addicted

"Did you get my e-mail?" Heather asks rather urgently, looking over at me from the couch as I walk into the living room.

"What?"

"My E-MAIL!!!"

"Oh, you mean that post-it note you stuck on the computer?? That is not an email, Heather. But yeah, I wrote you back and stuck it on yer mirror in yer room."

All it said wuz could I please stop with the incessant glitter wearing because the whole house had become hopelessly tainted with my damn sparkles. To which I replied, in our little e-mail, "Oh sure, anything for you Heather---NOT!!!! ha ha ha ha!!!!"

Because, well, I just can't stop. It's just such a cheerful thing to see random sparkles on everybody and everything, even the dogs. I know, I know, it's sick. But everybody admits on the sly that they like it. Except Heather. Deep down though, she's probably my biggest fan. Okay maybe not.

But I will never surrender!!!!!

LICK IT OR TICKET, HONKY!

He's on the couch with his dad watching I don't even know what on tv. I'm not even paying attention to the damn show. I'm busy trying to be sneaky and not get noticed crawling on the floor over to his work bag behind the couch and then zipping it open to hunt through it.

But he turns around. Oh, it's terrible, how I wish his head wouldn't turn, but he lays his eyes on me and he knows immediately exactly what I am doing. Goddamnit. Maybe I can still pull this off though. I got so hopped up on the idea I can't just give it up now, even though my chance of pulling the whole thing off really does rely almost entirely on the element of surprise.

He looks at me with a naughty smile of expectation and superiority and asks all mock-haughty, "What do you think you're doing?"

I'm just in my old silly hooligan mood and I grin at him like it doesn't even matter if he knows, I'm going in for the kill and he's going down. "Nothing!" I squeal in poorly feigned innocence. "What--you aren't supposed to notice me! Watch your show!"

He snickers at my lame attempt to take control of the situation but decides to let me have my fun and complies, turning his attention back to the show and totally pretending to not see me still rifling through this damn bag where I CAN'T FUCKING FIND IT.

So I have to be real, real, real slick and grab this goddamn three-hundred pound enormously huge bag and haul it back to the bedroom where I can be free in my privacy take its insides apart with wild abandon. Which is like, super hard because it's impossible to carry this thing away very slyly. I kinda just like, take hold of it and bolt, but I'm not even that fast because it weighs more than I do and I can barely carry it without breathing funny.

So I'm in the room and I dump it on the bed and shut the door and I feel almost like a champion except I haven't really accomplished the main goal yet, there's three parts to this journey and this was only part one.

PART TWO- figure out where in God's name this man keeps his HANDCUFFS.

Sadly it's just not obvious to me and I search all the side pockets before I realize---uhhh, duh, if he uses them all the time at work they're gonna be on his utility belt.

*sigh*

So I'm feeling pretty good, like things are going halfway alright, and my mood elevates exceptionally the moment I strip down to total nakedness and slip on his work shirt. It's all big and manly and it buttons up in the front with a handy pocket on one side and a shiny metal badge on the other, a patch on one arm. I feel like I've gained some spark of authority somehow, and I'm holding the handcuffs in my hand and I'm feeling rather adventurous.

"Bobby!" I open up the door a crack and call out.

"What?!" he asks all irritated like I am bothering him.

"Come in here! It's important!"

"Hold on!"

I swear he takes like three hours to get in there. Meanwhile I'm looking around the room anticipating the thrill of my catch on the way and I notice the fan is on the floor not the box and if it's not high up when he's fucking me he's gonna get really hot which will be uncomfortable for him.

Don't ask why we've got a fan on a box, it's not very classy but it's what we've been doing and it works.

So I'm struggling with the box and the fan, the cord is getting caught on stuff and the box is losing it's top and things are just going haywire. I've thrown the handcuffs on the bed thoughtlessly and Bobby bursts in and spots them and I'm fucked to hell.

So he's on the bed with the cuffs in his hand just waiting for the right moment to snag me, just looking at me like, "I'm gonna getcha," and suddenly I don't feel so sexy naked in his shirt, I feel like this is totally the wrong time to be naked in his shirt, I don't want to be naked anymore, this is not going to end well I can tell.

I dive on him. "Sir, we got a call, I'm here to take care of you. We know what you did to the shopping cart. I'm gonna have to place you under arrest. If you will please hand me the cuffs."

See, cuz I have this little miniature shopping cart where I keep all my lotions and perfumes and he broke the seat on it the other day and it was a tragedy. And he was all like, "We can weld it! Or fix it with a twist tie! Don't throw it out!" but I was like, "You EVIL, EVIL man!!!!"

Only he doesn't hand me the cuffs he just says, "Yeah RIGHT!" and laughs at me while I'm struggling to dominate him. And then, somehow, I don't know, maybe it's because he's bigger and stronger and better at wrestling than me, but he ends up locking me in the goddamn cuffs.

And I'm fucked.

Except not literally. I don't get fucked. I get spanked once and scoffed at for even entertaining the idea that I could conquer him.

Oh, it was such a good plan you guys. In theory. I was gonna get him cuffed and threaten to take him to jail and he was gonna be like, "No! Officer! Please! I'll do anything!" and then I was gonna make him lick my bean for awhile, and whenever he tried to stop I'd be like, "Lick it or ticket, honky!" and I'd force his head back, and then I'd use his cock for my tool of pleasure.

UGH! And then he told me to hurry up and get ready to go meet Evelyn and it was just so unclimactic! He just threw me the keys and left the room.

It wuz kinda kinky being cuffed tho, and by kinda you know I mean SUPER-FRICKIN-FANTABULOUSLY-HOTT. He coulda toyed with me a little more. But our relationship is in a rocky bad stage where I keep trying to dump him and he tells me I'm crazy and I shouldn't and this was my way of trying not to be miserable with him, to just be happy with him, to play like everything was fine and make the most of a moment with him. We've never really been on the same wavelength sexually tho, and how do I explain that I dunno, where are my words?

We're lost with each other. With some people my love skills spawn from intuition and mojo, and I'm powerful because they are so receptive and hungry. I know how to own them and tap into their deepest desires, and there's an open communication about what is wanted. With Bobby, there is no such flow of understanding and connectedness, I just--- I give him head and I get boned and that's how it works. So simple and predictable and not-special. And it's only very very recently that he's ever been ready and willing to kiss me extensively, or pleasure my pussy with something besides his cock, or just give me foreplay-type stuff in general for more than a small fragment of a moment. With kissing it never leads to full-blown passionate making out endlessly, but we do smooch each other often at least, and it almost seems wild and elongated sometimes. With other stuff he gets like, pissed off at me for the way that I moan or thrust and wiggle my hips at him, he says it's stupid, it seems like I'm a desperate whiny baby and he wants me to learn how to be more sexy. He just doesn't ever own me, try to figure me out and learn how I cum the hardest. And when I do cum I have so much dirty stuff I want to say and yet all I can barely manage to utter is maybe his name a couple times and I wish I could be more comfortable. And I want sex more than once a day but he's done with one round. At least he wants it almost every day but still. Sooooooo.... see, we're just not on the same wavelength. I think if we were, when I wuz in those handcuffs, things would have turned out more interesting.

Which just adds a whole extra layer of retardedness to my story.

to laugh or to cry......

So I was in the bathroom at my friend Evelyn's house and there was this magazine on the floor that said, "Look twelve years younger!" on the cover and I was like, "Ha, how about no? I don't really want to look TEN."

But then I thought, "Wait, Bobby would probably be happy about that actually."

But since nobody in that house really ought to know he's a pedo cuz they would probably FREAK OUT, I had to keep my little joke all to myself.
 
*sigh*
 
 
 
 
.

worst guessing game everrr

Bobby comes home and snuggles into bed with me with these guilty words, "I have to tell you something. I lied to you. It's horrible. You're going to dump me. You're never going to forgive me."

"You're not really allergic to pineapple?"

Awkward silence. And then, "No."

"You ARE going to become a child molester?"

"NOOO!!"

"You stuck yer dick in some random chick and now yer worried you might be infested with something nasty?"

"NO, worse than that!"

"You think I'm ugly."

"No, you're beautiful."

"Come on, I'm pretty resilient, just tell me."

"I caaan't! It's really really bad."

"That's it, whatever, fine, don't tell me, I'm already mad at you anyway for being mean to me in my dream and telling me I'D MAKE A HORRIBLE BUSINESSWOMAN."

"That was just a dream!"

"I'm really mad at you right now, leave me alone."

"Okay okay I'll tell you."

"What."

"Remember your bedtime story? I lied. She doesn't get hit by a train in the end. She actually manages to burst through the sound barrier again and makes a shitload of money with her sister for discovering time travel. They become rich."

"Awwww! This is good. But yer still in touble for being an asshole in my dream."

"Oh my God."


best part of the bedtime story:

when she gets attacked by an angry mob and they break her wheelchair so she has to run away to save herself, and hides out in a dumpster. At which point I have to stop him and ask, "But Bobby, why would she be in a wheelchair if she could RUN AROUND?"

"BECAUSE SHE'S LAZY! Now are you telling this story, or am I?"

"Right, sorry, carry on."