea trying not to hurt his oh so fragile feelings. There’s too much estrogen in the air. And he’s gone...

I swear that this is the last time.

It’s 12:00 now and I am a year older.

I am also wiser now.

I hear you’re running your mouth about me, so this diary is my outlet.

Oh wait I forgot, I don’t have a diary.

And if this doesn’t serve as a warning, you’ll be receiving a UPS package at your work with the dildos and strap-on I used to fuck you with... and maybe I’ll throw in a Schticky... I hear it has a sturdy handle.  

Anna Bambi Lee

I know it’s been a while since I shared my private juicy stories with you, and I know everyone is DYING to know what I’ve been up to.

Well I’ve been whoring myself around quite steadily and just like a well oiled machine I needed some fine-tuning.

You see one of my main selling points is my mouth and its health is very important to me. However, somewhere along my late teenage years I’ve managed to infect my tonsils so many times that I even got a punch card. I have only one person to thank for that, but you’ll hear about him later.

My ENT specialist recommended for me to remove my tonsils and so that’s where I’ve been all this time – nursing my Dirt Devil.

So naturally the only action I got for the past month or so has been from my freezer as it was making more ice cubes for me to suck on.

The meds were amazing, the break was much needed and I even scored free flowers from my peeps at work.

“To Anna Bambi Lee” the card read…
…and then my morphine filled brain started to reminisce…

It was sometime last year, my friends and I decided to take a lovely vacation to one of the loveliest southern states. We stayed at a hotel on the ocean front and when we weren’t wasting our time shopping we were hunting American cocks like Canadians hunt Tim Horton’s on their way to the cottage.

So one of the nights, there we were; Marlene and I, standing outside a nearby bar inspecting every testosterone packed flesh package that walked by. We were smoking our cigarettes and sipping on our drinks elegantly, trying to disguise the fact that in our eyes every passing man looked like a hot dog at the end of a clubbing night downtown. The liquid produced by my salivary glands and my genitals alone (not counting sweat – it was hot down there) could end the famine in Africa.

Looking back I think our strategy was flawed. We assumed that by standing outside we will be like bouncers quality controlling every entering cock, but at that particular hour many were already leaving…and so was Frank.

My radar was getting weak but Marlene gets better as her blood alcohol percentage rises and she spotted Frank - a sexy Vin Diesel look alike.

“HEY!” – Marlene shouted.

Frank turned around and walked right into our trap – silly little weasel.

“Where are you going?” we asked, afraid the fantasy we both thought of in the last 10 seconds would not come true.

Frank had just finished his shift at the bar and was on his way home so he could get up early for his shift at the fire station.

Ummmmmmmmm RED ALERT!!! RED ALERT!!!

It is MY duty to give back to those who serve our country (or not my country). Therefore any uniform wearing man gets a green card with Anna with the exception of mechanics and river dancers.

At this point, any flaws my intoxicated brain would register as I try to focus my sight on Frank would be void and simply nonexistent – I love firemen and love is indeed blind.

I know sometimes I omit certain details from my stories for it to progress faster but in this instance it important to outline exactly how our conversation went with Frank just to prove how quickly the story unfolded.

Frank: “What’s your name?”

Marlene:”Marlene”

Frank: “and yours?”

Me: ”you can call me baby”

Frank: ”Bambi?"

Me: ”ughhh... yes sure, you should come to our hotel room to party!!”

Frank:”I can’t but give me your number maybe another night”

Marlene:”647 ………”

Frank left.

We went back into the bar to get more drinks

Not even 3 minutes pass and Marlene gets a text message:

“Come out we’ll party – Frank”

Without hesitation we both turned around and marched over to the exit in unison like Korean soldiers at Kim Jong-il’s funeral.

There he was in his sexy black truck.

As we both approached we used some unrecognized sign language that we both understood and I ended up sitting in the front seat and Marlene hopped in the back.

He drove to the other side of the parking lot and put his gear into park.

If I ever got charged for sexual assault it would be for this and you'd probably see me on America's most wanted in my underwear running away from cops in between trailers.

In a matter of half a second I pounced on Frank, lowered his seat and unzipped his pants.
Marlene grabbed Frank by his neck and started making out with him viciously as I quickly fastened his cock in my mouth like a baby after dropping her pacifier. Oh man I was teething so bad that night. I sucked on his cock so hard as Marlene was salsa dancing with his tongue. It was a beautifully choreographed dance that would’ve gotten a 10-10-10 if it was executed on skates in the middle of an Olympic rink.

Unfortunately Frank must have mistaken the back of my throat with a smoke alarm and hosed me down before there were even any signs of fire.

I was a bit shocked, and Marlene was as well, but we wiped our mouths and left the truck simultaneously.

We walked away from Frank’s truck like we were 2 bond girls after completing a mission, and returned to our drinks, that were still cold at the bar.

The trip - just like Frank - passed too fast and too furious, and thank God the only thing that stuck to me was my nickname Bambi and not herpes.

Sex Planner

Throughout my University career I didn’t keep one organized notebook for even half a semester.

I am a procrastinator and a proud one at that. Lord knows when I pulled even a remotely decent mark I’d boast all around, parading the fact that I studied for only 2 hours before the professor told us to flip the exam papers and write down our names and student ID numbers (never memorized until this day – I think my name is Anna?).

My formula sheets resembled some of the finest excavated art from the Egyptian pyramids and my textbooks smelled like Snookie’s book in a Chapters store – practically untouched; they were mostly used as coasters for my coffee.

This way of life is consistent in most aspects of my being.

My work desk is always a mess.

My computer desk at home has a mix of nail clippings, bank statements and cereal bar wrappers with the expiry year of 2009 stamped on them.

My friends always complain I break plans because I forget I made them, and the only reminders on my Blackberry Calendar are those of birthdays of mostly strangers and people I don’t give a fuck about from my Facebook “friends” list.

And you best believe I’m that bitch in front of you at the drive through you want to see turn purple, salivating while staring at the menu with no rush, because I never know what I want to order until after I get my change back, and sometimes only after I’ve already eaten my meal.

Obviously if you look at my resume I don’t mention this, I’m not a complete imbecile and don’t have my handicapped permit (yet – it’s in process), because I know when it comes to important things in life, such as sex, I am the perfect intern for the job.

If there is one thing I know how to “plan” for and be prepared for, is some naked body wrestling.

Men are good at planning their Superbowl event and I’m good at planning my Suckingball event.

I think of myself as an athlete. ..

I prepare and condition my body to the best of my ability so I could impress the judges with my incredible performance. Mind conditioning is also important, that’s why I listen to Marvin Gaye on repeat every night before sleep.

Especially around spring time when I know statistically I’m more sexually active (yes I’ve collected data and analyzed it), I know to always be primp with sharp instincts as booty calls come my way.

My dedication to the soon to be Olympic sport (also in process) is impressive to say the least.

It all starts with a list. Some people have grocery lists and some people have packing lists and this one crazy bitch I know has a list of lists.
I am a different kind of crazy, I’m the one with the pre sex lists that I keep in the only organized notebook I’ve ever owned.

I'd like to share some of the bulletins on these lists...

1. Condom shopping – every athlete has his equipment and you might have a Cock brand bat that’s been passed around several teammates and my aim is to only make contact with it with a glove on (STDs are not a joke – unless it happens to someone else) . Oh yeah and pregnancy too – I’d be a horrible mother – not like Casey Anthony – but still.

2. Body hair maintenance – this includes and not limited to: bleaching, plucking, waxing, lasering, trimming, shaving, styling (if you’re a freak like me).

3. Oral care – always ensure to have mints or gum in purse , whiten teeth if you have 30 minutes before your date, and don’t forget to brush and floss your teeth twice daily because pirate teeth are only sexy to those whose bodily fluids are 70% rum.

4. Skin care – exfoliating, scrubbing, lathering – my body maybe a Wonderland but it’s not a school trip to the reptilian zoo – unless it’s your snake we are talking about . Facials – pre sex blue mask and post sex white mask; only organic of course.

5. Nail care – clip, file, paint. Let’s be real here, after feeling my mouth wrapped around your cock with my hand at the base of it – just like kinder egg toys you’ll never want these disassembled – and taking that into consideration you’ll probably mostly remember my hands when you later fantasize about me, and I don’t want the image of bear claws around the neck of a tuna fish tail stuck in your brain – it ain’t pretty unless it’s on the discovery channel.

6. Wardrobe selection – I want to have the least articles of clothing as possible. When clothes get thrown in the air I want to be able to gather them and go. This isn’t a sleep over – like a criminal I want to hit and run.

7. Stretching – injuries are completely avoidable if you take the time to stretch. Also when you spread open like the red sea at the sight of Moses you don’t want to ache and pull as he inserts his walking stick in you.

This is a snapshot of a list that sometimes gets modified. Sometimes I need to buy accessories and I will add that bulletin, but that’s only for second dates.

As I write this I reassure myself I am not a complete mess, and if I applied all this energy and dedication to my courses I wouldn’t have to hide my marks from my parents, and that had to be done since not all my professors wanted to risk their jobs for a chance to hit this fancy ass (a story for another day).

I always get my 10, 10, 10 on the score board – and if I don’t ..you know it’s the Cock’s fault for missing his sure hit.