Archive for the ‘Chocolate Martini Nights’ Category

Image of Chocolate MartiniThe thrill is just about gone. After making plans to hang out around 9, he calls me at 1 in the morning clearly drunk. I’m clearly pathetic so I let him come over. I unlocked the door and waited for him to crawl in the bed next to me.  The anticipation was the sweetest. I heard his car door slam, then his footsteps on the outside staircase leading to my apartment, and then my front door opened. I was wet already.

Richard had no issue with nudity. After we exchanged hellos, I watched him take off every single article of clothing. He climbed in bed hard already. He rubbed my body and then helped me out of my underwear. I leaned in and kissed him. His tongue tasted like cranberry and vodka. I liked it.  He got hard quick. Before I knew it, the dick was in and it was on.

Just as I arched my back and went to my place, that’s what I call really getting into the groove, the pace speeds up. No, no, no! This is totally not working for me. Before I can let him know, it’s all over. The dude comes. Ten minutes tops. Before I can suggest we try again, he is fast asleep. A feeling of pure disappointment washed over me. I should have just used my vibrator. I make me come every single time.

I need a man. That is the bottom line. I need someone to save me from the crime scene that is my love life. My best friend has been online dating, and while she hasn’t found Mr. Right she is having fun meeting new guys and going on actual dates- not just drunken late night calls. I could use some fun.

Fuck it, I’m signing up for one of those sites tomorrow. But first I gotta find that vibrator.

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Random Memories

Posted: November 12, 2010 in Chocolate Martini Nights

Image of Chocolate MartiniMy head was straight up throbbing, and I swear my hands were shaking as I reached over to shut off the fucking alarm.  Oh, I can’t wait until the day I don’t have to punch a clock. I obviously had too much wine and not enough sleep.  But I tell you what, that damn song still rang in my ears loud and clear. Scrolled through my phone on my lunch break.

Derrick, ex boyfriend. Met him through a friend in high school. I was 15 and he was 16. We broke up my first year of college. At its best, our relationship was no more than an extreme case of puppy love. Now once in a while we get together. He’s horrible at sex, but great at kissing and eating pussy. Not in the mood for that.

Barney, nothing like his name. Met when we both worked on a movie set. Forty year-old ex-con…cute, dangerous, passionate. Thought he was my man…shit, I wouldn’t have been caught dead bringing him home to meet my father. Sex was out of sight though. Kissing, sucking, fucking, the whole package. But, I think he stole my ATM card once. Maybe its better to let sleeping dogs lie with that one.

Richard, love him. Met him outside a local dive bar.  Handed me a tacky business card with his picture printed on the front. I gave myself to him after my 3 year celibacy. He never believed that. But I had no reason to lie. His ass is broke as a joke. We enjoy one another’s company. He loved blow jobs, and was always good for a hard dick. I can’t get enough of sleeping (literally) next to him. I could work with that right about now.

Al Green

Posted: November 12, 2010 in Chocolate Martini Nights

Image of Chocolate MartiniI’m only 29 but I appreciate Al Green. The classic melodies, the voice makes me warm and fuzzy on the inside. Calls to mind those big family barbeques, summer holidays, and driving down the 405 freeway commuting to and from my last year of university. Recently I’ve come to digest the lyrics. Really feel what Al was wailing about.

Another day at my shitty job, another shitty fight with my mother, and another shitty story from my best friend about her 5th relationship (4 months into the year) left me completely drained. I popped open a bottle of wine, turned on the radio, and by the time the bottle was empty I was crying and singing about how I was so fucking tired of being alone and holding my own.

I wanted to be kissed, touched, hell even lied to if it made me feel better. Screw doing the right thing…I was ready to be screwed.