Tag Archives: BDSM

Karma’s a Bitch – and I got Her on Speed Dial

We’ve all got our “man done me wrong” stories.  But sometimes there’s a happy ending.  No, not for him (after all, he didn’t get the girl, did he?) but for you. Because who doesn’t love to indulge in just a wee bit of Schadenfreude from time to time?  Or constantly.

I recently got back in touch with the French Boy.  You know, the one that was the impetus for this sad piece of blog-posting.  Enough time had gone by that I felt mostly over it and was amenable to a quick “what’s new in your life chat.”  He was starting to be just restless enough in his new relationship to do a quick market check.  You know – where you hit up old flames and fuck buddies and the like to see if they are still in the market to meet and revisit old times again.  And of course by “revisit old times” I mean bang.

Never EVER attempt to peel your own banana.

My what’s new included being laid off from my old job, finding a new one and preparing to move myself, my children and all of my shit back to my childhood home.  His included a broken frenulum.  (A what?  Whatever you do DO NOT GOOGLE IMAGE THIS.  You will see things that cannot be unseen.  A text-based description is more than enough in this case.)  Yes folks, he had broken his dick.  While dry humping the girl who he had left me for.  The girl who was, as he described to me in his own words, so much like me.  Only younger.  And with bigger tits.  Obviously, this was not well received at the time.  If I had known what a frenulum was back then, I may have attempted to break it right then and there.  Luckily, I had the universe on my side to do the…procedure for me.

I am only slightly ashamed to admit that as soon as I understood the nature of his injury and the manner in which he had sustained it, I laughed.  Right there on the phone. I laughed at this poor boy’s frustration. The injury to his most prized possession.  And the fact that he had to abstain from any kind of sexual activity for 1-2 weeks while it healed.  The more he explained things to me, the harder I laughed.  Harder than the time that he hit himself in the balls with my leather belt.  (At least that injury was sustained while he was doing something for my benefit.  That is DEFINITELY another blog post – the dangers of amateur S&M.)

Need more proof that the universe is indeed on my side?  My soon-to-be-ex husband recently came down with a rather severe case of kidney stones.  Or, as I have re-named them, Karma stones.  Dozens of them, just chilling in there, taking their sweet little time passing through.  Each of them a miniature ginsu-weilding ninja of pain and despair leisurely making its way through the urethra.  From what I understand, this is an indescribable pain like no other and the only thing a man can experience that comes even close to childbirth.  Because this man is the father of my two precious children, I gave him the benefit of waiting until after he was out of earshot to laugh.  Then I called all of my friends and had way more fun than should be legal at his expense.

The moral of this story – beware men of the Greater Bay Area.  You fuck with me and my very best friend Karma will be along shortly to smite you.  Probably in the dick.  Because apparently that’s how she rolls.

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The Bad Date Chronicles – The Sexsomniac Edition

I met the Sexsomniac (nickname to be explained shortly) after seeing his ad and picture on the Craigslist “men seeking women” section.  Honestly, I was looking for a new place to live, but when I couldn’t find the 5-bedroom palace with swimming pool, sauna and butler for under $1500 a month I started getting bored.  I figured, if I could find a great deal on a race car bed (which I had) then why not a man?  Plus, it was free and I just didn’t have the motivation to pay for and reactivate my Match account.

If you’ve ever trolled Craigslist for a date, for anything really, you will be entertained and appalled in equal measure.  Some men come at you with humor (I once had sex for 1.5 hours.  Of course, an hour of that was spent crying.), descriptions of their..ahem..equipment, their barely concealed misogyny (Looking for a real girl, no drama no bullshit. Just be real) or their very specific requests (Searching for Asian woman. 5’1.5′ and under with no kids and a good sense of humor.  Oh and must love grapes).  Bad spelling, grammar and punctuation abound.  You really don’t go on Craigslist hoping to find the man of your dreams, but if you’re just looking for a date, it’s really not much worse than any other way. Bad dates come in many forms, and they issue forth from many dark corners of the internet.
After being genuinely stunned, frightened and vaguely sad for humanity in general, I stumbled upon the Sexsomniac’s ad.  It was very unassuming, almost Puritan in its simplicity.  “Hi, my name is “Seymour” and I’m 30 years old.  I am in the process of finishing my law degree and am looking for a great girl to meet and see where it goes from there.  I’m 5’10” and 160 pounds.  Hope to hear from you!”  Ok, not terribly witty or outstanding or even remotely interesting but there was a picture attached and I couldn’t deny that he was an attractive fellow.  I decided to take a chance on it being a) a really, really old picture or b) a picture of someone else.  I replied to the ad, attached some pictures and was mildly surprised when, less than a day later, I received a reply. We corresponded for a day or two, and the emails were succinct, witty and I was impressed by his grasp of the English language in general.  I gave him my cell phone number and was delighted to receive a text message, asking me when was a good time to call later that evening.
The appointed hour came, and right on time I received a call. We must have spoken for a little over an hour and had a very spirited and intellectually stimulating conversation about politics, relationships, world events, etc.  There were lots of laughs, a dozen little delightful coincidences and absolutely no awkward silences.  So when the time came for us to hang up, I was more than willing to accept his invitation to have a drink later on in the week.  A day or two passed and he texted back to confirm our date, along with the time and the place that he had picked out. I immediately took to Yelp to check out this place, and it was adorable!  Patio with twinkly lights, great beer menu, right outside of the BART station so that I wouldn’t have to walk very far to get there.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been this excited for a first date, and I put on my favorite date outfit and paid extra attention to my hair and makeup.  In short, I looked amazing!  I got to the bar a bit early and scoped out a seat on the patio, contemplating whether or not I should pre-game the date since I was starting to get a bit nervous.  Before I could do that, he arrived, looking better than his picture and smiling in a way that made his eyes crinkle up in the most adorable way.  My heart gave a little lurch as I stood up to hug him hello.  We made our way inside and got a couple of beers and then headed up to the second floor to find a nice quiet table.  Things seemed to be going very well.  The beer was great, the company was even better and we were getting along wonderfully.
About 15 minutes in, he leaned in and let me know that he had to tell me something.  And…here we go I say to myself.  The deep dark secret, the dealbreaker that everyone has was about to be revealed to me right here on the first date.  Trying to conceal my disappointment, I leaned in.  He tells me that he has a condition in which he performs sexual acts on whoever he happens to be in bed with in the middle of the night.  The next morning, he doesn’t remember doing it.  In essence he’s sleepwalking.  But instead of walking in his sleep, he’s fucking in his sleep.  The condition is called, I kid you not, Sexsomnia.  Lucky for him, I watch 20/20 and 48 hours so I have actually heard of this condition and to be honest, I’m a bit relieved that this is the big secret, and that it’s out.  Am I thrilled about it?  No, not exactly but I’m not completely horrified.  I make a mental note to never sleep over, but at this point there’s still too much promise to pull the fake “my cat is on fire” phone call.  All that was about to change however. Continue reading