The last time I wrote a post like this, it was to thank the incredibly arousing, ridiculously horny boy toys in my past life. They were all fabulous. My lower half is tingling just thinking back on those memories.
This dedication, however, won’t be singing the same praises. I’m tired. And fed up. I’ve sat here waiting for my life to happen. Waiting for someone to make me feel special. Wishing that one day I would get flowers, or that maybe he’d want to ask me out on a date. Waiting for his texts in the morning. And it’s not just one. Somehow, a handful of guys have all managed to get under my skin. Me. The girl who had an impenetrable shell, but loved to be penetrated. I’ve lost focus. I started getting that starry eyed view on love, and settling down, and finally feeling special. Apparently this is not the time. And after over a month of digging myself into a “pity party” hole, I’m climbing out, both of my middle fingers held out in front.
To the one guy who has been able to make my heart melt, my first love – from a distance – I’m over it. The games. Never knowing where your head’s at. Whether or not we’re talking, or not talking, or only talking because you’re horny. I may not be one to turn heads, and I might not have the self confidence that makes a girl sexy… yet. I hope that some day in the future, I run into you somewhere, and you can see what I became, and what you missed out. I hope you realize then that all your games were pointless, because I’d rather quit than play games, and that’s what I’m doing now. I’m out.
To the most addicting, heart breaking, and delicious cock in my life… I’m finally over it. I am still totally happy to keep you around, as I will fail miserably to find someone to even come close to comparing to you. It won’t happen. So I’m over my idol-worshiping phase. You’re hot. Like REALLY hot. And smart. And did I mention hot? And that cock…. Oh lord, give me strength. But the nice thing is, you don’t have the power to hurt me anymore. I don’t know why I let you in the first place. I knew it wouldn’t ever become anything. I’m not some hot, young tight slut. And I’m OK with that. It’s not a loss for me anymore. Just give me a good pounding once in a while to remind me who owns me, and I’ll be happy.
To the one claiming to be my friend, and to love me like a sister. I see through you. I know your motives, and though you do care, it’s not to the extent you claim, or that I deserve. Every week, I get to hear about the new pussy you conquered, or another heart you broke. Every slut, every joke, every bad judgement call. It’s OK. You’re covering up the pain from loving a girl we both know. I watched all that happen, and I sympathize. But I want a friendship that’s give and take. I want you to hear about my life, my conquests ( or being conquered) and so on. So I’m done chasing you down. I’ll always be there as your “safe.” Your secret keeper. But I want to be on a priority list. Not on the waiting list for the priority list. I love you, big brother.
I’m taking some of my old life, and some of my new life, and putting the lessons learned into action. I’m closing my heart again, and my legs will open occasionally, though never for money. I don’t think I’m ready to be in love, because I don’t really know what love is, like at all. But I know sex, and I do LOVE that. I know how to act, what to say, and what to do. So I’ll be both the old and the new. Safe and sound, and full of sex.
Farewell, my wonderful, fuckable – minus last boy – friends. I love you all. Keep it sexy. I know I am!