Physically Cheating is Not as Bad as an Emotional Affair

Perfect Baggage and I were still going strong by May. When I came back from Vegas, he took me to see Jurassic Park for my birthday, and even sprung for Whataburger. It wasn’t a date by a long shot, but we were becoming legit friends. We would just call each other to see how the other’s day was. I told him before my partner about my “promotion” at work (just in title and responsibilities, not a penny more…fuckers.) I will never say I loved him, but I enjoyed him in my life immensely.

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Rawr I eat bitches!

My partner’s brother was going to be visiting us in May a few weeks after Iron Man 3 was to come out and we planned on all watching it together. However, when we saw it, it was not my first time to see it and I felt like a cheating whore. Not for the whole cheating with a penis, but because I lied about seeing a movie I knew my partner would have wanted to see with me first. We’re huge nerds (comic book Wednesday, anyone?) and we shared in comics and comic book based movies together. I felt so dirty saying I saw 42 (still I’ve never seen the movie) when I was really watching the sexy Guy Pearce.

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Mmmm...just another amazing and sexy villain

I had been enjoying routine in my life; every weekend I would paint my nails and toenails. This might sound like a normal woman thing, but to me, it was a HUGE thing. I did the crackle paint and would have Perfect Baggage try to figure out who the combo was for (he failed so much.) My partner would give me the ideas and loved how happy I had been the past few weeks. He didn’t question my absences with Perfect Baggage. I was happy, so he was happy.

The weekend Iron Man came out, I painted my nails in honor of the movie: yellow with red crackle on top. Perfect Baggage asked me to come over Friday after work and help him apply some biofreeze to his muscles from hurting himself at work, and then watch some movies (super old movies too, by the way.) Of course I agreed. I wasn’t expecting sex, let alone the hours and days worth of sex we had.

I’ve mentioned before, Perfect Baggage has the perfect penis; it’s fairly thick, curves up and he knows how to use it (I would make it past tense, but I’m sure the innocent whore (I’m not bitter…) he’s fucking enjoys it.) That weekend, I spent almost all Friday night short of staying the night with him, all of the daylight hours with him Saturday, and then seeing Iron Man Sunday with pre and post movie coitus. I distinctively remember the numerous new and acrobatic positions he wanted to do on Saturday; I was in a crab position at one point, and then some version of the wheel barrel. Upper body weakness, don’t fail me now! Spoiler: he didn’t let me fall. It was AMAZING sex! We watched a lot of movies and just hung out as well. When we saw Iron Man, I constantly looked over my shoulder as if my partner was going to find out I was cheating on him–movie wise. It wasn’t like I was fornicating in the theater, but it was just so…a personal level of cheating. My partner doesn’t care about sex so cheating on a physical level isn’t as “bad” to me; but this…it felt like an emotional cheating experience. Ever since he got his shit together, we were way more connected than pre breakup. I was so happy; I didn’t really need anyone else to satisfy me! I could live with Perfect Baggage penis every week! And after making that conclusion, I erased so many of the booty call contacts from my phone.

With that rationale, I made a dumb decision: I got an iud. Now, for those of you familiar with the apparently fabulous inter uterine device, you probably say it’s pretty cool. Yeah…it is cool in theory…then you get a period for two months at the beginning, bleed if your vagina isn’t used to a decent sized penis, and have unexpected periods. It also hurt like a god damn bitch when I got it. Never had kids, so my cervix was and is still none too pleased by the intrusion. Perfect Baggage and I talked about it; he said if it helped keep Catherine on a normal schedule, why not? The robot vagina ring wasn’t really working out (nuva ring) and I wanted something that would.

My “surgery” was scheduled for the end of June. A lot of shit can happen in 6 weeks. So. Much. Shit.

Lessons learned: if you feel it’s wrong on an emotional level, it stings a lot longer in your subconscious than the feeling of when you cheat the first time. The first time I ever cheated I felt like a champ since my skills were still awesome, but 3 hours later…regret, sadness and then anger at my partner for not giving me what I want. But to be honest, I don’t think I’d be happy to have his penis.

Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina

It Wasn’t Birthday Sex, And It Was Pretty Crappy

I tend to email or even text a lot of the people who respond to my ads on the list of Craig in the hopes one out of the 100+ responses, or 20 replies of mine, actually pans out. Sometimes it never works out (let’s meet at 2am on a Wednesday! Or during the day while most people are at work!) or we meet in person and I just get the awkward vibes (it took me awhile to be ok with walking out…don’t send pictures of you 5 years ago and with a full head of hair when you now look like Homer Simpson.) One of these awkward stories involves someone we will call Body Odor.

BO had originally responded to an ad in January. We were going to meet up one Saturday morning to go walk or so at the park by my place. Well, the red flags went off; he didn’t have a phone to text or call from, and there was something off about him. I stood him up and said I overslept my alarm. I was fully awake, doing laundry. And then depression set in by mid February, so I just wanted nothing to do with him or anyone else.

He randomly emailed me in March after I had gotten my confidence back from Perfect Baggage. I decided why not? Bad decisions are made daily in my vagina’s name. BO came over one day while my partner was at work. So, BO didn’t smell horrible off the bat, but after sex (in which he sweat more than I currently do when I run my races) it was sooooo gross. So gross. I think his sweat stained my sheets more than his cum. He was my height or a centimeter or two shorter, very light skinned Hispanic, late 20s, was in the military before and was now in school, short hair but long for the military, glasses, “sentimental” tattoos, and scruff on his face that made him going down on me fucking terrible.

We had awkward make out time before having sex; it was just so meh. BO mentioned how much he loved to go down, and yet, it only happened for 4 minutes. What the fuck. It wasn’t terrible but it wasn’t great. It was lacking in enthusiasm. If I could give advice to anyone about giving head to your partner, just appear to be excited; pretend you’re a fat kid and it’s ice cream. Lick the fuck out of it, suck it and see how much you can put in your mouth before it hurts your mouth/teeth/throat. Just be excited to give it as much as you are to receive it.

His penis was ok-I think. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t pencil thin either. It was just there, and with a sloppy wet vagina, there wasn’t much stimulation going on for me. During sex, I kept my head turned to the side and my eyes closed tighter than normal; he would kiss me, and maybe he had a bohemian thing going on with the natural style, but the smell and taste of him was just…so not appealing. When we finished, he was going to dry himself off with a towel. I told him how gross that was and he should just join me in the shower. Granted, I’m self conscious when cleaning myself off after sex, but that boy needed a shower.

Shower sex was tried and unsuccessful. I did give him head, but I refused to let him cum in my mouth. I’m just sayin, you don’t wear deodorant or cologne, you probably eat terrible food and your semen is going to taste like sewage. The minute he was gone, all the sheets went into the washer.

BO left and I didn’t hear from him for a week; I was actually grateful he didn’t immediately email me (since he couldn’t text.) I kept being “busy” when he was free. However, toward the end of April I was going to Vegas for my 25 birthday. I had time before my plane left to get together. When we were talking, he said he just wanted to give me oral before I left. I figured it couldn’t be that bad. Never had I been so wrong…

BO came over while I still had my suitcase open on my bed; you don’t need space to get oral. He went down on me for maybe 4 minutes and then BAM!–penis in the vagina. What. The. Fuck. I was shocked that he had such little memory; he didn’t remember that I only agreed to oral not more than an hour before. I basically said fuck it, and laid there like a fish. You ever want to make a man confused, make no emotion come across your face but content during sex. I might have even sighed…maybe. When he finished I almost pushed him off me, took the rest of my clothes off and got in the shower to wash off. He asked if everything was ok. I was like, well, I didn’t want to take ANOTHER shower and you promised me oral…less than 5 minutes of oral is a joke.

BO looked like a wounded puppy; he apologized for what he did. I snapped back, you should be. Worst close enough to my birthday sex ever. Ugh. So much ugh. I just kicked him out and finished packing and cleaning up. I was so done with men and just wanted to go to Vegas. To date, I have NEVER had birthday sex (sex more than 2 days out doesn’t count.)
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Like before, sheets went into the washer. I lied and told my partner that the cat was sick on the bed. My poor cat, blamed for BO’s body odor and cum stain of nasty.

I made a post in July, it snagged my greatest bed buddy to date, and BO replied to it; saying that if it was me, he was sorry and wished me luck in finding what I want. I didn’t feel nice enough to even respond to it. I’m a queen bitch when you make me clean so much AFTER bad sex.

Lessons learned: I need to clarify that I need men that smell like laundry and masculinity, not dirt and smashed worms.

Sincerely,

The Daring Vagina

Sunburns and Disappointment

I was so happy to be back with Perfect Baggage again…but, I’m an addict to the feeling of someone fawning over me and telling me I’m good at something. So naturally, while I was rekindling the amazing sex I missed with Perfect Baggage, I went on the hunt to find someone new.

This time I was blunt in my post; I didn’t want to go to a bar wearing a shirt that said “Will you be my fwb?” I just wanted a reliable and fairly available man. Well, I found a lot of duds; they only wanted to meet at my place (obviously no), or 3am booty calls. Bitch, I need all the beauty sleep! Anyways! I found one. He looked…like my best friend from college while we were in college. Like…straight up doppelganger status (sorry bestie cause I know you’re going to read this.) So, I have a saying: only one person can be fat in bed and that’s me, so you need to be skinnier than me. He was about my size in the width department, hipster glasses, about 6 feet, brown hair, wore very preppy clothes (sweater and a button up underneath in the Texas heat during April…ca-razy.) Let’s call him Busy Man.

Busy Man lived outside of town; he liked good beer, was a graphic designer, and said I reminded him of a porn star (yeah, I had to ask who it was…wasn’t me, which was good to know.) He wanted to meet up after he came back from the coast with his friends. Of course I agreed; he was free when Perfect Baggage wasn’t so I made plans to see him. It took me awhile to drive out there, but I told myself it would be worth it.

We talked and drank beer before getting comfortable enough to get into bed together. We cuddled and made out together in his bed (it didn’t have a headboard, but had a frame and box springs!) It was weird to me to not be with a guy that weighed only as much as one of my legs. He was a good kisser, handsy in the right ways, and lightly rubbed me through my yoga pants. When it came time to give him head, I was thoroughly disappointed with his penis; he was maybe 5.5 inches but incredibly skinny. I need girth to make Catherine happy! He couldn’t get enough of my oral skills and every time I tried to come up to stop, but he would just push the back of my head gently back down. I was secretly hoping that he would return the favor. So much let down.

He finally got on top of me; he didn’t even want me to hold my legs up as far as they would go. I basically felt like I was having lazy, fat people sex. It was strange to me. It would have been fine if he did something. The sex was slow and a constant, boring rhythm. I was so sad that I couldn’t even tell when he was close to an orgasm. I was just like, oh…that’s why you stopped mid thrust and are now having strained breathing.

To his credit, he was more than a one session man, which was great, except that just meant that I gave him head and he just lightly played with my clit. But I’m jumping ahead of myself. After my reunion with Perfect Baggage, I went on a lingerie buying craze. I had brought a piece with me in case he wanted me to wear it. That’s all I needed to do to get his motor running for a second session. The piece was cute, pink and black, and had hearts to hold up my boobs. The second session was just as lackluster as the first; I felt so disappointed by the size and steady pace. Maybe I was spoiled by Perfect Baggage? He was slightly amazing and Busy Man was not.

Busy Man repeatedly told me he gave himself third degree burns on his feet from his weekend adventure. I said I believed him, but I was like, really? You forgot your feet? I’m glad he didn’t let me see his feet until after we had sex. I did refuse to leave before putting stuff on it for him (I’m secretly a mom to EVERYONE I meet.) He greatly appreciated it.

When I was leaving, my partner was blowing up my phone (I told him I’d be gone, but he had forgotten.) I apologized for taking the call; Busy Man was ok with it and wanted to know when he could see me again. He mentioned working by where I live, which meant he was close to my apartment. I offered that we should get together over lunch some time. We did that a few times. Again, slow and lackluster sex. I was just so sad by it, but he filled the void on the days Perfect Baggage was busy. I did enjoy my time with him.

We did end it a few months later because he was soooo busy. Like, super busy. I was ok with it at first, but then I wondered why I would waste my time sexting him if he was never going to see me in person. He was mad at me when I said I was going to move on; I “should have known” he was busy and that he didn’t have all the time in the world. Once a week isn’t that demanding…is it?

Granted, it was an awkward pleasure to have sex with the guy that looked like my best friend from college.

Lessons learned: stick with the motto; there’s a reason you make it in the first place.

Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina

Forgiveness and Self-Satisfaction

It took over three weeks to get over not only that period, but the shitty feeling of sleeping with I Like Fat Chicks. I needed a break to do nothing with any man (sexual only of course.) I did a lot of work, began painting my nails every Saturday, and doing some small exercising. I was dating myself; we had some awesome foreplay, invested in porn (Thanks Adam & Eve for the free videos with my purchase of a lifetime supply of vibrators!), applied make up to my face, and didn’t really shave. It was getting towards the end of March and it had been almost a whole month since I had a penis near me.

One evening, my partner and I were out eating and I received a text from the last person I expected: Perfect god damn Baggage. I contained my inner excitement and also realized that whatever he had going for him that he ditched me for wasn’t working out for him. He could wait for a reply text….I held out for 10 minutes. Progress for me! You can’t say no to this for too long.

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Yeah, I said no pics, but whatever, he should have never did all that he did to me. And he's pretty. So. Fucking. Pretty.

He actually apologized for his actions; I wasn’t going to let him off easily. I hold grudges and will bring up every single mistake you’ve made so you know that you not only hurt me, but you should count your lucky stars I’m talking to you. We texted not like it was old times; I was acting standoff-ish with short replies when I would have jumped on his cock that minute. We talked about work, and it eventually turned to how, if I wanted, we should get together, even if it was to just hangout. Perfect Baggage said he missed me just being there. Maybe I’m a gullible woman (I am), but he said exactly what I wanted to hear and I truly missed him. We planned on me coming over Friday night after he got off work.

I couldn’t contain my happiness; my partner was happy I was happy. My vagina stopped trying to kill me a few days before that, so even if we did fuck and I bled…he deserved it. Spoiler: we fucked and I did not bleed.

When Friday came, I went home after work, shaved everything below my waist, found something semi cute to wear and then laid on my bed, restless. Time passed by slowly; I decided that watching porn and hanging out with my favorite vibrator would help pass the time. It did. He must have left work early because he texted me around 4 saying I could come over whenever I was ready. I put my flip flops on and drove the familiar path to his place. When I arrived, I noticed a few things had changed; he had some blinds on his patio, the cat statue that I would make fun of inside was now outside, and he had tires on the patio (classy as fuck.)

I knocked on the door and he answered; it was tense and awkward inside his place. He apologized, said he was sorry how it ended and he just needed some time to sort his life out and it didn’t work for him. I understood, or so I told him. I didn’t understand and I still don’t know what went on in his head. He offered me beer (beautiful and tasty Shiners), and when we finally made it into the bedroom, I teased him. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. I got on top and did the slowest and even agonizingly painful for my vagina hip movements. He apparently had enough of my ways and easily maneuvered me on my back, pinning my hands above my head, in a swift movement. Sex with Perfect Baggage was so natural; there was no awkward, where’s the hole?, or inability to be in rhythm. It was perfect, prolonged, and what the doctor ordered for Catherine to be happy. I faked only one orgasm that whole night, but he delivered two real ones.

When we were spent, he actually wanted to cuddle, wanted to talk about everything that had happened since he last saw me, and he genuinely cared about what I said. After we were done from the first few rounds, be got us water and I lazily moved to get up and shower. When I took a shower, he joined me for the first time. He used his super manly smelling soap (ok, not axe but Irish spring, because he’s Irish) all over me. I didn’t mind I was going to smell like him, or that my hair was getting wet. It felt amazing just to be with him again; him touching me like he did the first time we were together. I’ve had shower sex before, but when its with someone shorter than you, it’s interesting. Thank god we both had balance and his penis curves up. My body almost felt like it would cum, it was that good.

When I said it was time for me to leave, he asked if I would consider seeing him again…like before. Sometime during that month’s absence, I convinced myself that I didn’t need love from anyone but my partner; all I wanted was a penis that worked wonders on my vagina. His penis made me happy. I told him we needed to take it a day at as time, but I would see him again.

There will be more Perfect Baggage stories; without him, I wouldn’t have had the want to make another post and find someone that really made my vagina happy.

Lessons learned: there’s a reason for everything.

Sincerely,

The Daring Vagina

I Like Fat Chicks

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I was still depressed. So depressed with the state Perfect Baggage had left me in that I needed something. Something to cheer me up, fill that void. I even tried to get my partner to have sex with me. That failed. When I came home after that dreaded night, I made up a lie. My partner was so used to me “hanging out” with Perfect Baggage that I felt if it suddenly stopped, he would be confused. I told my partner that Perfect Baggage’s girlfriend didn’t like me hanging out with him so much and alone, and we had to stop. My partner was sad for me because I looked sad.  I was hoping all those words about never seeing Perfect Baggage weren’t true; finding someone that gives you stupid nicknames, fucks for hours (and I mean hours), and is really keen on listening to me talk is incredibly difficult.

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I was in the mindset that no one wanted me. There must be something wrong with me, Catherine the Great (best damn name for a vagina, I know), or maybe even my personality. I come off strong, super shy the first time I meet someone, and then I’m so much talk in texts…sex normally winds up being only missionary and I have no one to blame but myself. In my depression, I couldn’t sleep. It had been only a little over a week since my vagina got dumped and I knew I wanted to find someone new.

Searching craigslist for keywords usually helps eliminate any instant rejection or insults (I’ve had some mean things said, and that’s always fun); I started to just browse through in general. One ad I found was titled: I like fat chicks. He had pictures of his dick and himself, said he was basically a giant for where I live (6’8), and he needed a fat chick. So, I know I’m fat. I can call myself fat (though I adore being called fluffy like the cuddly person I am.) No one else can call me fat. Period. You do and I’m like instant, fuck you. I cringed at the idea of meeting him; what if he wanted to call me fat or something during sex? I already felt like a dented can of beans and needed a boost emotionally. I passed on it from responding.

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I searched “bbw” to see if I could find any hits that were my type. I saw one from a tall guy (he didn’t put his height), said he loved giving bbws oral for hours (awesome stimulation for my me time with a vibrator later), and could host. He even had a picture of his torso (nerdy guy style with just being thin with no muscles) and his hard penis (if he was tall, it was going to be HUGE for me.) I decided to respond to his ad; it was fairly late (my partner was already asleep and he’s a night owl) and I decided I could maybe sleep my depression off.  Almost instantly, I got a response from him. Who was it? The “I like fat chicks” guy. My luck…Ugh. He sent some better pictures of his face (he definitely was someone I would classify as a heavy metal rocker from his pics), and maybe it was the depression thinking, but I kept responding to his emails. Maybe he wasn’t going to call me fat or give me bad vibes.

We texted all day the next day. He, I Like Fat Chicks (ILFC), wanted to know everything. Not just sexually but what was my favorite color (purple), last concert I went to, three things I couldn’t live without (a cat, vibrators with unlimited batteries, and pie), and so much more. I was starting to feel good about him. He asked if I wanted to come over that evening; I told him I wasn’t ready for sex; I wanted to shave for him to give me that hour or more oral. He said he didn’t mind at all. I told him to give me a few after work so I could clean up, then I would come over.

ILFC lived on the other side of town from me; not a BIG deal, just a pain. When I got close, he told me to call. That apartment complex was huge, and he got me super lost when navigating me. When I finally got to him (I had to drive out of the complex and try again), he was waiting for me in nothing close to trying. First impressions are vital, in my opinion. He was tall (super tall), pale, wore glasses, long brown greasy hair (longer than mine and not pulled back or anything), and scruffy. I looked cute; he looked like he just got up. We walked up to his apartment and before he opened the door he warned me that it wasn’t clean. I told him it was fine…oh my god it was not.

There was maybe a path amongst trash and clutter from the front door to the kitchen and then to his bedroom. It was a clean freak’s nightmare. It was a small one bedroom apartment and his bedroom took the cake. He had to be home for an hour or so before I got there; it was just a mess with food wrappers and clothes and just things….everywhere. his twin size mattress was on the floor (I need to put in my ads- must have a full size bed with a bed frame), and a tiny tv was sitting by it with Futurama playing. I put my purse down in the one semi clean area before sitting next to him on the only piece of furniture he owned (bed on the ground, so adult like.)

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Kinda like this...but less furniture.

We barely talked before he asked if I thought I could take all of his cock. I told him that I have been known to take a good pounding or two. We made out immediately after that statement. He was actually fairly good at making out, and used his hands on me almost perfectly. I will say he was very handsy on my boobs. Poor girls, but not as bad as Nipple Biter. ILFC’s cock was huge; I couldn’t go down to the base…not even close. The sex was ok. He lasted awhile, went multiple rounds with a few different positions, and cuddled. Nothing fancy. I did have to stop him when we did doggy; his bony hips hit my bones (I guess) and I wouldn’t let him slam into me. I’m just soooo mean; no slamming into bones takes all the fun out of sex, obviously.

What was the downside to ILFC? He smelt of cigarettes, didn’t have a single towel clean, and even his bathroom was horrid. I Like Fat Chicks mentioned at one point that he wanted to rent his living room out to someone, a stranger. I leveled with him that even though he isn’t using his living room, he would have to be ok with someone coming in and out of his room for the bathroom and he’d have to keep it tidy.

When I finally was going to leave (I showered and cleaned up with a semi clean towel), he walked me to my car. At the time, I felt ok with seeing him regularly; I needed a new Perfect Baggage. But no one could really replace PB. Not even a huge cock.

lLFC texted me a lot after that; almost 5 minutes after I left I had a text from him. I was flattered by it. The next morning I woke up to find I was bleeding. I had bled before because of a bigger than average cock. But this…this lasted weeks. It wasn’t my time for a period; I was confused and irate at the same time. Even my vagina didn’t want to be a part of me anymore; she wanted to bleed me to death. I kept blowing off I Like Fat Chicks enough times that he stopped texting me. I felt bad, but, I didn’t want to deal with anyone while my vagina was acting that way. The whole situation just depressed me more and more.

Lessons learned: don’t do something if you feel you might regret it. Never. Even when you’re depressed. It’s a bad idea. I still need to officially learn that one. Ugh.

Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina

Goodnights and Goodbyes Hurt

Disclaimer: I have been writing all of my stories (so far) in the past. I don’t remember when they all EXACTLY happened (January vs February, but I know which dick went first…I think) up until this moment. This situation was the closest thing I have to being dumped in a relationship setting.

February 2013; Perfect Baggage and I had been sleeping together fairly regularly for 5 months. I had given him a Christmas and a birthday present (cookie coasters from Target since he ALWAYS got crazy as fuck when I sat my glass on his table); we were legitimately friends with benefits. I even called him my friend to my partner! I would say, Hey…going to PB’s to watch Boardwalk Empire, looooveee youuuuu. It was legit. I had tried out things I never thought I would, position wise, in bed. He boosted my confidence enough that I would even get on top. I started a list of awkward accomplishments: I bruised his dick, “bloodied” his pillow, got him hard with my clothes still on, amazed myself at how wet I got, faked all these orgasms, and bought so much lingerie to wear around him. However, certain things would happen that would make me question if he was happy. Randomly, he wouldn’t kiss me, cuddle like he used to, or want to hang out (I’m so tired from doing all this work at work that I get paid for.) The worst was when immediately after he came, he’d ask me to leave by saying I should shower and get home for certain things. Thanks, home bro.

I went over to Perfect Baggage’s place one night to have some lackluster sex. I don’t even think iI was semi wet enough for him to really fuck; just some edge of the bed missionary with a faked orgasm. After round two he said we needed to talk. I was laying on my belly in his bed, on his green sheets, looking up at him, just waiting for whatever silly work excuse he was going to give me. The words he used, they only skirted around the issue. He rambled on about how he wanted to see less of each other so he could have more time to find a girlfriend (because that’s something I would never be) and he only had the weekend and didn’t want to have to juggle me with another woman. I was silent. I am not silent; I can talk about anything. I didn’t want to be there; I wanted the bed to swallow me whole. Perfect Baggage was actually concerned with my silence. I stopped his shitty words spewing from his mouth to shower, dress, and leave. As we normally did when I left, he tried to hug me. I took a step back, gave him a shake of my head I was too done. He told me if he had time he would text me to “just” hang out. I wasn’t dumb; I expected nothing after the first week of silence from him.

I went into depression. So. Much. Depression. I am a cheery person by nature and even people at work noticed the change (and not the hormone ones.) I would say I was tired and needed a break (it made sense for the place I worked at at that time.) I tried sex with someone else in the hopes that I could replace him; who could replace Perfect Baggage? Someone super special, that’s for sure.

I have no lessons learned. Just always look for signs and guard your vagina’s feelings. Catherine the Great, my vagina btw, learnt her lesson about liking a penis too much. I was nothing but a wet hole for him; I didn’t even earn a proper/decent goodbye fuck.

Depressingly Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina

Country Creepers and City Vaginas Don’t Mix

As a craigslist poster/resident creeper, I tend to look over the postings in the M4W casual encounter section, as well as the relationship ones (especially once I realized that there were people looking for friends with benefits there.) There are sometimes gems, sometimes three sentences forced into one long run on. You notice people that post repeatedly. Not just once a week or a day, but MULTIPLE times a day. I’ve seen a few people who’ve posted at one point in time reply to mine. I might have responded but they didn’t have the decency to use a new picture and description of themselves, being different than their post. Or better yet, just link their ad in their response. One of the weekly/daily posting guys responded to my ad; I decided why not give him a chance? Obviously, this is going to be a bad situation.

Country Creeper sent these fairly awkward pictures of himself nude, camera below him so you could see it and his face. It reminded me of a gay web cam show. I responded back to him and sent my standard two non-nude pictures. I apparently was supposed to be in awe of his fantastic penis; he responded wanting to know what I thought and didn’t like my broad description of “very nice. I like.” I should have known something was off when he was super eager to text and then immediately talk on the phone. I got the bad vibe from him and kept blowing him off. We messaged on Skype a few times and he wanted to have “fun times” together that way. I can barely be all stripper or burlesque dancer with a man in the room or even by myself. What makes anyone think I would enjoy doing that on cam?

I used work as an excuse as to why I couldn’t see him a few times and went MIA; I am pretty sure I went to see Perfect Baggage or even someone else. He stopped texting me for a few weeks and then one day, BOOM! Country Creeper was blowing up my phone with his terrible text to speech texts that never made any sense. I think I would respond 2/3 of the time with a, huh? What? You like to duck vaginas with chalk? Well, one night on Skype he let his ulterior motives flow; he had a long distance fiance in another country, that he had never met, and they had an open relationship. I was apparently going to fill that void. At first I was skeptical of this mysterious woman; catfish, yo…Catfish.

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But then I realized, he would have no emotional connection with me. I was ok with that. He originally wanted us to fuck so that she could see…no. I apparently drove a hard bargain.

When we finally decided to meet up, he kept on insisting I should leave my car first at my place, then at a handy dandy wal mart, so he could drive me to his little farm thing in his truck. Yeah…I’ve seen enough scary movies to say fuck that shit. Country Creeper lived on some land that he was turning into a small produce farm. The land and double wide were his parent’s; he just worked the land. He used to be a DJ, but he angered the wrong people because he can’t keep his mouth shut. Yeah…he doesn’t know when to shut up, that’s for sure.

His home was just…there was a hole in the drywall, certain parts smelt terrible, and the dishes were over flowing. It was gross. He lead me into his FATHER’S room, because his didn’t have a working toilet or a tv to watch Netflix…and legit crap EVERYWHERE. The bed was tiny and just…ugh. Why did I stay? I still cringe over this experience…and trust me, it only gets worse. Country Creeper was tall, gangly, had terribly drawn and in poor taste tattoos, blonde hair, and smoked both pot and cigarettes. His hands were dirty and if I knew then what I know now, I would have left.

I was there for a long time. I will give credit where credit is due; he gave me oral and expected nothing in return. His dick was actually decently sized; when he fucked me doggy it actually hurt a bit. During our many boring-to-me conversations, he told me he loved looking in his partner’s eyes during sex. I politely told him I don’t like to; personal preference there. Because he liked it, I tried my best to do it…then he commented on the fact that I did it and had these beautiful eyes. Thanks I guess? Should just tell my genes I’m awesome. He also liked fucking with too many lights. I hate that. Country Creeper also kept bringing up anal, but, no lube means no.

He had Weeds running in the background the whole time; I’ve never seen an episode so I was just like, yay background noise. Before the last time he fucked me, he asked me if anyone had ever rimmed me. I had to think about it and said no. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so gloriously dirty; I also didn’t kiss him after that. As he was fucking me that last time something glorious for me happened; period! Thank. God. It was my excuse to leave. I mean, being like, sorry…I need a tampon and you don’t have one, works in your favor.

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As I was leaving, very quickly I might add, he started quoting Magic Mike. At this point in my life, I hadn’t seen it and was gave him the silent stare. He was trying too hard. Stop making a second time happen, it’s not going to happen.

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Normally, my story with baddies stops there. On the contrary! This man did not know I had a partner, I didn’t think he needed to know that. I wish I had told him. He wouldn’t stop texting me the next day and kept asking when he could call me. I finally made time in the evening to talk to him. In a short, less awkward story than what actually happened: he dumped his fiance on Skype, watched her cry, and wanted to date me because I’m there. I was silent. Who does that without making sure the person you want to dump the “love of your life” for feels the same. I was silent. Dead silent. I told him I couldn’t do it and I was sorry. He started crying on the phone as if it was my fault I made him break up with his Canadian fiance that he can’t visit for soooo many reasons (she can’t travel and he can’t get a passport.)

A day later he texted me telling me he repaired his relationship and she took him back. I was genuinely happy that happened for him, however, the remaining part of that four message long text focused on how we could STILL be fuck buddies, but nothing more and no kissing. I told him hell fucking no. He tried persistently for awhile and I wanted nothing to do with him. I can say this was the WORST experience ever from craigslist (so far at least.)

Lessons learned: don’t sleep with creepy people from the country that ask you if their cock looks good. If a guy needs reassurance from a pic, he wants it before, during and after sex too.

Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina