A homeless man flashed his balls at me today.
Strange, I know.
I wish I could say he was one of those street performers, juggling, showing me his multicolored juggling balls.
But, no, I’m talking ball sack.
Let me explain how it went down so I can get to a point that’s been kind of bugging me.
I was in my car, stuck at a red light, and this guy—we’ll call him Burt (don’t know why but he’s always looked like a Burt to me)—was in the street median. He wasn’t holding a sign. He wasn’t begging for money. He was just kind of hanging out.
I felt bad for him. I think he’s a war vet and those guys really deserve our respect and our help as much as possible.
So I dug in my purse, fished out a five-dollar bill, and honked my horn.
And he didn’t even look up at me.
The pressure was on because you know how it is at a red light. When that sucker turns green every driver behind you will be honking and yelling and smacking their steering wheels.
So I honked again.
I figured I probably had no more than twenty seconds before the light switched.
Still, Burt wasn’t giving me the time of day.
Finally, I rolled down my window.
“Umm, hello!” I called out, hating my high tone because I knew I came off sounding like a valley girl or something. I’m totally not. Like…totally, lol.
“Ugmrhailarf!” Burt said
I think it was German. Or maybe Pig Latin.
Ha, remember Pig Latin? Giddeygum Giddeyguy Giddeyup!
Anyway, I tried waving him over. He looked up at me and smiled a toothy grin.
The light turned to green and the horn blared instantly from the car behind me.
“Come here!” I yelled.
Burt just smiled, pulled down his pants, covered his cock in his hand and squeezed, holding his strangled balls up for me to see.
I didn’t know what to say.
Diary, I’ve never had someone shake their balls at me like it’s a sack of ancient stones and they’re putting a voodoo hex on me.
Needless to say, I punched it. I hit the gas and sped out of the area. I’ll definitely never try to offer Burt money again.
I didn’t tell you that story because I wanted to talk about Burt’s balls. I mentioned it because it got me thinking.
Why is that men can get away with things women can’t?
If I’d been standing in the street median, picking my nose, and decided to drop my skirt and shove my pussy lips at the car at the front of the line, people might be offended.
I think it’s the same with the dating scene.
I love any and all reviews of my book. Like it or hate it, if you’re reading it I’m honored. But in a recent review, a reader said that I was a bit of a whore.
Me, Mandy, Maybe Mandy…a whore.
Okay, fair enough.
But I have to ask this question. Why is it that a guy can sleep with any girl he meets, have multiple partners, dip his ink pen into any wet well he comes across, and everyone’s cool with it.
He’s called a player, a pimp, one wild motherfucker!
One night stands are a man’s personal conquest. In many countries fathers take their sons out to meet a hooker for their first sexual experience on their sweet 16.
When a man’s lonely and has the funds he calls up an escort service. Technically these high-priced dates don’t sleep with men for money…but once they’re paid, if they happen to like the guy enough, like any other date they might decide to fuck him.
I once met a guy who’d made a personal bet with himself (and I’m sure his buddies were involved) that he could have sex with a different woman each of the 30 days of that month.
This guy received high-fives from his buddies and praise from any other man who heard the story. He was not a whore but a conquistador.
Now, I was always a regular chick. I had boyfriends. I slept with my boyfriends. And that was it.
After going dry for 5 months (after being cheated on) I met a smoking hot guy named Braden. I knew from the moment I saw this man that I was going to fuck him that night. To hell with that “no kissing on the first date” bullshit.
I knew that I was going to ride his cock the same night I met him.
Was it the fact that I’d gone nearly half a year without any nookie?
I don’t know, maybe.
Was it extreme infatuation?
I don’t know, maybe.
Was it pent up rage and frustration?
I don’t know, maybe.
Whatever the reason, I set out on a mission. I started flirting the moment I got into the guy’s car. By the time we reached the carnival, I was already stroking his cock and begging him to take me to his place.
So, yes, Diary, I was a whore that night.
I needed Braden’s cock inside me. My pussy was wet in the car, it was wet standing in line to get tickets, it was wet while watching Braden try to win me a teddy bear, and it was definitely wet when he had his face buried in it.
I was a whore. And as I write this it bothers me because it just sounds like such a horrible word.
I’m creating my own word for this. Instead of whore I’m going to call myself open-hinded.
Ha, that sounds like I’m saying I like it in the booty. Maybe that one’s no good.
Okay, I just looked up whore on Thesaurus.com and decided to go with nymphet.
Sounds kind of like nympho but cuter.
I’m a nymphet. Am I addicted to sex?
I don’t know if I’d say addicted. I love sex. The feeling of sinking completely into a man’s skin, becoming one with him (even if only for a night), and the hunger I feel in my gut and in my pussy when I’m eager to be filled by him…that’s just unexplainable.
But let’s get something straight.
I’m not hurting anyone.
I’m not stealing anyone’s husband.
I’m not corrupting anyone’s son.
I’m not ruining anyone’s religion or robbing anyone of his inner peace.
I’m simply allowing myself to feel.
I’m giving myself the chance to be in control of my life and in control of my desires and in control of my own pleasure.
If I meet a guy in a club, have a few drinks, and decide I’d like to be with him for the night…why the hell not?
If I’m shopping for a book and find a guy in the same aisle paying me way too much attention and I decide I’d like to return the favor…why shouldn’t I?
If I’m at the gym and happen to follow a muscular stud into the bathroom just to see his towel drop…why deny myself the pleasure of his company?
Dear Diary, for your reading pleasure, and so that you can imagine my adventures and make them your fantasies, I’ll be the whore.
I will fuck any guy I want to. And I will enjoy it.
Next up? Cancun. My best friend just pitched me the perfect vacation plan this morning. So I’m headed to Cancun and I’ll be on a personal conquest to find a strong, sexy foreigner to help me forget Braden and all he did to me at the carnival.
If you haven’t had the chance to read about my wild carnival adventure, I’ve dropped the price down to $.99 in celebration of book 2 on its way, so click HERE and check out my first book. I’ll be publishing my Cancun adventure, Margaritas by Moonlight, within the week. Stay tuned.
And thanks for reading.