One of the Boys
This whole 3 months forced chastity thing my friends have me on has made me think. I mean, I'm not going to be a prude or anything after the 91 days, 7 hours and 52 minutes are up, but maybe I should be a little more selective about who I have sex with. Maybe. I've started to really understand that some of the men I have been with are not so nice. Like at my job, for example. I was sleeping with the head bartender Jim for a bit, and during that time I thought it was fun, but I don't think he respects me that much. I was chatting with one of the barbacks at my place who's also Jim's friend, and he says to me, "We like you Sara- You're just one of the guys." Really, Ryan? Because seeing as how I fucked your friend and made out with you once I guess that makes you both gay. Oh, boys.
I had a really nice time with the girls yesterday. We hung out at Bonnie's and she made us this awesome chocolate velvet cake, and we just sat around and talked. Jean jokingly called it "Cake Break" (she loves it when words rhyme) and Bonnie was so enamored with the idea that she suggested we do it once a week. What? When did my best friend become Martha Stewart? It's a bad thing. I think it's ridiculous but the girls have been riding my butt about how I need to learn how to accept "female companionship" better. I reminded Bonnie about how in High School she once dabbled in female companionship of a different nature and she got a little pissed. Sophie loves the idea and next week is bringing a vegan cake. Remind me to stash away a bag of Ho Ho's.
Big news, Bloggie- Stewart, my friend from San Francisco, just moved to New York to start up this Arts Review website and he wants me to freelance on a few articles! I guess that means I go to events and write about them but I know it means extra money. The girls are convinced good things are happening to me because of my forced celibacy. Well that sounds kind of Catholic. Didn't they tell you in church that bad things will happen if you have sex? Now I'm paranoid. Maybe there is a god and this is his way of telling me I should be a nun.
If I were a nun, I'd be the modern, untinentionally sexy-nun. You know, the young, rosy cheeked ones that wear a conservative long sleeve button down shirt with the buttons carelessly undone to the base of the cleavage, unaware that a shy mound of bosom is peeking out...shirt tucked in, tight, so as to reveal a slim waist complimenting a dashing A-line skirt right down to the tops of the knees; slightly scandalous yet respectful of the lord. And when I get down on my knees to pray I will clasp my sweet, innocent hands together, eyes closed, face flushed with excitement that maybe He is listening to my dirty, dirty thoughts and He accepts them. Just then, Father McMaddon, fresh out of the seminary, bursts through the door and tells me there's an emergency down at the orphanage and he needs my help. I jump up, unaware that the pew beside me has offset my balance and right as I'm about to fall over, Father McMaddon swoops in and catches me, his hand held in a firm grip about my tiny waist and lower back. Our eyes meet, and lips barely touch as the only sound echoing off the stone walls is the short, hot pulsations of our panting breath. He draws me closer, studying my face...
Oh my god I need to get laid.
I had a really nice time with the girls yesterday. We hung out at Bonnie's and she made us this awesome chocolate velvet cake, and we just sat around and talked. Jean jokingly called it "Cake Break" (she loves it when words rhyme) and Bonnie was so enamored with the idea that she suggested we do it once a week. What? When did my best friend become Martha Stewart? It's a bad thing. I think it's ridiculous but the girls have been riding my butt about how I need to learn how to accept "female companionship" better. I reminded Bonnie about how in High School she once dabbled in female companionship of a different nature and she got a little pissed. Sophie loves the idea and next week is bringing a vegan cake. Remind me to stash away a bag of Ho Ho's.
Big news, Bloggie- Stewart, my friend from San Francisco, just moved to New York to start up this Arts Review website and he wants me to freelance on a few articles! I guess that means I go to events and write about them but I know it means extra money. The girls are convinced good things are happening to me because of my forced celibacy. Well that sounds kind of Catholic. Didn't they tell you in church that bad things will happen if you have sex? Now I'm paranoid. Maybe there is a god and this is his way of telling me I should be a nun.
If I were a nun, I'd be the modern, untinentionally sexy-nun. You know, the young, rosy cheeked ones that wear a conservative long sleeve button down shirt with the buttons carelessly undone to the base of the cleavage, unaware that a shy mound of bosom is peeking out...shirt tucked in, tight, so as to reveal a slim waist complimenting a dashing A-line skirt right down to the tops of the knees; slightly scandalous yet respectful of the lord. And when I get down on my knees to pray I will clasp my sweet, innocent hands together, eyes closed, face flushed with excitement that maybe He is listening to my dirty, dirty thoughts and He accepts them. Just then, Father McMaddon, fresh out of the seminary, bursts through the door and tells me there's an emergency down at the orphanage and he needs my help. I jump up, unaware that the pew beside me has offset my balance and right as I'm about to fall over, Father McMaddon swoops in and catches me, his hand held in a firm grip about my tiny waist and lower back. Our eyes meet, and lips barely touch as the only sound echoing off the stone walls is the short, hot pulsations of our panting breath. He draws me closer, studying my face...
Oh my god I need to get laid.
posted by Tempy at 12:44 PM
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