Writing My Wrongs

First Snow
Serves one




Ingredients
½ oz. sweet or late-harvest muscat
¾ oz. premium vodka
½ oz. white cranberry juice
¼ oz. lime juice
3 oz. champagne
Cranberries, for garnish
Mint leaf, for garnish
Powdered sugar


1. Heat a small saucepan over medium-high heat.
2. Add muscat and reduce by half to create muscat syrup, then let the mixture cool to room temperature.
3. Mix together the syrup, vodka, and juices.
4. Shake vigorously in a martini shaker filled with ice.
5. Pour into a champagne flute and top with champagne. Garnish with cranberries and a mint leaf that has been dusted with powdered sugar.
6. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

B~E~Z

It’s not like I didn’t know the answer before I asked…
But I needed to know from a man, what the eff a man was thinking when he did it.
So I asked Cortney…
And Cortney being all matter-of-fact and straight to the point responded with the most simplest answer…

Why does the dick jump?
Or rather why does the dick twitch?

What do you mean?

You know when you are spooning…her ass is against your dick…
And all the sudden…he makes his dick jump/twitch…against the ass, the leg, or her stomach when they are face to face…or as her hand rest against his thigh as they sit and watch tv…what the eff does it mean…or say…or convey…?

Well, umm…basically…he’s testing the waters. Seeing if you are responsive to his dick having Tourette’s...preferably inside a warm soft vagina, yours. If you back your ass up to his dick or grind it a little, then he knows that you are open to at the very least some grinding…and the most (which he’s hoping/wishing/praying for), some sex.

That’s pretty passive aggressive.

Well, it’s an effective way of sending out a signal and seeing if it’s reciprocated.

Problem is… I like the soft grind-age…I mean…there are men I like to be around, even flirt with…but I don’t necessarily want to have sex with them…so grind-age is good. However, most men don’t just end with grind-age unless ending means their penis in a vagina. So it’s sort of a misconception that dick twitching is for grinding.

Well, then at that point you let them know that you don’t want to have sex.

SEE! That right there is some bullshit! If all I have to do is speak on what I want…then why can’t he do that at the very beginning instead of having his dick jump up and down on my ass cheeks??!!
Can we have sex?
It’s a 50/50 chance…but he’d rather go thru the 20 minutes of spooning…the 15 minutes of jumping his dick…the 30 minutes of grinding and his dick getting harder…just to get… “I really don’t want to have sex.”
Just seems like he built his mind and his dick up…just to get the 50/50 he would have gotten had he asked for it an hour and 10 minutes ago.

...Just a thought...

You know I am full of epiphanies. Always coming to some realization about myself. Or rather, I know things about myself but I usually just skim over those but...tonight…I have had another… epiphinous review of my sexual character.

I am not all that good at sex…the act of sex…performance wise that is. Sex skills are not high in the A’s but maybe in the C’s…top C+, middle C, or bottom C-…I am not sure. But I do know that my love making ain’t no A.

See I have always been exceedingly sensual. I never really thought that of myself per se…but when you are told something enough times by people…er, men…then you tend to think as the status quo and not balk at others observations.
But,
I kind of cultivated that. Gave and pampered more than I actually felt…at the beginning…and usually if I knew that I was making an investment into my…umm, er…circumstance. Over indulged in making his body feel good…dreamy…lovely. It was a conscious effort so…it wasn’t truly sensual…but actually work…

Today as I was watching Madness (read: porn) during the football game and drinking Killian’s Red beer…I realized that all those moves and all that energy…I don’t do, don’t have. I am not going to say I just lay there and take the dick like a melting popsicle in my mouth…but I can say that I am not that far off. As much Madness as I watch…you’d think I would have picked something up. Well, I have but V. Del Rio is known for putting a “popsicle” in her mouth…and not for taking the “popsicle” in… or maybe she was but all that I have seen are her…awesome head sucking skills. That I learned…although…(5 months without and I may have forgotten. You know my memory sucks...also)

So although I know how to get a man…and even know how to keep a man… I lack in the sex area. I don’t fuck as much as I should, I don’t fuck as much as I’d like, and I don’t fuck as well as some would think. And because I don’t get involved as much as I portray to the men I get involved with…I end up getting bored and then…I leave.

I know…I have baggage. And not the carry-on type but the type that needs a cart and a bellboy.
Most have argued that I just haven’t found the man that is just for me…the one that I will want for mine and who I want to give everything to. Some say that it is not my time…and he will come along. But for now…
I just epiphonize on the fact that I’m a C when it comes to sex…and realize that my time is running out…so I need to start studying…
Too bad I am not in NYC…I’d be less afraid of contracting something….D/M/V has a horrible track record for casual sex…
I may have to get a man just to learn how to conjugate…or better yet, fuck.
Huh, odd that.

I am staring into windows as I sit at my desk…one good thing about working so high up in these skyscrapers…I can become a peeping Tom by no volition of my own. I have a huge window to the left of my desk and if it didn’t take up the whole wall…I could avoid looking into people’s private lives…freely and without guilt.

Today I wasn’t actually peeping though. Today I was staring off into space. Thinking of your lips. I don’t think that I could have lived my life honestly…without having felt your lips on mine. For that matter, your lips anywhere on my body. It’s only now that I don’t have access to them, that I sometimes stare off into space and dream of them in places that no longer feel the same without your lips to plant soft small kisses on. Granted, up until you and I drifted apart, I used those babies up and made sure you planted them anywhere and everywhere I could coax you to.

If you could have left those on my night stand before you left instead of the money you owed me…I would have been happy with the trade off. I wouldn’t be sitting here…thinking of them. I could reach into my purse and pull them out and use them but never abuse them. Making sure to keep Chapstick on them so that they always remain soft and supple and fresh and pliant and soft…oh, I said soft already. Either way, I would cherish your lips like I did when they were here. Yea, too bad you didn’t leave those behind rather than the worn, tattered and holey underwear left in my bottom drawer in the right hand corner.

You weren’t around nearly as much as I wanted you to be, back in those days. I never got all the intimacy I needed to feel like I was…needed. But…I have to admit, I get warm from the inside out as I think about all the times that I did have them around. With that knowledge, I suppose that there had to be something about me that made you want to press those luscious lips on parts of my body. Doing things that made me blush and made me cum. Ah, those lips on me.

Is it possible to get an obligatory break-up lip-lock for old times sake. I mean, you can keep your words to yourself…and no need for your hands… just come over and put those soup sippers on me…
...on me something gooooood...and bad, all at the same time.