You Might Be Hot, But I Liked the Dogs More

After an already pretty productive week (I had already seen West Point, Fickle Daddy, and Mr Fantastic this week), I was still sexually wanting. My insatiable sex drive needed more of something; more variety, more penis, or more orgasms–just more. This is where House Sitter comes in.

I matched with House Sitter on Tinder and for over a week he would ask me to meet up or come over to the house he was at. These requests would be during the day, right after work, or my favorite time–2am. I am obviously not a huge fan of booty calls, mostly because I am passed out by then and that bed is real comfortable after 10:30 at night. But I digress…When I matched with House Sitter (HS), his pictures made him look about a hard 8, and with his age of 22 I was hesitant if this was going to be a good choice or if I was going to get a “show me ur tits” within 3 messages. What can I say, past experiences can leave a girl leery. HS was very upfront about wanting to meet for what one could only hope and pray was not disappointing sex. Within just a few messages, House Sitter asked for my number so he could share pictures of himself, and that’s when I became the receiver of a beautiful dick pic. When I say beautiful, I mean it looked like it would make Catherine happier than a fat kid on dessert day. With his first invite, House Sitter enticed me with promises of massages. This was incredibly enticing, especially when I know I have the worst back ever. However, life and sleep got in the way.

Meeting up with HS was easier sad than done; I matched with him the Monday and he got straight to the point. I saw Fickle Daddy and Mr Fantastic that following Tuesday and didn’t really need to see three guys in one day, especially since I already had an orgasm with Mr Fantastic. I drug my feet on seeing him in person; this tends to happen when you’re busy with life and already have someone to help with most of your sexual needs. I eventually had free time to see House Sitter on Wednesday afternoon. Before getting ready to head over, I asked him if he had condoms; he did not have any, so I instructed him to go get some (I’m not a condom delivery service.)
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He lived about 20-25 minutes from me, so I figured that plus my lazy way of getting everything together before leaving would be enough time for him to literally drive across the street to get a box of condoms. Boy, was I wrong. When I arrived at this fancy house on a golf course, I was greeted by a shiny and new sports car in the driveway (possibly his since there were clothes in the car and looked like a 2nd year senior’s car), House Sitter, and a great dane sized dog at the door. I was in love–that dog was the sweetest and gave the best big dog kisses ever! There was even a second big dog with which to give my all my love to.  Yet, all I could focus on were the two dogs in the room, not the pretty damn hot younger gentleman that opened the door for me with a toothbrush in his mouth.

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Just House Sitter and his dog

House Sitter was around my height (5’9), dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fit frame. To say he looked like the well tipped bartender of a college town is an understatement. He quickly informed me that he had not gone to buy condoms. I think my expression went from, I LOVE DOGS, to, the fuck is wrong with you, bitch?, real quick. We don’t do sans condoms with a guy that looks like that, ever. That is chlamydia real quick, and I’ve had that enough in my life. I responded to his failure by saying “Well we should go buy those before we start taking any clothes off.” He offered to drive to the store, and I was ready to go. That shiny sports car was made for tiny people with tiny legs. I am tall with big thighs–I did not enjoy the clown car ride to the local pharmacy store to get condoms. Once there, he left me in his car to go procure anti-STD protection. I then texted my safe buddy to let them know where I was and that I could over power HS if needed. When HS returned to the car, he decided to not only flash me the condoms he bought, but also that they had this “fancy” sex oil. He bought the Trojan massage oil; I don’t know how that’s fancy, but it was to him.

Once back to the house, he directed me to the side bedroom he was staying in, away from the adorable dogs sadly. He turned on a side table lamp while I noticed he had thrown a sheet on top of the bed, which he said was because of the dog hair. Immediately House Sitter started to get undressed and asked if I wanted that massage. I quickly responded and said yes and asked how far I had to be undressed for this as he stood in front of me in his boxer briefs. He didn’t respond, so I just stripped down to the panties I had on and laid face down on the bed. HS walked over to where I was on the bed and straddled me with no warning as he poured what felt like half the bottle of oil on my back.

Cold. The oil was so cold and it hit my only ticklish spot–my spine. I flinched and bucked up into him something fierce. He told me to calm down. Don’t tell a woman to calm down when you have her basically pinned down in a strange house with cold liquid running down her back. I assumed the dogs may have saved me in the end, they knew I was their kind. After massaging my back he pulled my panties off not with his hands, not with his feet, no HS went all porn style by removing them with his teeth. How could I tell? He would move them down, kiss me, remove from another side, kiss, and repeat until they were at my knees. While this sounds like it’s leading up to some slippery sex, it led to a lot of massaging of my ass.
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Pushing my cheeks together, spreading them, pushing up, pushing down–it was a nice muscle massage if I needed that.

House Sitter was so quick to put on the condom that if I hadn’t seen it afterwards I would have thought he didn’t use one. He wasn’t into kissing and didn’t want me on my knees for doggy, just laying on the bed so he could fuck me that way. Why didn’t he want me in a better position? Probably so he could fuck me between my actual ass cheeks. I didn’t know if I should tell him that that’s not how sex works, but I just laid there. Eventually he entered inside me; his cock was decent sized, but I couldn’t feel it that well from the angle he used to fuck me. I tried to push my ass up into him as much as possible, but it just wasn’t as exciting as I wished. It didn’t take him that long to change positions; he had me roll over onto my back so he could play with my boobs while on top. Not too long after, he came, rolling off of me and getting up to get a towel for me. I asked if we could cuddle, to which he shrugged it as a yes.

House Sitter was not a fabulous cuddle companion, but at least I got some cuddles before trying to turn him on again. Because I didn’t give him head before the first time, I didn’t notice that he literally dunked his crotch in cologne. The smell of men, in forests, and their big beards was really strong on his trimmed pubes. His cock didn’t make me gag, but the smell did. Unlike other men, I wasn’t down there as long as I would have normally been. The second time was not as long as the first round, but at least I got to feel all of his cock this time around.

Once done, he said he was going to take a shower and I said I would clean up and put clothes on. When he came out of the shower (which was a drug out shower, honestly), he was overly surprised to see me still slowly getting ready. My bad, I had to check my phone and respond to work e-mails. I apologized and said I would be leaving shortly. I grabbed my things, kissed all over the dogs, and went on my merry way.

House Sitter reached out to me a few more times before he went back to school/work/wherever he came from. While I enjoyed it enough, he wasn’t really something more than a one night to me. I was also in Houston pretending to enjoy the company of someone with a tiny penis and a horrible alpha male personality.

Lesson Learned: If your gut ever feels weird, it’s probably going to be weird. Also, dogs make or break things, and if he was staying around and they were his, I would have been around 24/7.

Sincerely,

The Daring Vagina

When You Have Coitus with a Friend…

Sex with a friend is always better than with a random hook up from the bars in Vegas.

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Who doesn't want to know if his penis could just stretch and that's why Sue stayed around?

Granted, I met Mr. Fantastic through Tinder, but I felt an instant connection with him. It didn’t take long after matching that we went to texting. I was smitten with his personality, the thirst was real with his body, and I was weak in the knees when it came to his skills in bed. 

When I matched with Mr. Fantastic, it was the Monday before New Year’s. He lives in another city, but had been staying in my city to recover from a basketball injury that resulted in him being on crutches. What can I say, I love a logistical challenge in the bedroom. His demeanor while texting was like a breath of fresh air; but I know from past experiences that men will say and do whatever to have heir penis in a mouth. Mr. Fantastic was an educated professional that was well versed in almost every topic we started. He was in his early 30s, divorced, and completely ok with my situation and even encouraged me to wear my rings when we were together. Not too many of my bed buddies encouraged that, let alone were ok with it. He was maybe a tad taller than me, brown curly hair that I overly enjoyed, brown eyes, soft lips, glasses that he removed before sex, and olive colored skin.

When I invited Mr. Fantastic over a day after meeting him, it didn’t take long for us to not only get intimate in the bedroom, but we felt really at ease with each other. We laid on my bed because my couch is literally a hell hole of discomfort. It didn’t take long before I pulled him, messed up knee and all, to be partially on me as we made out; his hands gripping my curves, and his lips caressing mine. While most people in extreme make-out mode can strip clothes away without thinking about the logistics, we couldn’t. It took Mr. Fantastic quite some time to undress; he had his knee brace and about 15 layers of clothes on. He took multiple layers off at a time while I was in socks, leggings, an adorable bra, tank, and a button up shirt. Mr. Fantastic quickly noticed that I was lacking panties and was thoroughly impressed. 

Because of his bum knee, he couldn’t do everything he wanted to do without assistance. Cue the assist award presented to The Daring Vagi

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I've always wanted an award for my sex skills!

na!

After giving Mr. Fantastic oral, he really wanted to go down on me. But because of his knee, he couldn’t really get situated on my bed without putting unwanted pressure on his knee. I carried a chair from my dinning room table to the foot of the bed so Mr. Fantastic could sit in the chair while I brought my hips up to him. While this sounds like the greatest idea ever, have you guys met/read about me? I am not graceful. period. I kept feeling like my ass was going to fall off the bed (I was sitting on the corner edge of the mattress) and my whole attention was focused on not falling, making it almost impossible to relax enough to enjo

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This was going to be me, but naked, younger, and with more frantic arm waves

y it.

After a few moments, he asked me where my vibrator was. I pointed behind me to the bedside table. Mr. Fantastic told me to go get it. I awkwardly got off the bed (we’re talking some fancy moves that almost landed me face first on the ground), and retrieved my toy, only to need to position my vagina on a silver platter again. It honestly didn’t take long (in Daring Vagina time) for me to cum. I came with my vibrator on my clit and his mouth buried in Catherine. I laid there pretty motionless; my legs were jelly and I barely made it out of that position without collapsing on the floor.

Mr. Fantastic brought condoms with him, like a normal person, and also coconut oil. I had no idea men put lube on before a condom. Maybe this is a phase I was never introduced to, but it definitely did the trick for him. Because of his knee, there weren’t too many positions to choose from. However, my favorite was him standing with crutches while I either laid over the bed, or on top of the bed. Fucking Mr. Fantastic with him calling my name out in a passion filled voice was more than enough to send goosebumps over my body. After cumming, he not only cuddled with me, but he didn’t take long to recharge his battery. He came twice in me, and once in my mouth while I came twice overall. An afternoon of not only fucking but fun pillow talk was an afternoon well spent.

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We planned, because he has not only physical therapy but a more time consuming job, our next encounter to be the following Tuesday. Aka, the same day I got a message to see Fickle Daddy. I honestly had maybe 45 minutes between them. I cleaned myself enough and even used my reusable douche to make sure I was perfect. As I was brushing my teeth, he let me know he was there. Before we even got undressed or made out, I already brought the chair into the bedroom for him to use (I’m a planner.) I asked how his week and his new year’s eve was, and that’s when he told me a woman forced a blow job on him. Being me, and knowing about blow jobs, you can’t force a man into one, let alone make him cum, without him wanting it. While I had nowhere to judge him having sex with someone else, I didn’t confess to West Point or Fickle Daddy being around, especially how I just had a penis in me right before he came over. It took me all of 5 minutes once I was with Mr. Fantastic to not concern myself with anything other than him. He is really good with his hands.

To his credit, he’s wonderful in bed; his penis isn’t the thickness I necessarily want, but his length was great for my deep throat skills. Making out with Mr. Fantastic was b, indeed, fantastic. He cupped my breasts, grabbed my hips, and when I was topless he was all over my breasts and nipples. Sadly, he wasn’t able to spend as much time with me like before, so the pre chatter was short. Like the first time, he wanted to eat me out again, but I stopped him before I came so he could fuck me. I’ve learned from my own experiences that asking/begging a man to fuck you or cum for you will result in that happening. That doesn’t happen when you ask for them to bring their own condoms 75% of the time. But of course, he was prepared like a boy scout–red condoms and coconut oil. We both came twice, and I was all over how much I enjoyed fucking him that I told myself I’d be better at dropping hints that I fucked someone recently, or literally right before he came over.

I definitely saw Mr. Fantastic again. Multiple times in January to be exact, and in February.

Lessons learned: men in their 30s are gradually becoming my new favorites; they know that you need to give to receive, and they don’t ask dumb questions about my situation. If you want someone to assume that you’re looking outside of your relationship because your “bf has a small dick,” just tell almost any 20 something you’re looking for a fuck buddy.

Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina

West Point and a Strip Club

As I talked about in my last post, 2016 is off to a bang. Granted, I was an hour into sleep when the clock struck midnight, but I was gearing up for girl’s night.

On January 1, while everyone was recovering from their hangovers, I was chatting up a 19 year old at 8am. As I mentioned before, I started telling everyone that I am not only attached, but married. West Point (WP) wanted a reason to dislike my husband; he asked if he was a drug dealer, abusive (mentally and/or physically), or anything that would make him my savior.

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We don't all need saving.

I nicely told him I didn’t need a knight in shining armor, but if he wanted to perceive me as a damsel in distress because that makes me more attractive..go for it.

I had planned a girl’s night with friends I play and officiate sports with–three of the best ladies a gal could talk to. During our first round of drinks, we caught each other up with our lives. By round three, I was asked for an explanation of why I say my oral skills are the best. I have never seen such excited and intrigued faces from my obviously scientific instructions. Maybe I’m the only one that’s actually googled “what makes most men happy during a blow job?” because they never thought to spend a fair amount of time with the head or licking the underside of the cock, or acknowledging that there are indeed balls. So, after failed hand motions, I drew a diagram that one of my girlfriends took with her for “research.”

While finishing up drinks at our first stop, I asked if I could invite WP to the next bar. They encouraged it–they were impressed with my game and skill, and wanted to meet my type of side man. The fact that I have a 19 year old wanting to meet up with me was just icing on the cake. WP showed up an hour into drinking, and when he saw me, he literally picked me and my fat self up in a bear hug. This 6’4 tall, blonde haired, green eyes behind glasses child would not take his hand off my thigh.

For whatever reason, one of the women in our party decided the idea of going to the strip club at 1:30 was a good idea.

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Why yes, I would like to go!

I was like, sold!, let’s go West Point! I led him to my car where he decided to recreate the famous scene after the end of WWII; he held my lower back as he dipped me back and kissed me. After he put me back on my feet, I told him to get in the car so he can have a female entourage at the strip club, because I’m not one to encourage making out in super cold outdoor weather. Once at the strip club, WP had the time of his life. Collectively, my girlfriends and I decided that this had to be the time of his life; we tipped a dancer for a dance for him, and he was in heaven. By the time they kicked us out, my three friends decided to go home, and WP and I were debating over a hotel. With my frugal mind, I decided to just park my car in a lot near the strip club. We talked a bit before I made a move on him; I pulled him to my driver seat to be on top of me as I put one of his hands under my shirt.

West Point was not thoroughly experienced, he admitted he hadn’t had luck on tinder, but he had been with someone. When I finally went to give him head, even though he made the noises I’m accustomed to, he was nowhere near an actual orgasm. His penis was average; 5 inches and average girth. Nothing exciting, but it wasn’t going to feel like nothing. My jaw finally hurt from giving head, and so I stopped. WP leaned over me again and undid my pants to put his hand down my panties, searching for my clit. I had to push his hand away a couple times before finally telling him that I wanted to fuck him. I adjusted his seat and rode him until he came.

After I got him and I cleaned up as best I could, West Point wanted to have a connection. Meaningful conversation. I know that feeling, and I completely agreed. I told him everything he wanted to know and then some; what I did for work, my favorite concert, what I bet on, and other random things. The windows of my car were fogged up beyond belief, and I sat there drawing on the windows as he let me ramble on. I took WP back to his car where he kissed me again in an almost dramatic way. I told him to tell me when he got home, which would be over an hour from then.

Now, I said I would be safe. I sadly fucked up in this instance. I didn’t have a condom and he didn’t bring one. While I immediately was tested the next available day for stds (totally clean), I want to point out the flaw in what happened. When he was close to finishing, he wanted me to stop because he was scared he’d get me pregnant. Firstly, I’m on bad ass birth control, and secondly, the pull out method is not any sort of sure fire way of pregnancy prevention.

Lesson learned: Just have back up condoms. Always.

Sincerely,

The Daring Vagina

New Year, New Vagina?

Just a note to my readers: I am skipping ahead to now.

With 2016 only a little over two weeks in, I must confess that not only have I been busy in the bedroom, but I’ve turned a new leaf. It wasn’t that the minute it was 12:01am January 1, 2016 I decided to bring on a new me, it was back in November when I was left in Vegas for four nights by myself. Trust me, it’s blog worthy, but I’m so far behind that I’ll get there by 2020.
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Just telling someone I want only a fuck buddy wasn’t working for me when I say I can never host; I had stopped using tinder since I got married (shocking, I know), and craigslist is full of total failure when you’re honest that you’re married or taken (because you get flagged as spam in a hot minute, and those replies are just…bad.) After some strategy talks with my vagina, I decided that I needed that tinder again. Before I went to Vegas, I made an account on there that explicitly said that I wasn’t looking for my next ex-husband, along with other fun statements.

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My masterpiece of a tinder account

When I returned home–vagina happily used–I turned off the ability for people to discover me. I then traveled for thanksgiving, used that account, made some fun friends, then turned off discovery once I traveled home. I did this a couple more times before Christmas. However, the weekend before Christmas I had an epiphany after a failed fuck buddy meeting: why would I not make a fake Facebook account and go on tinder and just be honest about my situation? I made the most honest profile I could, added pictures of myself with only half my face, because my eyes are a dead giveaway, and picked a fake name.

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Can I be your buddy?

It didn’t take long before I had 100 matches. I had a couple of people ask me why I would cheat. I tried to explain that it isn’t cheating when they know and support you as long as you’re being safe, or how they couldn’t grasp why anyone could be asexual or would want to be with an asexual. Dear readers, no relationship is perfect, and no two relationships are identical. I prefer to be with someone that lets me have variety in the bedroom while also being my designated driver. If the only thing I can complain about is that I have to get physically off from other men, I think I’m doing ok. At least I’m honest, unlike over half the profiles I saw. When someone that doesn’t want a hook up matches with me and messages me, we all know what they’re about.

The first match I actually met with was fairly normal in person. I did warn him that I was finishing my period (I swear I’m the horniest when my uterus is pissed I didn’t make a baby), and he didn’t take me up on a blow job. Sadness. Then, Christmas happened and he went to visit his family, causing us not to have any sort of sexual fun times. He came back, was sick, and then fell off the face of the planet. Then I received this:

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How about no.

How about, no. Just a swing and a miss.

Granted, in that time period I slept with other men. Some deserving, some not so much, but overall they were better than I imagined them to be. Since January 1 I have magically had 5 penises hang out with Catherine, and I’ve taught my skills to other women. I’ve been passing on the torch in a sense.

The first lucky man of 2016 to have slept with me honestly had the night of his life leading up to sex with me. West Point is 19, tall, blonde hair with beautiful eyes, inexperienced like no one’s business, obviously he attends West Point, and drove an hour to meet up with me and my girlfriends for a night of drinking. For the first time in a long time, I got to wear my rings while with someone, and that is a remarkable achievement for me.

Until I write about West Point…which I did! Surprised, I’m sure.

Sincerely,

The Daring Vagina

Just Because You’re the “Cool One” to Your Friends…

…It doesn’t mean you can lack hygiene, social skills, and wear a fedora on a date. These are the unacceptable things that Poor Hygiene had in store for me during my fun weekend.

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Just Poor Hygiene being him

As with everyone that weekend, I met Poor Hygiene (PH) on tinder. We chatted it up, and after losing and getting my internet back, having a guy walk out on me, my “oh shit this is bad” sensors were a bit lower than normal. Instead of a normal hook up where we just meet at someone’s house, PH wanted to go on an actual date. You know, where you hangout and talk about things you may or may not have in common. Where was this date going to commence at?

Fucking mini golf.

Not just any mini golf. This place was indoors with backlights. I didn’t know this, so when I walked inside the place, I was super bright. Thanks off white top. I texted Poor Hygiene to let him know I was there. That’s when I saw him in his average self: PH was my height (5’8 or so), some extra weight (not fluffy, but not skinny…so dad bod), brown hair that needed attention, about 23, and brown eyes. He was wearing jeans and a button up plaid shirt. Again, average beyond average.

When we went inside, I was greeted by no one being there. At least there were no witnesses to this. I casually knew, and also forgot, that it was the basketball playoffs, and I lived in a basketball city. PH didn’t buy, nor offer to buy, my admission. Not a deal breaker, just not gentleman like.

When we did play, he was a pompous ass. Some of my favorite phrases from him:
“I can get a hole in one;” nine strokes later, his ball went in.
“Oh, you need to hit like me to do better,” even though I was doing just fine.
I’m pretty confident in my life and mini golf skills, but this date topped the cake. Again, if I wasn’t having such low self esteem, I would have just left and had no story to tell. 

When we did talk, he was more self absorbed than a drunk sorority girl. “I’m so well known at cons by my cowboy hate;” I just rolled my eyes to his back. “I convinced this super important ‘My Little Ponies’ guy to come, so I get special treatment;” and again, that’s cool if I enjoyed that fandom. But I don’t. Every time I tried to chime in, I was shut down by him bragging about himself. Also, he happily admitted to being a Brony. At this time in my life, I had no idea what a Brony was, or why I should have ran. But, this is a Brony:

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Men that love My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic a tad too much

He then let me know he took friends as furries to play mini golf there the weekend before.

He was also a furry. I may have fucked a furry who wasn’t in his furry attire. Let me just reiterate that I was in a bad place.

Author’s note: a furry is someone that is interested in fictional anthropomorphic animal characters with human personalities and characteristics. So, they dress up as animals.

When we were near each other, I kept smelling something off. At first, I thought it was the actual place. But I started noticing it more right after he talked. I didn’t think anything of it until he kissed me out if the blue. That taste lingered on my poor lips from the assault of his tongue. I don’t think my face could hide my disgust from him, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

Once we finished this not completely terrible golf date, PH asked if I would like to grab a drink. I thought he meant alcohol. Nope, he meant overpriced coffee. I followed Poor Hygiene to a Starbucks where we talked more. I mentioned I should leave to go watch Game of Thrones with my cat. Before I could bolt out of there, he invited himself to come watch with me. I told him I didn’t have real furniture and my place was a mess. PH didn’t care; he decided to follow me back to my place.

We awkwardly watched Game of Thrones on my bed. No touching because you don’t fuck with GoT. After it was over, Poor Hygiene went in for a kiss again. I casually dodged that kiss. This is when he mumbled into my ear something along the line that “this is why I always have condoms.” I felt Catherine dry up a tad to that comment, which left me feeling numb. Before I could react appropriately, he started undressing me and himself. I lounged on my bed as he finished taking off his ten layers of clothes (not appropriate for summer, by the way); when he leant forward to kiss me, I dodged his lips again. To continue the dodging of bad breath, I moved down his body to his cock. It was nothing to write home about. Just like him, it was average, even a tad thinner in girth than average.

It didn’t take long before my mouth was too much for him. PH not only moaned, but gave commentary over how it felt. This wasn’t just, oh that feels great, it was more along the lines of, oh I love how the tip of your tongue touched the right underside of my cock near my balls. It was everything I could do to not laugh. Let’s be honest, I love being told I’m doing well, but his additional remarks made me laugh. A lot. When he was close, he literally tapped my head to stop. PH said it was his turn; I was excited because maybe he’d be great at oral. I laid back on the pillows and waited, and then I felt fingers. Fumbling around fingers that were hitting nothing important. I sighed, rolled my eyes, and forced a smile before asking him if he’d like to fuck me.

That was a long three minutes. He didn’t want to do doggy, he didn’t want me on top, he only wanted missionary. That was painstakingly awful. I immediately showered and dressed, hoping he’d get the hint. He did. Once he left I sat on my bed and contemplated my life decisions. They weren’t that great.

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Outlook after this incident

Two days later, Poor Hygiene texted me to let me know he was sick with strep and I should get checked. My response to him was just “okie dokie.” That’s it; that was going to be our last encounter. However, the fates hate me. I went to a convention a few months later and saw him. In his oversized cowboy hat and Brony shirt, leading a group of people to celebrity autographs. So he was a volunteer. Almost a year later I saw him again, this time I was working a booth for work and he saw me and tried so hard to run by. By this time in my life, I finally was more sad for him that he was just so bad in bed. And that he was wearing a fedora.

Lesson learned: when someone admits to being a brony, wearing a fedora, or being a furry, just run. Run away.

Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina

The Modern Boy

I’ve gone through the age spectrum in bed; just because you’re older doesn’t mean you are filled with experience. Young doesn’t mean you have to be taught what sex is. Same goes for looks; most men (and women) that know they’re hot really aren’t that good in bed because they don’t have to be that great. Moral: don’t judge a book by its cover. When it came to The Kid, I was pleasantly surprised–no, he wasn’t some 18 year old troll. I just wanted to have more to draw on than just his age with the book comparison.

Anyways, back to the weekend of stories.

8am came, so did the cable guy. Biggest victory of the weekend! I could watch the World Cup and watch all my bets falter (damn whores, fuck you Asian teams), but I could drink with my cat at 10am! So much success! I was obviously playing on Tinder, swiping all the directions, and making small talk with most of the matches, or waiting for them to reply. Needing and wanting a different group of male specimen, I changed my preferences to include 19-35 and upped the distance. I matched with a lot (more like a ton) of underage drinking boys that still only showed pictures from prom. Prom. I just, I don’t know what I was thinking when I swiped right on most of them. By this time, Tinder had introduced “Moments” to their feature. This allowed you to see how outdated many of these kids pictures were, or how little they cared about their facial hygiene/looks since those pictures were taken. They didn’t start off with real conversations, more like terrible pick up lines they heard from Tosh.0.

The Kid was different.

We had an actual conversation, which happened way less than normal for me (my profile did say I wanted a fwb, but I guess most men think that really means one night stands and wanted to get straight to the point.) Maybe I had been giving college kids a bad wrap up until then? Needless to say, The Kid wasn’t the average Tinder hook up personality wise; he used complete sentences, had ideas, talked about more than sex, and when we did talk about sex it wasn’t weird. So when I had the place to myself, I had no problem asking him to come over.

I’d asked The Kid his physical stats (since Tinder can’t clarify that with pictures (unless you’re real cool with a mug shot), and I’m fairly tall for my city) so I kinda knew what I was expecting when he showed up at my doorstep. The Kid was tall, white, dark blonde/light brown hair, and an average body. For someone that played golf in college, he wasn’t as athletic as I thought, but he wasn’t a defensive lineman either (so that’s something.)

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I kinda wish it was Jordan Spieth if we're being honest (it is Monday)

The Kid was quiet. Not awkwardly quiet, but he had no problem with silence. The silence worked for me when we were just sitting back on the bed in the bedroom. He just lounged next to me on the bed, lights off with the tv on. Making the first move is always weird, and it was pretty damn weird with him. The foreplay was nonexistent; I gave him head, he slightly touched my vagina and commented on how I was wet. That was obviously a news flash to me; 900% sure I told him I get really wet,very easily. Getting to the application of a condom was also awkward.

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How I felt, without the pre-sex snuggling

While being with The Kid felt normal, sex felt…timid and shy. At least the first time.

Sex was quiet; he didn’t make any real noises and he didn’t cause me to. We had a couple rounds that night, and it was just mediocre sex with small breaks between; nothing fancy to cause me to write home about. His penis was average, in length and girth, and none of my fantasies or fetishes happened. It was just sex. No vibrator (I didn’t want to scare him off, though little did I know he would have been fine with it.) The thing to document is how we did sleep together a couple other times later on, and how I totally developed feelings for him. I’ve since learned from that experience and I’m better at being able to compartmentalize my likes and lustful feelings. If he wasn’t so nice to me outside of sex (I did make him cuddle with me, like I do almost every guy, and he wasn’t that annoyed by it), I probably wouldn’t have seen him again.

But hey, college athlete is ticked off the sucket list!

So once he said he couldn’t cum anymore, The Kid cleaned up, got dressed, and left. I’ll be honest, I wished he had stayed the night so I didn’t sleep alone again, but I was actually ok since I had my cable. Oh tv, how I love you!

Lesson learned: don’t judge a book by its cover, or you’ll be disappointed you did because you either missed out or over hyped yourself. And don’t develop feelings, you damn vagina.

Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina

Putting the Friend in Friends With Benefits

After that awkward sex Thursday night and a horrible day Friday, I was looking forward to meeting and having drinks with The Runner.

Who is The Runner? Only the coolest man I’ve ever met off Craigslist. 
Spoiler alert: there was no sex, sorry I can’t help you get off this time.

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Ain't that the truth, home girl!

Remember when I posted that fucking fabulous post on the list of Craig that brought me Barry Allen? The Runner came from there, along with The Joker. The Runner wanted to meet up first before any sort of sex, so we made a date before this 10k I had on that Friday night and we talked. And talked. And laughed. And didn’t even kiss. Honestly, if we didn’t fuck a month later, he’d be glossed over. However, it’s a year later and we’ve hung out more times as friends than we’ve ever used condoms. Runner and I made FWB work and transition into friends, amazingly enough.

I drank a bottle of wine while he finished the 6 random beers I had left in my fridge. The Runner is about 6’2, 6 pack abs, multiple times divorced with children from a few of those marriages, masters in English literature, black hair, an infectious laugh/smile, and while I never knew nor want to know his age, he completed his master’s degree in 94. And his eldest is 14. Just gonna go with older than my norm, but when he replied he said marathon runner and I was on that like white on rice. His humor was on point with mine; sarcastic, witty, and overall sweet–if he was a ginger he’d be my kryptonite.

He either completely understood or didn’t understand my situation. To that miscommunication I feel guilty about; he met my fiancee a few months later and I introduced him as “my man friend,” which I know my fiancee didn’t catch and The Runner didn’t have the slightest idea. While I promise to talk more about The Runner, I wanted to introduce him because he honestly is the single greatest person to come out of craigslist. When you think of the men before (especially Tony Stark and Perfect Baggage), I’ve had men fall asleep on me, pass my information on to buddies (that also get crazy as fuck baby mamas), and men that can’t portray themselves correctly (height, 20+ year old pictures, etc.) The Runner is a fantastic man, and supports my toy addiction. Granted, we never used them, and I faked orgasms with him, but he had the stamina and needy behavior to match me in bed.

RIP to the future end of an amazing sex parter, but the beginning of a fabulous friendship (running advice included!)

So, back to the story and not dragging on about my feelings.

After I downed my bottle of wine in a 90 minute time frame, The Runner was barely buzzed and after about another two hours of talking, he left me to have dinner with his parents while I was left to get dressed for the absolute worst race of my life up to that moment. I ran my horribly hot, humid, muggy, gross 10k in the Texas heat (cutting about .25 off since I knew the trails way too well), and texted The Runner to tell him how terrible it was. I figured he would be done by then, but I also knew from out weeks of texting that he was an early to bed, early to run man so I waited for a response. Nothing. For days. Actually, about 10 days. When he finally came around, he told me a very believable and accurate story of how a woman he wanted to see full time (which I can and will never offer) popped back into his life. I was thrilled to see him and to see how awesome his runner’s stamina really was.

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I also hope this is true. Every damn time I see this sign

After my race, I had the come in and leave me after two minutes man. I went to bed. Alone. With no cable. I guess a girl can get used to cuddles from the cat that dislikes you.

Lesson learned: bitch, I ain’t got none.

Sincerely,
The Daring Vagina