Tuesday, August 31, 2004

I've created a monster. Boring boy just left. I made him take all his fucking toys with him. I'm using the word fucking as an adjective here, not an expression or expletive. What I mean to say is he brought over a bunch of sex toys and wanted to know how they all worked and why they were fun and all that. Jesus God, boy. Rent a porn DVD and get educated. He said he didn't watch porn because he knew all the women were on drugs and had been molested as little girls and it made him sick. Actually, now that I think of it, that's probably true and incredibly remarkable that he could he even "make the jump to lightspeed" as Carey puts it. How evolved he is. Maybe too evolved. He's probably lost touch with his primal nature. That would explain his insane attraction to me.

I was half-bored the whole time. We didn't really fuck, "per se". He likes that expression. I think it means "exactly". Anyway, it was more one on one tutoring from me, the Sex Popess of the World. Very clinical. He bought all his gadgets online because he refuses to frequent sleaze shops where they sell black market Viagra and Thai sex tours in the back. Ha! That ain't all they sell in the back, buster. He's so like a little nerd. I explained how everything works, but we didn't use anything. In the end we just cuddled and fondled and watched Nip/Tuck. I let him lick and suck my breasts and I gave him a really sloppy wet blowjob and put my finger up his ass. He asked me if girls like that, too and I told him probably with lube and permission. I'm sure there's someone he's dying to try it on.

I've created a mad sex monster. Go forth and have intercourse Fuckenstein.

confessions of The Shadow * 11:48 PM

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Monday, August 23, 2004

So much has happened in the last two weeks. Boring Boy started calling me again. Guess what he said? That Ally McBeal is boring. Well, duh. He told me how she's really sweet and all that, but she doesn't really make him "feel" anything. I said that's how I felt about him. He said he figured as much. Then he asked me what he could do to make me want him. Can you believe his balls? I'm not offended, I'm amazed any guy would have the guts to put it into words. I don't know if that makes him really secure in himself or really pathetic. I'm leaning towards secure. I immediately had more respect for him. I told him I wasn't really qualified to tell him how to change. He said "cut the shit and just tell me". I told him he fucked like he was stabbing me for one thing. I told him my breasts weren't dials on an old radio. I told him that whole thing that happened in Vegas made me feel like crap, but the fact that he knew what to do and got it done was totally cool. Confidence, confidence, confidence. I told him to stop talking about that Ring of the King and Star Wars shit. I told him if he meets someone who's interested in that stuff then it's cool to talk about it because he's so excited about it. But if the girl doesn't give a shit, don't bore her to death with it. You know what's weird? He's been to Russia and France with this singing group from this church he went to and I never knew that. I told him that was fucking lame. I should have known about that way a long time ago. People love to hear about other people's travels. I told him he should go back and look at all the pictures he took and write down notes about what he saw and what he thought and how he felt so he'd have something to talk about. He asked me how to be a better fuck. I told him to read some Tracey Cox and watch that lady on Channel 84 and to worship the pussy. Be gentle and ask questions and listen to directions, but most important is to worship the pussy.

He came over a few days later and I fucked him again. He was terrible. I made him stop. I told him he couldn't fuck me and he got all mopey and depressed. He came over again a few days after that and brought me Chinese food. We ate and he showed pictures of his trips. He told me about this Russian girl who looked like she was about 15 but was really like 22. She totally molested him on the train and wanted him to take her back to America. I told him that was an interesting story. I made him tell me all the details and what she smelled like and how scared he was. I told him she was probably a hooker and he freaked out. He said she wouldn't let him use a condom. I told him it was because she was trying to get pregnant so she could have a free ride on the streets paved with gold. He said she was the first chick he'd ever come inside. I told him that was an amazing story and that he should write down every detail. He asked me if he could have sex with me again. I told him no, but that he could suck on my breasts. I made him do that until he did right and it felt good. Then I let him very gently finger my pussy a little bit. He really wanted to fuck me, but I told him no. He had to learn how to worship the pussy. I let him self-stim while I showed him how I touch myself, really really soft.

I can't believe I'm giving free sex lessons to Boring Boy. Then again, pay it forward, right? He did me a great service in Vegas. Anyway, as Sex Popess of the world it is my sworn duty to teach men how to fuck us right. Ladies, no need to thank me, just send monetary donations directly to the temple.


confessions of The Shadow * 8:04 AM

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Thursday, August 12, 2004

We lost our shirts in Pechanga. Well, don't they wish. We broke a little under even. We were up in Pai Gow, but Carey had some kind of epiphany and lost it all. Then we were up again on the I Dream of Jeannie game, but I lost all that.

Casinos are lame. If the Trauma Center is the back door of hell, the casinos are the front lobby. Everyone there was an elderly asian smoking like a chimney and smacking the button or table for another hit. Everyone else looked like they'd just been paroled or was card-carrying trucker trash. We were a little out of our element.

It wasn't even fun. We got there and it was like, well guess we might as well gamble since we drove all this way.

I got home and there were messages from Rocker Boy, Boring Boy (why?), Just Dumped Boy, and another one from my mother. Apparently my stepfreak had a heart attack. I don't know why she's calling me all frantic. I don't give a shit. It's not like he died and left me in his will or anything. She said "... I didn't want to tell you like this, by leaving a message, but I think you should know that your father has had a heart attack..."

What a stupid bitch. For a second there I thought, oh wow, my sperm donor must have died and now she's going to reveal his secret identity. Maybe he's famous or rich or something. But no. Tricked me again there, mom. I don't know why she refers to her husband as my father. What is she trying to pull? Is she trying to make sure I'll never fuck him by calling him my dad? Because that's just so unnecessary. I would never fuck anyone she'd ever touched. Talk about disgusting.

Anyway, I'll call her tomorrow. I hope I'm not expected to visit his dumb ass in the hospital because that would mean more unfulfilled expectations from me to her.




confessions of The Shadow * 7:51 PM

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Tuesday, August 10, 2004

I'm on my way to Pechanga with Carey. Everyone says don't gamble away your rent. How much damage could I do with only 9 bucks in my pocket? I hope they still serve free drinks while you're playing. I hope they have nickel slots and buck tables. I'd like to at least quintruple my money. I don't know if that's a real word. I was trying to say quadruple but you know by five.

I wish I had rich dad who ignored the hell out of me and sent me money whenever I reminded him I was alive. Actually, if I had a dad at all, I probably wouldn't have hardly any of the problems I do have now. My idiot mother has been calling me again. I think she probably figured out I don't work at Femoral anymore. She keeps leaving messages that she needs to know what's going on in my life. Why? So she can keep my stepfreak up to date? He's her problem, not mine.

I'll call her in about a week. She told me to contact her right away and then she left every single number they have. Both home numbers, both his work numbers, both of their cell numbers, the home fax machine, their emails, it was endless. I'm supposed to fax them? I'll send her an e card of Santa Claus. But not until I feel like it. I'm going out to get plastered and I'm going to wear my wonderbra so when I'm out of money I can get tips for blowing on the dice for nasty old toads with cash.

Ciao

confessions of The Shadow * 6:34 PM

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Sunday, August 01, 2004

Last night was the Blue Moon. I celebrated by burning a disc with all the versions of that song I could find. I don't like my new playmate anymore. He's kind of needy and I can tell he's living in the lap of luxury. I can't find the remote to my TV or stereo and he ate all the Oreo's yesterday. He opened and finished a brand new bag. How do you know there's a man in your house? No food, no beer, no remote, and your laundry basket is overflowing. He'll be out of here by tomorrow.


confessions of The Shadow * 2:34 PM

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