First World Problems & Some Crack

Holy hell! The last seven days have been a flurry of craziness. First, there was my sexting drama, experiencing racism in my town, and getting my boobs squished. Then we lost cable, including 2 whole hours of television watching that I'll never get back; and finally, tipping the balance was when I found out that these pants are being sold to the general public - and NOT in a Halloween'ish, ironic sort of way . . .

If I had to choose, I would actually prefer if every woman on earth wore tights as pants than to see one woman wearing these (and that's saying a lot), especially with those hooker heels. I think my exact words were:

And now I'm seeing leopard print Peggy Bundy pants in the new arrivals. What the fuck ass year is this?
— Lady Estrogen (@ladyestrogen) October 2, 2012

So while I'm busy recuperating from these horrendous crimes against my senses, please check out my guest posts this week. I'm in TWO places, so pick your poison or if you really love me, choose both!

1. I'm In The Powder Room today, talking about my post "multiples pregnancy" body and all the glorious ways it's fucked up . . . in the most humorous way possible.

2. My good friend Q over at ThankQ is basking in the sun right now and asked me to hold down his virtual fort. I am ranting about teen pregnancy, but more specifically when they are barely teens themselves. My boxing gloves are thrown down and it's bare knuckle time. Gah!

And to all of my Canadian homies reading this, I hope everyone has a fabulous Thanksgiving weekend, full of gluttony and complete invasions of personal space by drunk relatives. I shall leave you with a special Thanksgiving message that can only be expressed properly by Adam Heath Avitable. (Warning: You might never be the same after clicking this link.)

Enjoy!

Introducing: What's your damage?

There's this crazy guy that I met through Dude Write that goes by The Birdman and has a blog at Change The Topic... and ya know what? He and his wife are damn good people! I have a bloggy crush on both of them, but I won't say which one I like more. *cough* Aaaanyway, The Birdman has already been doing a feature called Therapy Thursday and when we got to talking, I was all like, "Hey! I was just thinking that I really want to start doing something like that too on my blog." He was awesomely generous enough to hand over the rungs at his place to dip my toes in, especially since he already had some letters that obviously needed some of Lady E's tender loving care -- so here it goes, drum rolls please -- this is officially the very first What's Your Damage? feature!

Here is an excerpt from the submission:

I recently become a father for the first time 2 months ago, Around a month before this, the mother of my child ended our relationship. This came completely out of the blue to me as there were no signs that anything was wrong. I attributed it to depression etc. Anything to rationalize it and convince myself it was temporary. I've since realised that, although she has told me I did nothing wrong and she acted solely on her feelings about the future, it was not a temporary thing and there geniunely is nothing more for us...

Please check out Change The Topic to see the the rest of his letter 
and the advice I gave...
PS. Don't listen to Smarty's advice; he's a douchebag ;)

And if YOU have a question, whether it be about sex, relationships or anything in between, please feel free to submit directly to me from this site (100% confidentially, if you like -- just don't fill in the name or email).

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading; comments are closed today.

The Tsaritsa said... what?

Greetings and salutations, Lady Estrogen readers! My name is Alexandra. I have a blog called The Tsaritsa Sez, and I have a confession to make: I suck at story telling.

Before you click out of this post, please let me clarify: I'm not speaking of my skills in spinning a written yarn, or shooting the breeze with friends and family. My problem is that I can be quite a Nervous Nelly around people who I am just meeting for the first time. I tend to put my foot in my mouth, stutter, say something nonsensical, and generally act like a overly-caffeinated spazoid. It doesn't happen all the time, but it happens enough to be simultaneously frustrating and entertaining.

Just the other day I was trying to describe a funny scene from my favorite TV show, Psych, to my friend Jillian and her friend Anna, who I had only met once before, and I just. couldn't. spit. it. out. I stumbled all over my words, dropped in a lot of "you know"s and "uuuhmmmm"s, and by the time I got to the end I could see that no one really cared or understood what I was trying to convey. Unintelligible-- that's me when I get nervous.

This isn't an uncommon issue. There are plenty of people who get nervous when they have to speak in front of others, which is why improv acting, speech-writing classes, and toast-master groups are so popular, to train people to overcome that anxiety. This might be totally made up, but I heard somewhere that people fear public speaking more than they do death (makes sense, as death is inevitable, but you can sure get out of having to give a speech if you feign a sore throat convincingly enough). 

What is kind of silly about my story-telling flubbage is the fact that I love acting and being on stage. I'm a natural ham.

So what's the problem when it comes to recounting something to a new acquaintance? Maybe it's the close proximity? Maybe I'm worried about how my breath smells? Or maybe it's because I'm too busy wondering if the other person is understanding me correctly and hopefully not thinking I'm a weirdo that the section of my brain that gives me the ability to string together an intelligible and cohesive sentence gets neglected? I have no idea.

One especially funny situation happened when I was fifteen years old and working at the Rita's Water Ice stand on South Street. It was summer, the weather was excruciatingly hot and humid, and there was some big basketball championship going on between the Philadelphia 76ers and the LA Lakers, so there were a lot of people in town, and thus a lot of people perusing the touristy shops of South Street and stopping by Rita's to get a cold treat.

On one of these hot, summer days, I had two guys from Los Angeles come to buy water ice. They told me that they were sports reporters, in town to write about the games, and had never heard of it water ice before but wanted to try it. "It's kinda in-between sorbet and a snow-cone. It's smoother than a snow-cone, but icier than sorbet," I told them. They seemed pleased and picked their flavors, and as I scooped their water ice I tried to think of a funny joke to tell them before they left, you know, just to be fun and give them something to remember about Philadelphia people.

I handed the reporters their ices and, not thinking, said, "Don't worry, I didn't spit in it or anything."

In my head, it kind of made sense. What I thought was implied was: I know you're from Los Angeles and that your city's team is in a big battle with my city's team, but don't worry-- just because we're not rooting for the same team, doesn't mean I would do anything as crazy as spit in your water ice.

It was a pretty dumb thing to say, and might have been funny if I had said it to a friend, but it was not appropriate to say to a stranger, let alone a customer.

The two reporters looked at me, shocked. One of them said to me, clearly disgusted by my attempt at a joke, and said "Great! You didn't spit in it? Is that the slogan here?" I just stared at them with a weak smile,dumbfounded by my own stupidity-- surprised at what I said, and surprised at how they reacted. They walked away with a look of utter horror on their faces.

For reasons which may or may not seem obvious, I haven't told many people this story. I stumble through my words and make bad jokes and say things without thinking on occasion, but this LA/spit ice incident was definitely the worst blunder I've ever made. So embarrassing, which is why I'm telling this story in a guest post.

Thanks for reading! If you like what you've seen so far, please check out my blog. In addition to writing nonsense about the nonsense I encounter, I publish a literary zine and am working on my first hip-hop EP. Much love to Lady Estrogen for letting me share my story on her blog xox

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks so much to The Tsaritsa for hanging out over here this week while I'm slumming it in NYC.
We have been bloggy mates for quite a while now, but it was THIS VIDEO of hers that made me fall in lust. Watch it; so funny! And you'll probably want a peanut butter, Nutella and banana sandwich afterwards - just be warned.

Bitches be rude!

It's that time again where I've locked myself In The Powder Room stall so I can unload - and I'm not talking about my IBS, so don't worry. Please journey over there and perhaps even add some more "come back" ideas to my list of woulda coulda shoulda's to mine. I'm sure there's much, much more that could have been said.

Oh, yes... so much motherfucking more.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I also wanted to share some of my breathtaking photography today. I posted on The Twitter a little while ago about this tree that flashes me its brown eye and rudely mocks me every time I walk by it. Ahem.

I guess because historically speaking, the act of "mooning" has been primarily dominated by men -- especially when kilts were in fashion, that I assumed it was a "he tree". I mean, have you seen Braveheart or even more recently, Brave? Oh, yes, there's an old Scottish man moon in Brave. Thank you, Disney.

Anyhow, I digress. Today, I finally took to exploring around the rest of this tree, which I have come to affectionately call Seymour Butts McTree, and guess what?!

Jane Seymour Butts McTree

He's a fucking she tree!

This tree is seriously exposed, yo! In light of this new information, I've had to amend her name to Jane Seymour Butts McTree.

And if you're wondering if I gave her hood a little tickle?

Hell yes, I did.
DON'T BE SO DISGUSTING; OF COURSE I DIDN'T.
I am not a Dendrophiliac.

Aaaaaaaaaahem.

Boobies, boobies... rah rah rah!

In honor of it being LGBT week, I wrote about the first time I experienced a same-sex couple and my reactions that followed. Please check it out - I am kinda proud of this one and shit...

Shhh. I don't say that often. It's much more fun mocking myself.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Secondly, I was informed of an awesome charity with a bit of pizzazz. I know there's loads of Breast Cancer charities, but when I saw the wrist bands for this one, I laughed out loud... and then proceeded to buy four.

Also, I've got a weakness for cleaver branding and company names, like The Keep A Breast Foundation.
Oh my gawd. I love it!

As I've mentioned in the past that my mother is a breast cancer survivor, which makes up one half of the charities I support with my whole heart (ironically, the other half being Heart & Stroke, having lost my father to heart disease). That wasn't meant to be funny, it just came out that way. You get the idea.

But seriously, how cool are these? And really... who doesn't love motor boating?!

Also in this set? NICE JUGS, FUNBAGS and NICE MELONS.

If you want to support this charity in a fun way and wear something a little cheeky, you can buy them here.

Who knows, perhaps I'm the last person in North America to hear about this foundation, 

but I thought I'd share my excitement anyway. 

YAY FOR BOOBIES!

Foxy has the floor!

As the second part of my lovely birthday gift (See? I told you I'd stretch out my birthday as long as humanly fucking possible) Foxy has send me a fabulous guest post about having sex after the kids, and stealing those lovely little moments. Warm welcome to a Foxy woman!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having The S*E*X after Having The K*I*D*S

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, why yes I am a total Star Wars geek . . . thanks for noticing, my husband and I had a rather ambitious sex life. We endeavoured to be adventurous, playful and even jump each other on a more than regular basis. It was fun. It was pleasurable. At times it may have resembled a letter to Penthouse.

Ah yes and then I got pregnant. Irony: Having sex is what created a “situation” which led to NOT having sex. Holy hell, I was not a pretty pregnant lady. I vomited numerous times a day which pretty much sucked the libido out of me. What little bit of libido was left behind after the pregnancy was soon laughed out of me by newborns.

Now that there are no more newborns in our house and I am not pregnant, the husband and I are endeavouring to be ambitious once again.

Take for example this little story.

One night we were busy getting busy. It was a rare night when the kids had not yet made it into our bed and we were totally taking advantage of it. Things were getting hot, I may have been muffling sounds of pleasure and I was getting close . . . oh so close . . . when suddenly there are the sounds of crying coming from down the hall.

NOOOOO! Not right then. Not when I was sooooooo close.

Seeing as I was the only one with any sort of clothing on, albeit it was only a shirt, I jumped up and headed into the kiddos room to cut them off at the pass and not let them think they could join us in our bed.

There I am, sans any sort of bottoms, gently rubbing the back of my son silently wishing him back to sleep so that we could finish where we had left off.

We got lucky that night . . . the kiddo went back to sleep rather quickly, my mood wasn't completely destroyed and we finished where we had left off. That is what you call compartmentalizing one’s life! Sexy lady with my husband . . . caring mommy with my son! That is what sex is like for us after the kids.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hear ya, sister! This week, we may or may not have grabbed a quickie in the hall 
while the boys were watching a movie in the next room. Wait, whut?...
Thanks again, Foxy lady! Love you long time :)

People! Don't forget to link up your #WWTFIFLF post to win some Estro'goodies!

The best presents are...

Carri from Mommy's Little Monster Blake gave me one of the best birthday presents ever - a guest post! I'm taking this week off to relax work on some other projects I've been seriously neglecting. My ability to multitask has begun to wain. Boo fucking hoo, indeed. Welcome to my pity party - there's lots of dildos, apparently! Carri was more than eager to respond to my plea for a couple posts... and it's clear to see why - she's freaky like me. I love that. Yay!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1996 was a huge year for me.

I became a legal adult.

I graduated from high school.

And? I came face to face with a big, black one eyed monster.

Lemme back up a second, you sick fucks.

The truth is that I've never gone black. They say that once you go black, you never go back, but I'm
thinking it's safe to say, "Once you go black, you give birth with ease". That's the rumor, anyway.

In fact, a gigantic dildo at the sex shop my friend and I visited when we turned 18 is the closest I've ever
been to black cock-n-balls.

Imagine this: Two 18 year old kids, walking into the sex shop all wide eyed and scared shitless. He went
straight for the porn. Naturally. But I? Well... I looked around in utter amazement (disbelief?) at the
walls of strap ons, whips, swings and beads.

It was John* who directed me towards the Black Beast.

"Hey, Carri!" He screamed across the store. "Come check this thing out!!"

I scampered over to the Wall-O-Dicks with my head hung low and my eyes darting back and forth.
Seriously. This was fucking embarrassing.

My vagina immediately hurt when I laid eyes on it.

"Oh my God!" I gasped in horror. The Black Beast was at least five feet long (I may or may not be
exaggerating), with a gigantic head and a veiny shaft. "I don't think that would fit in my body!"

"Yeah it would," quipped John, "but it would come out your mouth! Hey, did you see these?" He pointed
to a wall of beads, plugs and something that looked like this.

(I mean, seriously. What in the mother fuck is that?!)

This is about the time I lost my innocence. You see, I never thought in a million years that someone would actually want a giant string of beads shoved up their ass. And I never thought someone would want a water dildo crammed up there, either. To me, your poop chute is just that.

There I was, standing in the middle of a sex shop on a Saturday afternoon, thinking to myself, Oh my God.
There are a lot of weird bastards in this world.

Pocket pussies. Clamps. Vibrators. Double headed dildos.

Wait... Double headed dildo?

And that's when the stroke ((ahem)) of genius hit me. Another friend of ours was having a birthday the following week and this? Was the PERFECT Happy 18th Birthday present.

I snatched a giant, black double headed ding dong from the shelf and gave it a look. 

Was it big? Yep. Was it veiny? Oh yes. And would it embarrass the fuck out of her? You bet your
ass.

The cashier gave me a funny look when I flung the double dildo onto the counter. 

Just five minutes ago, I looked like I was going to faint.

He asked me rather flatly if I needed lube with that.

"No... no. That won't be necessary." I said meekly. "This is for a friend. As a joke."

"Mmmmhummmm," the cashier said dryly. You know he'd heard that line a million times.

The following Monday, John and I anxiously awaited for Allison* to come out of class. 

The three of us usually met up between second and third period but what she didn't know was this time, I had a big, black two eyed monster waiting for her.

It was her 18th birthday, after all.

Allison rounded the corner, spotted us, and started to head our direction when John pulled Big Black out of my back pack.

Nope. It wasn't wrapped.

The look of terror struck her face. She promptly turned around and started to run. We quickly ran after her.

"ALLISON! COME BACK!' John screamed. "WE HAVE YOUR GIANT BLACK
DILDO!!!"

To make a long story short, Allison didn't run fast enough. We forced the black beast into her back pack and I haven't seen it since.

Ironically, Allison has since gone black. Not even fucking kidding you right now.

*Names changed to protect the not-so-innocent.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Carri, my love, we totally would have hung out in high school. Good times :) x

Porn Is Great & Porn Is Good...Sorta

Today, please welcome another friend of the male persuasion (they sure love to make appearances on the Estro'hood, don't they? Yay!) Deacon Blue. Although I discuss a fair amount of S-E-X on AinE, I haven't really addressed the use of, or my opinion of, pornography. I love what Deacon has to say about it! Opinions, both agreeing or disagreeing are always welcome. Bring it on!

-------------------------------------------------------

I'm immensely in favor of gender equality and I put women every bit as high in my respect and esteem as any man, but there are two ways that certain members of the feminist camp (whether women or men) can piss me off immediately.

First, use the word “herstory” in any way that isn't ironic or in the context of something soaked extra long in estrogen and then tell me how sexist the word “history” is, even though the word comes from Latin and French roots and the “his” part has no connection to gender in the etymology of the word.

Second, tell me that porn is evil.

You might as well tell me athletic shoes are evil, because it's about the same thing. True at times, but not inherently true.

First, let me get some personal traits out of the way. I'm a feminist, progressive, Christian deacon who is largely pro-porn. I could throw a few other adjectives in there, I'm sure, but some of you might already be suffering from cognitive dissonance just from that.

Second, there was a sexual behaviors/attitudes study recently in which the investigators could not find a single man to participate who had NOT ever viewed porn. Considering how many hetero feminist women are able to find decent guys to be their partners, that's a pretty good indication that porn doesn't lead to sexual oppression or sexual assault. If it did, sexual assault would have gone through the roof as soon as the Internet became flooded with porn way back in the Web's early days. In fact, sexual assault numbers have gone down in the U.S. since 1992.

Is there porn that is evil, whether because of subject matter or the treatment of the people in it (especially the women) or the working conditions or other things? Sure.

But in general, working in porn is like any other job. If you enter it broken, weak, needy or disadvantaged, you may get taken advantage of. Desperate people in most areas of life tend to get screwed by the people with the money and the ability to hire them. Most of us don't worry about whether migrants or poorly educated folks or whomever is abused in other industries, so I'm not sure why women are considered more frail, helpless and in need of protection against an industry they can choose to enter...or not.

Besides, before you talk about how much of porn might be the result of exploiting women (if you're so inclined), you need to realize two things. First, you don't know shit about MY porn and where I got it or whether it hurt anyone along the way, so you can't judge me. Second, you need to shut up about it unless you buy straight from local farms and have your clothes made by local tailors and grow a lot of your own food and don't ever drive or rely on anything that uses fossil fuels and don't go on the Internet and...

...because damn near everything we buy, everything we do and everything we enjoy as conveniences in our daily lives at some point came about by someone being exploited somewhere. Probably a lot of somebodies. In your own country or abroad.

Even if you're in the U.S. and say “I buy American!” realize that plenty of people are exploited and misused in factories and mills and shops in your own nation.

Thing is, porn isn't the problem, just like capitalism isn't the problem, social programs aren't the problem, and “those people” aren't the problem. The problem is that everywhere you look, you can find victims and victimizers. People who misuse or play any system for their own gain at the expense of others.

So, with porn, it's like anything else. If you buy it, buy it from companies that have strong reputations to maintain, and are less likely to abuse their most publicly visible workers. Buy stuff that showcases performers who seem to have some kind of autonomy and power (their own sites or product lines, etc.). Buy porn produced in part or in whole by the women themselves; often, amateur and semi-pro porn falls into this category. Buy porn that has kinks or fetishes that really speak to you—kinky stuff often focuses more on the kink or fetish and might have little or no sex in it at all. And so on.

Bottom line: I'm not saying porn can't be bad. But I don't like to demonize an entire industry simply because there are some weak people and bad apples. I just try to shop as responsibly as I can.


By Deacon Blue

www.holyhell.wordpress.com
@thedeaconblue on Twitter

-------------------------------------------------------

To me, porn is like chocolate. 1. You have to get the good stuff. 2. Have fun and enjoy it in moderation. 3. Gorging yourself on it could possibly make you a little sick. 


Thanks again, Deacon Blue

Happier than a pig in...

SHEEEE-IT!
Today is 11.11.11. 

(Not to be confused with the American way of writing it, 11.11.11. Pssfft!) 

The O.C.D. in me is so happy that I can barely find the words to express myself. Fuck it. I'm going to get someone else to demonstrate for me instead. Perhaps... maybe... The Animated Woman? Oh yes, that's much better. SWEET!

Spectacular, right?! Yes, I'm THAT happy. Next year's 12.12.12 will be the last one of the century - if you want to put it into perspective that way. And if I don't get laid on THAT day, there's going to be some serious repercussions. 

I'm in such a generous mood that I'm giving away not one but TWO things from my shop to a couple of lucky, lucky ladies 

from yesterday's post. Comment #5 was by the Sarcasm Goddess and #14 was Sweaty. Yay!

My two gracious winners both chose the Cunt Dragon mug. Big surprise? Not really - it is rather fantastic.

The best part is that they would both like to say a few words upon accepting these ceramic masterpieces.

Sarcasm Goddess

Wow. This is incredible. Please bear with me as I try to gather my thoughts. I have dreamed of this day – the day I would win The Cunt Dragon Mug – ever since I was a wee girl. Finally, it has arrived.

The road here wasn’t an easy one. I’ve inspected a lot of vomit over the years, and while it sounds really glamorous, it wasn’t always as sexy as it sounds. But I never gave up. How could I? There were Cunt Dragon mugs to be won.

I would like to thank my mother, who taught me that anything is possible, as long as you set your mind to achieving it. My dogs, who always kept me in tip-top vomit-inspecting shape by puking all over the house at least once a week. My husband, who has always supported my dreams, even when others said the Great and Glorious Cunt Dragon Mug was unattainable. Some even said the Mug was a myth.

Well look who’s laughing now, bitches.

I, of course, have to thank the vomit, hundreds upon thousands of piles of it. I am grateful for vasectomies and the men who get them and the children who vomit about them.

And lastly, above all else I have to thank the Queen of Cunt Dragons herself, the one, the only, the incomparable Lady E. You have made all my dreams come true and I will love you til the day I die.

With Sincerest Gratitude,

Sarcasm Goddess

Do Sweat the Small Stuff

I could count with my middle finger how many times I have won something in my life--yep, not a lot. So it was to my utter delight when I received an email from my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time, Lady Estrogen, informing me that I, Sweaty, have in fact hit the jackpot and won this really awesome guessing contest she had recently.

Lady E's son obviously had inherited her f*cking brilliant mind, because during a recent bout of sickness, he barfed Alphagetti all over my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time (Lady E, that is) and sent forth a set of letters that spelled "vasectomy" on the carpet. Oh my gosh, how f*cking brilliant was THAT?!? Truly, it was a MIRACLE! Such a rare occurrence unbeknownst to me or should I say, mankind!

Have I mentioned that my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time, Lady E, is also generous and kind? So I wasn't surprised that she offered her followers a chance to win one of her ORIGINAL, one-of-a-kind Estro-goodies by guessing what the regurgitated word was. And so I did! And I won! I won, I won, I WON!!!

So here it is, my humble acceptance speech. Pledging my lifelong loyalty to my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time, Lady E, for proving once again that she is AWESOME, BRILLIANT, ORIGINAL... (even if she does not own a metal pet named Rihanna. Oops, was that supposed to be a secret, Lady E?). OK, I'll stop now. But not before I say it once again, that Lady E is my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time.

Love,
Sweaty

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My pleasure, ladies! Thank you for the flattering acceptance speeches :)
I love how Sweaty censored her "fucks" - so adorable! Ha. 
Your mugs are on their way.

Last year, I did a Remembrance Day tribute in honor of my grandfather. Always in my heart, today and forever.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Halloween Special: Zombie Dating

I thought I would organize a special, ummm, treat for Halloween. I've been having so much fun getting my readers of "the male persuasion" do a little writing over here, and this just might be the weirdest one yet. (Which  is saying a lot since I had Tim make an appearance last week. Ahem) I usually do guest posts on Wednesdays, but what the hell... it's mutherfukkin' Halloween, y'all! Oooowwwee!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think it's safe to say that we as humans think we have it pretty hard when it comes to dating. We bitch and moan about having the worst dates ever or doing something totally embarrassing. However, there are others out there who have it much worse than we might think... Those "others" I speak of are the race of the humble zombies, and what we might think of as a "bad" date, they see as a cake walk. 

Now to get you all in the Halloween Holiday spirit, I present to you...

Top 5 Awkward Moments In Zombie Dating: (Zombie Guy Edition)

{Photo credit: Marissa Martin}

5. Showing up to your date still wearing the same clothes you were bit in. 

(Come on, man! Just because you are a zombie doesn't mean you got to look like a slob! Dress out of that bath robe you were attacked in and put on a nice suit or something.)

4. Accidentally biting your date when you catch a human together.

(I know you hunger for the warm flesh of a human and all, but seriously! Show a little self control and let the lady have the first bite.)

3. Finding out your date is still Human.

(Your dad is going to be maaaaaaad...)

2. Getting shot right before you meet your date.

(Awww man, and you just put on that suit too!)

And, the Number 1 Awkward Moment 
In Zombie Dating: 

Having your zom-sausage fall off right before you lay some pipe.
(Worse than erectile dysfunction. You may as well just put your clothes back on and leave with your dignity.)

There you have it folks! I hope you all have a fresh new look on the world of dating now that you have seen the worse side of it all. Have yourself a Happy Halloween and be sure to read more of my stuff at Zombies Everywhere!

Deep Thoughts, by Tim

When Lady Estrogen gave me the word that I was allowed to post on her hilarious guest blog I was pretty excited. I then read her latest blog posts and I was like, fuck me. I consider myself rated R but compared to Lady E and her period sex blogs I am that shitty PG Steve Martin, Jack Black, and Owen Wilson movie that is coming out. I am going to try to hang though. Does banging two midgets count as a threesome? No.

I'm a weird guy and I think weird things. Case in point, I think the Kool Aid man may have diabetes. You can't be that large and have sugar water running through your veins for that long. Also, why did MTV remake Footloose? Footloose was already a classic. Kevin Bacon should impregnate one of MTV's Teen Moms for revenge.

Another thought I have is are there female leprechauns? I'm not saying leprechauns are gay but there are more males in that community than a Dungeons and Dragons tournament. Also, their pot of gold is kept at the end of a rainbow.

Remember when music was good? Neither do I. I don't listen to any modern music whatsoever. Musically I'm the equivalent of the 70 year old man with his bathrobe wide open yelling "Get off my lawn" I listen to mostly 80's and 90's rock. It's fucking time for 90's rock to be considered classic rock. Give me some benefit for getting older, c'mon! I also don't get what those young girls see in Justin Bieber. Since when did looking like Sally Jesse Raphael make you a sex symbol?

Also, I just got a smart phone and I promised myself that I wouldn't be one of those phone zombies glued to their phone. I lied. I'm already on that thing so much that I know I'm going to get hit by a bus soon. If I do, I'll deserve it. Don't walk and smart phone. I was going to add kids at the end of that last sentence but people who write to adults and refer to them as kids need to be slapped.

As some of you may know I co-run the tshirt company Soge Shirts. I suck at designing tshirts myself so I was lucky to find Lady E. Seriously if you haven't checked out some of the stuff she has done for us, it's pretty sweet. Not the most subtle product placement in the world but you have to admit trying to be clever is pretty overrated.

Tim is a consultant for Interactive Music Teacher where they teach online music lessons.

From Virgin to Sex God

Hello from ‘Murrica! Brandon from My Own Private Idaho here. I have crossed the blogging border into Canadian territory to take over Adventures in Estrogen for a day. Lady E is like a sister from another mister to me.

• We’re both lefties
• We’re both Aquarians, and both garnet-clad (January babies)
• We’re both sexual deviants, and love every bit of it

When I think “sex stories” and “totally fucked up” I automatically think Lady E’s site. It’s only fitting that I share my wonderful ‘first time’ adventure with you on this blog. So sit back, relax, put on some mood music, and enjoy the takeover.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 19. I haven’t always been a confident, flirty guy. Charm is learned and swagger is earned. Back in my teens, I was an introverted dork with no game whatsoever.

Her name was M, and in 18 months she would be my wife (YES, I KNOW, I married my first. It just went from lame to ultra-lame…). We met at an after-party, and hit it off. We dated, and about a month into it we moved our fun into the bedroom.

It started innocently enough. Our first night together, all she wanted was a long massage. We slept together, but didn't have sex. She just wanted to… gasp… cuddle. Fast forward to about 1am, when she’s fast asleep and I’m still wide awake.

Holy shit, I’m in bed with a chick. Sex is inevitable. Did I read enough Maxim articles? Do I remember all the tricks and stuff I learned? What if I’m not good? What if--

And then I felt it. Her hand wandered up my thigh and onto my junk. She was playing with me in her sleep.

IT WAS AWESOME.

A few nights of cuddling and sleep-wanking later, we are finally ready to do the deed. She wasn't a virgin like I was, so the bar had already been set. I NEED to be good, or else it’ll be one and done.

Kissing, foreplay, yadda yadda yadda, and time for the real deal. I slip on the condom, and go inside her.

….hmmm…. not bad. I like this. And she’s liking it. Off to a good start, Brandon…

Ten minutes later, she climaxes hard. I’m still light-years from orgasm.

Why?

I’m a nervous fucking wreck.

I’m pumping away, thinking “Holy shit, if I blow my load in her, she may get pregnant. I know I’m wearing a condom, but what if it breaks? Do I shoot it all over her? Is she on birth control?

What if…”

Meanwhile, while I’m fretting like it’s going out of style, she’s ramping up to O number two. My brain may be ruining it for me, but my hands/pelvis/rhythm is still spot-on.

A lot of sexual gymnastics (and 2 more orgasms) later, I fake mine to mimic a mutual climax. She’s spent, breathing hard, and speaking incoherently. Since her head was spinning, she didn't notice me discarding an empty condom…

After some recovery, she asked me how I was so good since this was my first time. So I told her my secret… anxiety.

Anxiety had made me a sex god…

After some talking and assurance on her end (and a little bit of laughter… bitch…), I realized my fears were pointless. She was on the pill, and condoms rarely break (especially the thick-ass ones I bought…). There’s always a CHANCE she could get preggers, but she doesn’t want to be a mother just yet.

In other words, I have nothing to worry about.

I calmed down. I felt like I could actually get off now. The next day, we went at it again, and I actually got my rocks off.

…after about 90 seconds…

…Fuck.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How great is Brandon? Let's all give him a warm round of applause! I rarely hear about a faker of the male persuasion. 
Fucking classic. Be sure to check him out over at his place if you haven't already. Yay!

Bye Bye Brutus

This weekend will suck for me. After 5 years with my "first born" it has come painfully apparent that he will be happier with another family -- and so will we, once we get over it, anyway. He's a little hyper crazy dude that needs more attention than I can give him, and with less competition from those darn human children that keep cramping his style.

Sniff, sniff.

On a lighter note, I wrote some ridiculous attempt at comedy over at My Own Private Idaho. Yay! Please check out the awesomeness that is all of Brandon and tell him that I sent you!

Brutus

My best pal 2006-2011

Comments are closed. Check out My Own Private Idaho.

Unfastened Friday 4.0

College is supposed to be a time to experiment right? Well, I certainly experimented. I was 22 and I put myself out on every dating website I could find. There were no real men at my mostly female university – a private Catholic one at that. So, instead of trolling the local bars bringing home a hillbilly boy, I ventured into online dating.

God, lucky to come out alive? Probably.

Any close calls with dangerous situations? No.

Still, I could have easily met some freak and wound up dead in a field somewhere. I was desperate, fearless, and so lonely… I’ve met many men online. My first and only “offline” boyfriend last 3 weeks, a record compared to many of the others.

I’ll tell you about one of my encounters now. Mark. I met him online – we got together twice. The first time was in the middle of the night, at your average hotel off the interstate. The man didn’t even come down from the room to meet me. Classy. I pretended to be his fiancé when I asked for his room number at the counter.

An average looking late 20s or early 30-something guy answered the door. He was clean-cut and dressed in Abercrombie clothes. Looking back now, I can’t even remember if I saw his picture before we met up. I’m glad he wasn’t ugly.

We had that uncomfortable silence before awkward conversation. I was sitting on the bed. He was sitting on the chair next to the bed. He was shy!! Unbelievable! I was surprisingly not. Although, since then I have hear Catholic girls are pent up sex kittens. I believe it now.

I don’t remember what happened between sitting there in silence, to me being fingered and fucked on the bed, but I can remember he felt so good in that 60 seconds. Straddling his hips I barely got started when he shoved me off and bolted to the bathroom!

I think a) he came too early and was embarrassed or b) he was just plain regretful.

I tend to think he shot off too fast and was embarrassed. Five minutes later, I’m still waiting, dumbfounded. I wonder if we’re going to finish what we started. He comes out of the bathroom and sits on the bed. More uncomfortable silence.

He asks, “Do you want the room for the night?” I decline. I need to get home. I live with my parents, after all, and they’d freak if I wasn’t there in the morning.

I dress and leave. I can’t even remember if he kisses me goodnight. I felt like a hooker without getting paid.

On top of the disappointment, I manage to come away with a chuckle. I finally understood the jokes of women when they laugh about their “minute man.” So disappointing. I drive home in the dark, in silence, wondering if he’ll call again.

Three weeks later my phone rings.

Jill



---------------------------------------------------------
This one is usually longer, but if you have a story or a 'quickie', then please send it to me here! It can be 100% anonymous if you like - just don't fill out the name or email field - it will STILL send if those aren't filled, yo!

Cock-A-Doodle...Purple

I recently made a 'special' purchase at the sex store.

When I walked in, I wasn't quite sure where do go. It's not like I'd never been before, but this was for something new.
Something different.

I walked around for a little while. Browsing.

Finally, I found what I was looking for... in the "Fetish" section. Whoa! Never thought I'd consider myself one of those people, but okay. My visual senses were on over-drive. I was surrounded by colourful packaging (although primarily pink and black) all with naked women staring at me with their 'come fuck me' eyes. I could almost feel them breathing on my neck, but not in a sexy way. They were more like wild predators and I was the newbie prey that would soon be devoured.

There they were... all different materials, shapes, number of 'access portals', sizes and of course, price ranges. Holy crap! I might be curious for a little kinky fun but I have my financial limitations, that's for damn sure. I took photos with my phone and texted them to my "expert" friend.

(Click) This one?
No.
(Click) This one?
Probably not.
Ooooh... (Click) How about this one?
Yes. Excellent.
Awesome. Sold.

Fuck, I love technology.

I made my purchase while partaking in some small talk with the sales woman, making sure I had indeed found the right fit for my needs. I really don't think they do returns.

Time went slowly that evening.
The little black bag was calling my name, but it would be hours before I could have a little test fitting.
10pm finally rolled around. Sweet. Time to try on my fancy purchase. Yes, I said "try on". I had purchased my very first strap-on.

Giddy'up mutha fuckers! And it fit like a glove... or rather, like a cock.

Surprisingly, I didn't feel as "masculine" as I was afraid I would feel. It's always been a sensation that I have never been entirely comfortable with; about my own feminine identity and sexuality... ya know... the fact that under my stunningly giant knockers is, in fact, Guillermo Díaz. Yeah, that.

Regardless of how I did or did not feel about the addition of a giant purple cock that now hung between my legs, one thing was certain... it was bloody hysterical.

I'm in the bathroom laughing my fucking ass off, naked, jumping around and watching the silicone cock flail up and down and side to side. Strap-on gymnastics, I tell ya! I needed to share my amusement with my husband, but he was fast asleep.

FUCK IT. 
How often does this shit happen, seriously!?

I walked over to his side of the bed. He was facing inward and his back was exposed. I was trying incredibly hard not to wake him with my snorting laughter. I would have much rathered that I woke him up with what I was about to do. I crept over...

Then, I began poking him in the back with the dildo, repeatedly. 

I got a few grunts and annoyed shrugs. Of course, he had no idea what object I was actually using to poke him with. 

I start laughing louder; I'm practically in tears by this point.

He rolled over to discover what it was that I was doing, and what I was wearing.

If you can imagine the sound a human can make that is annoyed, pissed off, furious, shocked, confused, repulsed and drowsy all at the same time, it kinda sounded like this:

And for the record, Jill's interpretation of my face is practically uncanny, since I had taken off my make-up by this point. 

Aren't I fucking beautiful when I'm laughing THAT hard? I think the ribbed purple strap-on is nothing but icing, really.

So, needless to say, he wasn't amused. At. Fucking. All.

But it sure as hell made my whole damn week.

Besides, I didn't buy it for him anyway... 

SO THERE!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A HUGE thank you to Jill from Yeah.Good Times. for graciously offering up her fine artistic skills
to help me illustrate this story. It just wouldn't have been the same without them. Love ya :)
I'm sure everyone knows her by now, but if not, WHY? Go... right now!

Unfastened Friday 3.0

It's about that time again folks!
Enjoy these titillating tales and have a fabulous weekend :)

1. Quick on the Draw
Ok, so hubby and I have an open relationship. One of my shall we say turn ons is guys in uniform. So lucky me hubby was a firefighter and many of them happened to be EMTs. One of them decided he could handle me...

Ummm, yeah.

So he shows up one night to show off at his bedroom skills and he was on duty. The instant the tones dropped (a term used for setting off alarms to call for ambulances firetrucks, etc.) so did he. I mean, literally one second it was there, the next it was gone. Being the wife of a firefighter, I could honestly say that was not usually the case. I mean, adrenaline tends to keep things pumping. Yeah not for him...

I still call him Quick Draw McGraw.

Singedwingangel


2. Ripped and Torn
I had a boyfriend once who's fantasy was to rip my underwear off.

Having carefully selected some sexy (but cheap) knickers I told him to go for it one night.

We ended up in casualty, him with a broken finger and me with with a lace thong practically embedded in my lady parts!

I can proudly announce that I am NOT known for the looseness of my elastic (oh, and that using his teeth to remove them in the future turned out to be the better option)

Sarah Mac

3. One Hot Ass Coming Up

I am a huge guacamole fan. Simple ingredients; avocado, onion, tomato, salt and a jalapeno.

Yeah... that's where our lit'l tale begins, because with bedroom eyes and my fiery hot index finger, my partner and I discovered the true meaning of a hot ass.

Sparing the details, I can say this story ends realz badz, with me standin in a state of limp dick and my honey with an inflamed rectum. So sorry honey! So sorry that my jalapeno approach fell flat... some guacamole recipe! Left me feeling guilty/empty AND having to deal with 2 sets of blue balls!

Todd Carr


4. Sticky Stalker
I once had a stalker from Australia that sent me a video of herself. Her dog was licking peanut butter off her hoo-ha...
while looking at a photo of me.

Process that one.

Jeremy London

---------------------------------------------------------
If you have a 'quickie' story, then please send it to me here! It can be 100% anonymous if you like - just don't fill out the name & email field - it will STILL send if those aren't filled, yo!

Unfastened Friday 2.0

Usually, the Unfastened Fridays will include 3 or more quick stories, but when Leighann from Multitasking Mumma sent me this, I knew it had to be all on its own! Not only is it a stand-alone kind of story, but she also is brave enough to take credit for it. I love your balls, babe; are they Adamantium by any chance?


---------------------------------------------------------


In the early days of our relationship Brian and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other and like all new couples we took every opportunity to get a little randy.  We weren’t living together at the time and were living two hours apart so this meant we spent a lot of time in the car and had to be creative or multitask (hellooo, its what I do). 

Not necessarily romantic, but we were just new and the very sight of him made me throw my shirt out the window.

NOTE: I do not condone driving while distracted, do not try this in your own car, however, if you do, please send your story to Lady E.

One evening, while driving together, the sexual heat became too much and  the windows started to fog with our hot breath as we searched for a place to pull over.

But then I suggested maybe we could keep driving?

Huh. Driving and intercourse?

Not happening.

But there are other ways to make a man hummmmm.

And because I’m skilled at the playing the skin flute the instrument was happy to participate.

Band practice was going well and I was thrilled when I heard “oh shit.”

That’s right! Oh Shit! I’m that good! 

My confidence was through the roof. Maybe I could pull off a little ride in the drivers seat!

He started thrusting like a wild bronco, making me think I might have to abort the mission. My humming skills could not withstand a jive like this! Was this a new move I wasn’t privy to? I was about to choke.

“NO! Get up!! Police!”

I sprung up, threw my head back so hard I hit it off of the passenger side window, and nearly knocked myself out. The pain was instant and through blurry vision I saw what appeared to be the flashing lights of a ride check coming up just seconds away.

Brian shuffled with his pants, I massaged my head.

“Good evening.” The light of the flashlight scanned the car and across Brian’s face.

“Evening.” Brian cleared his throat twice but it still crackled. My head ached and I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming but I was certain I had a concussion.

“Anything to drink tonight?” His flashlight concentrated on Brian’s face.

“Nope.” Why wasn’t anyone asking me if I needed medical attention?

“Why’s your face so red?”

Pardon?

“Huh?” Oh God I am dreaming.

“Your face. It’s bright red, like you’ve been jogging.”

Dear Lawd is that man seriously asking this question? I’ve hit my head too hard!! 

And then I hear the answer…

“Hmmmmmmmmm.”


---------------------------------------------------------


As I've mentioned, usually the UFF stories are shorter. If you have a little story (or one you think would fit a full post like show-off Leighann over here), then please send it to me here! It can be 100% anonymous if you like - just don't fill out the name & email field - it will STILL send if those aren't filled, yo!

Unfastened Friday 1.0

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The Mark Of A Man

Welcome, welcome! Who's that knocking at my door? Well, it's one of my blogging besties SAHMlovingit popping in for a visit. I just absolutely LOVE when I tell one of my embarrassing and raunchy tales and someone emails me saying, "Oh My God, you reminded me of something that happened to me!" That's what I strive for - reminding people of all those misadventures we'd all wished we would rather forget - but then where would be the fun in that? I say dredge up those memories like rotting garbage from the bottom of a stagnant pond. So what if it's sloppy and it stinks... I will gladly come to take away that festering heap with my virtual forklift. SAHMlovingit? I hand my forklift over to you - scoop it up, baby! Scoop-It-Up!

-----------------------------------

I’d been out on a couple of dates with this guy who was a fair few years older than me. I was 17 or 18 I think. He was a bit of a dickhead scummer rebel so I thought it was worth a shot, if only to try and look good in front of the ‘cool’ kids.

We’d been to the pub where we’d both consumed quite a large amount of cider. Him more so than me and, as usual, I found myself propping him up most of the way home. It was late and all the lights were off in his parents house as we stumbled around in the dark living room. His parents weren’t that well off and I clearly remember the room smelling of piss, electric fire and dust; hardly the most romantic setting.

Still, we were young and drunk, so what the fuck?

We started making out and even the over-riding smell of beer didn’t put me off. It made me feel a little icky but hey, I’d take that any day.

He quickly indicated that he wanted to try a 69 position. I do have to say, although it can have its moments, it wasn’t my favourite move at the time and it certainly isn’t now. I was on top – much easier.

I began to chow down on his hard cock. I was finding the moment all too strange. Normally I’d be turned on by the fact we may get caught at any moment but I didn’t quite fancy the idea of being battered to death with a rolling pin by his mother in a flannelette nightgown and a hair net! I had my eyes shut just hoping we could get this over with. He’d turned the living rooms lights on by this time too. I felt so vulnerable.

But the worst was yet to come.

A bad odour filled my nostrils.

It smelt like shit.

He didn’t have any pets and we’d left our shoes in the hallway so neither of us had stood in anything.

I panicked. Seriously, WTF?

I didn’t want to open my eyes but I knew I had to.

I opened them to see his boxer shorts right in front of me, still around the bottom of his legs only a foot or so away from my head.

There, staring right at me was the biggest skid mark I’ve ever seen in my life.

Needless to say, he was history and I still gag when I re-tell this story.