Vibrations of a Vixen

…stories from under the sheets…

On Being Sexually Functional February 4, 2010

Filed under: hypersex — vixations @ 9:57 am

First of all, I’d like to throw a huge THANK YOU out to my amazing and sexy friend Nicole for giving me the Awesome Shit Shout Out this month! She is my inspiration for this blog (in a good, non-slutty way) and I am so happy we’re still friends even after all the ridiculousness we’ve gotten ourselves into ūüôā

Second of all, to all of you who don’t have TV or missed the Pregnancy Pact, you can watch it RIGHT NOW straight from the Lifetime website. Since no one will watch it with me at my house, I was thinking we should all have a Pregnancy Pact viewing party where we all pour ourselves multiple glasses of wine, go in a chat room, hit ‘play’ at the same time, and make fun of Thora Birch together. So it’s LIKE we’re watching it together, even though we’re not. I vote Sunday night. Yes?

Third of all, I have decided to combine my love of music with my love of sex. If you care, you can click the link at the end of each post to listen with me.

And, finally, I found this in my spam folder today from someone by the name of Micah Gore:

And also this:

Products and legality- Why is your proazduct so chrndeap?

  • There is a number of reasons for that. We do not spend anything on markfnueting, there are no taxes to be paid as the product comes into the country unregistered, the manufacturer is located in an offshore zone and the prodrjuction costs are way lower. No child labor is used.

This begs a lot of questions, like, why would something like this go into my spam folder 7 days ago? This is BREAKING NEWS, Micah Gore, and if I had known 7 days ago I would have been able to use the $39.09 I spent on birth control on Female Viagra instead. Also, really? No child labor? I’m definitely going to buy my enhancement drugs from you guys because even though you can’t spell ‘product’ or ‘cheap,’ you don’t use child labor and that’s AWESOME. And, how did you know I’ve been super worried about getting the flu? With all my saliva-swapping endeavors, it’s pretty great that I haven’t gotten the flu yet, and that’s SO GENIUS that you are bundling libido enhancement drugs with flu prevention! Could you send me some chocolate too? Oh, and I also need a new pair of black boots because I left them at M’s house and I’m sure as hell not going back to his starving artist cave.

What I really want to know though, Micah Gore, is what kind of person needs to buy Viagra + Cialis + Levitra ALL TOGETHER? If you’re the kind of person who need all of those drugs to get it up, you’re probably 95 years old and one step away from your coffin and you should NOT under ANY circumstances be putting your penis anywhere near a vagina because it would definitely disintegrate or burst into flames. Also,¬†who do you think I am? Are you saying I should become a dealer of enhancement drugs? A treater of the erectile dysfunction? Is the libido dealer the new pot dealer? Am I going to make millions befriending old men and getting them to test their newfound erection on me? If that’s the case, I will definitely need you send condoms, two lifetime supplies of Cabernet (because I will need to be drinking double of what any normal wine consumption would be), and a side of Female Viagra for when I’m through with this because I’m positive my libido will be crushed to the ground after sleeping with a slew of old wrinkly men. At least I’ll be rich, though, right?

If anyone is interested in starting the new Libido Dealer revolution with me, just send me an email and I’ll put you in touch with Micah Gore. Who is actually Al Gore’s rebellious illegitimate child. So if you wanted, you could technically ask Al Gore for Micah’s contact info. And then you could make Al Gore your first client. That is, if I don’t get to him first.

Ed. note: I made that last part up. Except the part about sleeping with Al Gore. Because I totally would.

Listening to/watching: The xx – VCR


White Lies February 1, 2010

Filed under: rants,sex — vixations @ 9:42 pm

Okay, so, I lied. Well, sort of. I mean, I guess I didn’t LIE necessarily. I just omitted the truth.

In my last post, I talked about My Brazilian, his irresponsability (yes, I spelled that wrong on purpose because that’s how HE spelled it), and the fact that there’s only ONE reason I can proudly say I’ve never been pregnant (and it’s definitely not because I always use a condom or only sleep with men that shoot blanks or have had my tubes tied): I’m really good at taking birth control.

The birth control pill is 99.9% effective, and I’m pretty sure the only reason they can’t say it’s 100% effective is because they would totally get sued every day by all the idiots that forget to take it or mix it with other pills that make it less effective. I believe that if taken correctly, the pill is 100% effective. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just sterile. Who knows.

I guess when you wake up every morning and the first thing you think about is sex, the next logical thought is clearly ‘No babies for me!’ <pops birth control pill>. It also doesn’t hurt that I’ve been on the pill since I was 16.

Now, for the first time in my history of pill-taking, I missed my pill. For three weeks.



My prescription ran out, and I didn’t go get a refill. Why? The reason is two-fold: First of all, I sort of wanted to try that thing that my friends try sometimes where you say to yourself, “I’m not going to take birth control, and then because I know I’m not taking it, I won’t have unprotected sex.”

Here’s the thing ladies, THAT NEVER WORKS. Habits die hard. Especially bad ones. Don’t kid yourselves.

The second reason is that California (and the entire health care system) decided to start sucking. Maybe they’ve always sucked. I don’t know. All I know is I used to get free birth control when I used this pretty teal card that Planned Parenthood gave me because I was poor and a huge slut. Somehow, starting in the new year, I no longer qualify for the free-everything card even though my income really hasn’t changed and I haven’t started being less of a huge slut. And now California no longer gives me free birth control. Instead, they charge me 39 dollars and 9 cents for one month of GENERIC birth control pills. That’s $39.09 for 28 pills that are smaller than my fingertip. You do the math. And then say it with me: FUCK YOU CALIFORNIA HEALTH CARE!

They also won’t let me get more than one month of pills at a time. So, um, what the FUCK are you expecting me to do here? Actually go into CVS and stand in line for 20 minutes at the drop-off window, wait a day, and then stand in line at the pick-up window for ANOTHER 20 minutes? And then repeat the whole process next month? That’s¬†ludicrous I tell you! And I don’t have time for this shit!

Okay, I realize that I’m being totally irrational. There are a lot of people out there who have to deal with being really sick and living on the street and not having access to any form of health care whatsoever.

On the other hand, WHY do they think Lifetime made a movie based on a true story called¬†The Pregnancy Pact?¬†And what about the ridiculous rise in teen pregnancy in the past year? MAYBE things like this are happening because y’all are makin’ it too hard for us po’ folks to get our pills!!!!

(that was me being Texan white trash. no offense to anyone from Texas. or anyone who is white trash. although I think if you were white trash you probably wouldn’t realize it. you also probably wouldn’t be reading this blog, even though you probably should…)

ANYWAY, my point is that I’m a sexually active girl, so you knew that my beef with birth control would come out sooner or later. And I really honestly think that this is huge problem with our system. In any other scenario, I would not have taken the morning-after-pill. Plan B is not a form of birth control, it’s a back-up, and I never want to take it again. But, I will take it if these people don’t give me my pills. For LESS than 40 Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers a month. Can I get a HELL YEA?? Slash can we start a ‘Sluts for Free Contraception’ movement? Slash does anyone work for a pharmacy that can steal some pills for me? I take Ocella. Or Yasmin. Or ANYTHING that makes babies not form in my body. I’ll bake you cookies. And give you a fat kiss and/or a lap dance. And you’ll be doing a huge favor for humanity by NOT letting a big Slutty McSlutterson like me create spawn. So, yea. Thanks in advance.


My Brazilian. My (ir)Responsibility. January 29, 2010

Filed under: hypersex,rants — vixations @ 11:37 am

My Brazilian decided to leave the sunny City of Angels and move on to more, well, European adventures. He packed up his apartment, sold the Ikea bed that I sold him several months ago, and took about 900 bags on the airplane to Germany. Or London? I don’t fucking care. Anyway, the Brazilian decided to spend the night before he left with none other than the wonderful MOI! Why? I had no effing clue. I’m fun, but I’m not SO fun that you’d want to spend your entire last night in America with me before MOVING away to another continent. It was a Sunday. I was already drunk (naturally), and he brought over a bottle of wine from the 7-11. Even after only a few dates, he knows me well.

There I was, drunk on the couch, watching E!, and squealing about the Giuliana and Bill show because the guy I made out with on Friday happened to be on it. My roommate knew all about it. My Brazilian didn’t. Not like he would have cared. He speaks good English, but sometimes I feel like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Maybe because I talk too fast. Or too high-pitched. Especially while drunk. Maybe he’s like those animals that can only hear certain pitches. Did I just make that up?

The most likely explanation is that he really doesn’t care what I say at all, he just came over so he could sleep with me. Same reason why any guy comes over on a Sunday night. Right?¬†I mean he certainly didn’t come over to watch Giuliana and Bill.

So we drank more. Much more. Until I decided I wanted to be horizontal, and I didn’t care if he wanted to join. The next part is a blur. Sometimes when I close my eyes I’m not sure if I’m awake or dreaming. Maybe that’s how I’m able to convince myself that things like naked Brazilians in my bed are okay.


If only I HAD sick days at this god-forsaken hell hole also known as my job.

The next afternoon, I received a message via Facebook from the Brazilian.

Subject: hi from London

Message (abbreviated):

so just wanted to say that was great meeting you, i like your fun sweet easy-going personality and most of all, i like that you are a very truthful (is that a word?) and original person

wish you the best!


PS.: as usual… sorry about the irresponsability that day, my fault! Would you hate me forever if I asked you to take one of those day after pills?


You can’t make this shit up. He doesn’t even know if ‘truthful’ is a word. Or how to spell ‘irresponsibility.’ And, REALLY? One of those ‘day after pills’???? Great. He DIDN’T use a condom. Again. After I FREAKED OUT last time. What the hell is wrong with everyone??? Why is it MY responsibility to ask YOU to throw a rubber on your South American cock? Why is it that I always have to prevent the babies and the diseases? I’m not responsible at all! If you were worried about little children running around, don’t fucking cum in me. Or get a vasectomy. OR USE A CONDOM. Especially when I’m half in dream state and half totally wasted. It’s YOUR COCK and therefore YOUR RESPONSIBILITY if my egg gets fertilized. It doesn’t fertilize itself, idiot. And you don’t just take the ‘day after pill’ whenever the fuck you want. It’s SO BAD for you. Not as bad as an actual abortion I guess, but you’re only supposed to take Plan B like twice in your life. This is something all boys should know. There are some retarded females out there who take it all the time, but I certainly don’t. In fact, I’ve never taken it before. Because I’m SO GOOD at taking my birth control, and I’ve been on it basically since I left the womb and there’s no way I’m getting pregnant anytime soon, even if I stop taking it. Also, I’m petrified of taking any pills (other than birth control) or putting chemicals into my body (which makes no sense, because I take birth control every day). I don’t take painkillers because I’m convinced I’ll get an ulcer or have a heart attack and die.

But, there’s no way I could ever take care of ANYONE else besides myself, and maybe the Brazilian has really fertile spermies, and¬†since the message came less than 36 hours after the act, and I had a Plan B pack in my bathroom that Planned Parenthood gave me for free (because they know I’m a huge slut), I decided to open it, take a deep breath, and swallow it.

And that was the longest sentence ever.

Then I thought about all the ways I could die. Maybe Plan B will eat my stomach from the inside out and my intestines will fall out. Maybe the sperm-killing chemicals will also kill all of my white blood cells and I’ll contract swine flu and AIDS at the same time and slowly suffer for the next three weeks until my head explodes and there’s blood and dead sperm everywhere.

Clearly, I didn’t die. I didn’t even get sick. Although other girls have told me horror stories about having to skip school/work because the pill gave them the most evil and debilitating cramps of their lives. Oh, the sperm-killing terribleness!! Don’t we suffer enough with the monthly flow and the baby birthing??

These kinds of drugs were obviously created by men. If I had it my way, I would give all boys some kind of ‘night of’ pill before they sleep with me, not ‘morning after’ pill. That way I would be sure that if any of their sperm found a way into my ovaries, no babies would be made. And I wouldn’t even have to hear from them the next day.

Sounds like a win-win situation to me. Now, who’s the female pharmacist that’s going to patent this drug?? And what shall we call it?


Jason Segel. Sexytime. January 26, 2010

Filed under: ramblings,there are naked pictures of me on the internet — vixations @ 2:43 pm

You may or may not remember Jason Segel’s naked ass shot in Forgetting Sarah Marshall a couple years back. If you don’t remember, you should definitely watch it. I am impressed with Jason’s large, naked, less-than-toned bod, and the fact that he’s willing to exploit it in a feature film. A lot of people made a big deal about this. Was it because he writes songs about vampires? Because he’s awkward? Or because he’s NOT Hugh Jackman or The David?¬†I don’t need to see tight, tan, toned asses all the time. I have Google images and porn for that. What I do need once in a while, is a loose, white, kind of mushy ass. Particularly one that’s on a tall goofy man. Who is totally my type. Now I’ll know what my future soulmate’s ass is going to look like. So thank you, Jason Segel, for that vital information. Also, thank you for the head nod I got at your birthday party the other night. I love you. I want to make out with you. You should date me. I want to make out with you. I love you. Let’s make out. <- All things I actually said drunkenly at the party. Luckily, not to his actual face. Just yelled across the room. I’m not sure if the head nod was a ‘I think you’re hot, but I’m with this girl right now so you should probably shut up,’ or if it was more of a ‘You’re fucking crazy and I’m nodding at you so that you know that I think you’re funny, but that I’ll never ever date you or make out with you ever. Ever.’


The important thing is that I DIDN’T get to make out with Jason, not this time at least, but I also didn’t get beat up by the girl he was with OR any of his friends for being super obnoxious, AND I realized that Jason Segel is even more awesome than I thought.

Jason’s modesty, the Kim Kardashian sex tape, and my recent furniture debacle has really made me think about asses. And boobs. And genitalia. I understand why people don’t show their penises and vaginas all the time. They all look REALLY different, and you use them for making orgasms and babies, so they are not for everyone to see. Boobs, though? They’re funbags. Everyone has them. And they’re worthless (unless you have a child). I mean, some of ours are hairy and muscular (not mine, obviously). Some are big and perky. And some of our nipples are smaller and pointer than others. They’re still all boobs in one form or another. And asses? Come on. They all look the same. Except some are jiggly and cottage cheesy and huge and some are flat and small and others are perfectly plump and tight and tan. Whatever though. We all know what asses and boobs look like because WE ALL HAVE THEM.

So why can’t I show everyone this amazingly awesome bruise I got last night when I was rearranging the furniture in my room? Just because it’s on my ass? Bruises are sweet. And cool to look at. So here’s my ass cheek. With a huge bruise on it. You’re welcome.

This picture does not even do justice to the actually brilliant color scheme. Don’t ask how it happened. Suffice it to say, I am blonde. And I don’t care if you think it’s ugly because your ass is probably ugly too. Or perfect. But whatever I don’t care about your perfect ass. I like my white gushy cottage cheesy one. And Jason Segel would like it too.


The Pinot Experiment: Update 1 January 21, 2010

Filed under: hypersex,ramblings — vixations @ 5:22 pm

I love how ALL of my conversations with women (and most of my conversations with men) end up being about sex. I’m not a nympho or anything. Actually, now I’m not sure. I just Googled ‘nymphomaniac’ to make sure I was spelling it right, only to find that the ‘older concept of nymphomania’ has been replaced with the term ‘hypersexuality.’ Did you KNOW that?? Who decides if a concept is ‘old’ or ‘outdated’ anyway? And who said that nymphomania only applied to women? Is this right???? Apparently in males it’s called ‘satyriasis.’ Gross. I’ve never heard a single person ever say that word. Probably because it’s NOT REAL and ALL MEN are hypersexual.

Anyway, it’s clearly all relative. My sexually activities might seem super tame to some people. Probably not most people, but whatever. I don’t need to be labeled as a hypersexual. Although I kind of love this term. The way I visualize it in my head is like a severely ADHD puppy running around and sticking its red rocket in anything and everything it can find. Or a wind up toy that spins in uncontrollable circles and falls off the table and bounces off walls. Or those sex chairs that push a mechanical fake cock in and out of your vagina at ridiculous speeds. Or one of the Jersey Shore characters having sweaty fist-pumping tongue-jabbing make-out sessions with every girl in the club. Ew. Sorry about that disgusting mental image.

Aaaaanyway, I love having conversations with girls about sex. A lot of girls are really uncomfortable talking about explicit sexual things, and are even less comfortable talking about personal sexual issues, like the one I confronted in The Pinot Experiment. Apparently no one wants to talk about their vaginas. Why? Got me.

This is my favorite though: when I talk about my chronic yeast infections and someone says, “OMG I get those too!” and I get super excited because I think MAYBE, just maybe, this girl will have the cure to my itchy discomfort.

It hasn’t happened yet, but, well, this happened:

Me: I just don’t know what to do. I’m not going to be able to just use condoms for the rest of my life. I’m not even convinced that condoms are the answer.

Friend: Yea, I don’t know, that really sucks.

Me: I know. I mean am I the only one that has this problem?

Friend: No, I get them all the time!

Me: REALLY? Isn’t it so annoying? It makes no sense! I mean why do we get them so much?

Friend: Um, well…

Me: It’s like they never go away! And no one will give me anything that actually WORKS! And now I never know if I even have one or it’s just in my head! And I have no idea if boys can even TELL if I have one or not. That would be nice if they could, actually. Is there a how-to on that? But even if they knew I had one, they still can’t solve the mystery of WHY!

Friend: I mean, I don’t know why you get them. But I think I know why I get them.

Me: Really?? Well that’s probably why I get them too!

Friend: Well, I don’t know, I mean yea maybe!

Me: So why do you get them?

Friend: Well, because sometimes my boyfriend fingers my ass and then my vagina.

Me: <jaw drop> Um… <dry heave> Ahem.

That is DEFINITELY why you get them, you idiot. Didn’t ANYONE ever teach this girl to wipe from front to back? Didn’t she make the connection that the SAME RULE applies for EVERYTHING??? I mean, really. If you’re going to go in the stink (which I’m not opposed to, I just personally don’t like it), you DO NOT GO back into the pink. You just don’t. That’s called POOP going into your VAGINA. That’s called such nasty bacteria going BACK INTO YOUR BODY.

Nicole, you clearly need to teach this in your new class on How to Not Suck.

It really amazes me, even after all the stupid things I’ve done, things like this still boggle my mind. I don’t mess with actual shit. Period. It might be my only rule, but it’s an important one.

In other news, I have been diligent in getting some actual results to this experiment. I’ve only slept with one guy without a condom, so I’ll know that he’s the culprit if I do in fact get another infection. I’ll know for sure in a few days.

In other other news, I have no idea why I created a ‘Sex’ category. Clearly all these posts are about sex. Maybe I just need to change the category to ‘Hypersex’ and only tag the most ridiculously fast Energizer bunny things in there. Good idea? Yes?


The Religious MILF January 20, 2010

Filed under: sex — vixations @ 10:36 am

This is the first Vixations Guest Post!

by Rupert Pumpkin

Should male guest bloggers be called something more appropriate? Stud Secrets? Cockations? That sounds like Caucasians. Well this post was written by a 20-something Caucasian male. So maybe it works.

When I asked Rupert Pumpkin what was going on in his head throughout the whole experience, he said this:

“Well there wasn’t much going through my head that I didn’t put there, to be honest. I was like, ‘Whaaat is going on. Should I do this? Yes. Done.'”

And that’s the difference between men and women, my friends. Amazing. Anyway, here goes…

I was home for the holidays, and decided to oblige my parents by attending church with them. I used to go to church twice a week anyways, so I figured one additional time wouldn’t hurt.¬† We get to church, and I’m feeling pretty haggard from the night before.¬† I’m dreading all the superficial what-are-you-doing-these-days catch up conversations that always seem to sprout up in these situations.¬† After somehow escaping to my seat and pretending to text some mystery friend on my phone, I look up and see her.¬† We lock eyes.¬† Holy shit! She looks great.¬† I can tell she is in one of those conversations that no one wants to be in.

The service starts and I get up to grab a drink of water, and I see her scurry out to the lobby.¬† Is she following me?¬† We talk for a few brief moments and catch up on life.¬† I haven’t seen you in years. You got divorced? Your 26th birthday is coming up? I am home for a few more days. We should hang out.¬† I don’t have your number anymore…

And it was that simple.¬† I had hooked up with her years ago, before she got married.¬† Maybe if I had some moral compass left after college, I wouldn’t have acted like this. Or maybe if I wasn’t in the midst of one of the worst droughts of my life I would have just smiled and let it be.¬† But I was on a mission.

I have to admit there were some red flags going off in my mind, maybe for about 25 seconds. I can recall numerous potential caveats: this woman just got divorced. Her husband cheated on her. She has a kid. She had to move back in with her mom. But… she’s a MILF. She weighs 100 pounds.¬† She’s Italian.¬† Smoking body.¬† She’s really sexy.¬† There is no doubt in my mind that she wants to fuck me.¬† What am I waiting for?

Sometimes women will complain that men think with their head and not their head. I was DEFINITELY thinking with my southernmost head here. I picked her up a few days later.¬† Shot the shit with her mom.¬† Took her out to a bar.¬† Had a few drinks. Talked about music. Swapped stories. Had a great time. Had a few more drinks. She wanted to pay the bar tab and I told her no. Paid the tab. Now what? As we walked to the car I asked her what we were doing next.¬† She responded,¬†whatever you want. But she said it in the tone of voice that really meant,¬†I don’t care as long as you fuck me as soon as possible.

As I’m driving home to my PARENTS’ house, I’m thinking, this is almost an unbelievable situation.¬† We get to my house, and I sneak her in.¬† What is this, high school revisited?¬† We head downstairs, tip-toeing around like we’re in the jungles of ‘Nam.¬† I throw on a Jimi Hendrix DVD.¬† I ask her if she wants a drink.¬† Next thing I know I’m fucking her on the pool table. Against the wall. On the floor. On the couch. From behind. She starts pulling out all these crazy porn-star positions. And Jimi is still shredding in the background. Let’s just say I was enjoying myself more than a little bit.

She tells me to cum in her mouth.¬† She looks at me and whispers, exhausted, spent, breathlessly,¬†you’re the man.

It’s 4 A.M. and I take her home; I’m not really sure what to make of the situation. These types of things never happen to me. I’m never¬†the man. But I have to ask: when’s the last time going to church got you laid, by a 25 year old, 100 pound, pure-bred Italian, smoking hot mom, in the basement of your parents’ house?


The Pinot Experiment January 15, 2010

Filed under: sex — vixations @ 1:38 pm

Here’s the thing: I’m notorious for doing things even when I say I’m not going to do them. As in, I have absolutely no willpower or self-control. I also believe that responsibility is overrated, and how are you going to have any fun if you’re always saying ‘no’?

Oh, and alcohol makes me horny. Oh, and I LOVE alcohol.

The night was SO dark and SO cold, and I was trying SO hard not to be a baby about it all. Finally, he noticed me shivering and gave me the warmest, softest, little green blanket ever (which I totally stole the next morning), wrapped it around me, and took my hand. Here we go. A friendly movie night was beginning to turn into something else, I could already tell. We were about two glasses of wine deep at that point, and there was still another bottle to drink. He was getting more snuggly. I was debating my choices and their consequences.

A. Stop drinking now, refrain from saying anything about the other full bottle, and have a 50% chance of not getting in bed with him.

B. Stop drinking after this glass, try not to say anything about the other full bottle, and have a 25% chance of not getting in bed with him.

C. Finish this glass, open the full bottle, and have a 0% chance of not getting in bed with him.

I’m proud of myself for realizing how quickly Pinot Noir affects my judgment and attempting to make choices accordingly.

However, if you know me at all, you’ll know exactly what I did.

D. None of the above.

I finished my glass, said nothing about the full bottle, but didn’t resist when HE opened it and filled my glass. Not trying to be rude. Also not trying to be sober. Just trying to make good decisions. Good decisions though, are also overrated.

After the movie, he announced, ‘Bed time!’ and dragged me from the couch to the giant bed with the down comfortable and 18 pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets, a.k.a. the most comfortable bed ever. I was practically asleep as soon as I hit the pillow because it was THAT awesome, and then I felt his hands all over me.

M: Your boobs got bigger.

Me: Yea, I noticed that too.

M: Are you pregnant?

Me: No.

M: Are you sure?

Me: Yes, I just finished my period.

M: Are you sure?

Me: Am I sure that blood was coming out of my vagina at rapid speeds??

M: Gross.

Me: Yes.

Next thing I know I’m face down on the perfectly pressed white sheets with his¬†uncircumcised¬†cock behind me. I’m wishing I didn’t notice the sheets.

Me: This is not your bed.

M: I know. It’s my sister’s.

Me: WHAT? It’s your sister’s? The one with the OCD? Where is she?

M: She’s out of town. I told you that.

Me: Oh. Well you better clean these sheets and you better hope your shit doesn’t stain.

I think about the fact that she’s definitely going to know we had sex in her bed, even if he buys her new sheets, because she’s super neurotic and notices every. single. microscopic. thing.

The dirty talk is fun. The sex is okay. His penis is very touch and go. Like a blowfish or something. It doesn’t maintain its hardness. Sometimes I ask him how it feels. He always says my pussy is amazing. His dick is not small or anything, but it’s not huge either, so unless it’s super hard I won’t get off.¬†Later I ask him why it doesn’t stay rock hard the whole time. He says it’s just blood flow. I tell him to make his blood flow more. Or harder. Or something. He tells me I don’t have a penis (duh) and I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Me: Well no one ELSE’S penis does that.

M: Yes they do.

Me: How the fuck do you know?

M: Why are you talking to me about someone else’s penis???

Me: I really didn’t think we were gonna have sex.

M: What made you think that?

Haha. He’s right. We ALWAYS have sex when we see each other. Even if we don’t plan on it. I tell him I don’t know why I thought that, but then, because I’m drunk, I tell him the real reason.

Me: I went to the doctor a couple weeks ago because I had a yeast infection that wouldn’t go away.

M: And? (sort of freaking out)

Me: Well they told me it wasn’t just a yeast infection.

M: And?? (totally freaking out)

Me: Well…


Me: They told me…

(I’m really mean)

M: What!!???

It was just a bacterial infection that I had to take antibiotics for. They also tested me for STDs, but they all came out negative (YES!). They told me to use condoms every time. Hence NY Resolution #1. Which I’ve already failed at. And I really don’t know why I made that resolution anyway. Something to work toward?

The doctor told me it’s possible that whoever I’m sleeping with has the bacteria and/or the yeast and that we could be passing it back and forth. And yet I didn’t tell him about it beforehand, slept with him, and didn’t use a condom. Because I’m self-destructive like that.

On the up side, I am viewing this as an experiment for all girls with chronic infections like me. Do we REALLY need to use condoms to prevent them? Can guys really get yeast infections and spread them to girls?  Or do we just need to wash their junk and give THEM some kind of antibiotic so they stop giving us the awful annoying infection?

Results coming soon. The only down side to this is that I might have to plan another trip to the ghetto-ass Planned Parenthood in Boyle Heights. But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for the sake of vaginas everywhere.