April 12, 2010


My friend, B, texted me, “Can you call me right now and rescue me from a situation. Say ur downtown and fucked up and need a ride. Pleez.”

Of course, I immediately called and said I was fucked up downtown and needed a ride. 10 seconds later she was at my door, telling me this story.

—Big Sister.

April 11, 2010
The “C” Word Guy

Another chat log from a hail on www.okcupid.com. Just warms the soul. As my friend always says, “No good deed goes unpunished”, so no honesty goes unpunished. There’s a whole world of people out there who’d rather be lied to. Go figure.

(10:32:46 pm)“C” Word Guy: hi

(10:33:01 pm)“C” Word Guy: im here in ____ for the week

(10:33:20 pm)Me: :)

(10:33:25 pm)Me: why r u here?

(10:33:30 pm)“C” Word Guy: i was wondering if maybe you’d like to get together say this weeknd or early next week and hook up

(10:33:38 pm)“C” Word Guy: im visiting my father

(10:33:54 pm)“C” Word Guy: helping him with a project this weekend and staying through wednesday next week

(10:34:02 pm)“C” Word Guy: i live in orange county

(10:34:08 pm)Me: How nice for you

(10:34:24 pm)“C” Word Guy: so what do u think?

(10:34:30 pm)Me: no thank you.

(10:34:44 pm)“C” Word Guy: is it because i live out of the area?

(10:35:27 pm)“C” Word Guy: u don’t have to be an asshole, i was just reaching out, that’s all!

(10:35:28 pm)Me: it’s because I don’t know you at all…

(10:35:35 pm)Me: andbecause I’m not attracted to you…

(10:35:45 pm)“C” Word Guy: whatever, your loss

(10:35:48 pm)Me: that’s it, really. But thanks anyway.

(10:35:59 pm)Me: if I had five cents for every time some guy said “your loss”.

(10:36:18 pm)“C” Word Guy: ok, no problem and fuck you u hamburger cunt, how’s that for effect!

—Big Sister

April 11, 2010
Almost Loitering

Following my killer night with Game Stop Boy, I decided to “sit in the sunshine” with another local guy I’ve been talking with online. We finally moved from typing to telephone the other night and I learned that he is Hungarian, lived in Austria, and then moved with his parents to the US where he’s lived for quite a few years now, resulting in his ability to speak Hungarian, German, French, and perfect English. Cha ching! You know how I am about tongues.

On the phone he was winning, funny, and comfortable. I thought for sure our meeting would be Sunday time well spent. But…

As is nearly always the case, he looked NOTHNG like his photo, add to that his unshaven mangy beard, and his complete and utter lack of self-confidence. He quickly confided that he had not been on a date or had sex in six, count them SIX, years, following a heartbreak from which he’d never healed.

Although it was immediately obvious (within the first 2 seconds) that this was yet another doozie, I stuck around to chat. It was worth the hour I spent there, asking him about his travels and his mother tongue. I understood that Hungarian is one of the few languages that is not really related to any of the ancient root languages, like Latin, Greek, Slavic, etc. He said that was true and gave me examples of two words that are untranslatable. Apparently, there are not one but two words in Hungarian that mean “almost loitering”. There is another word for full on shameless loitering, and a very specific difference between that and this “almost loitering” activity in which millions of Hungarians engage on a regular basis. Two words, not one.

Needless to say, I finished my oatmeal raisin cookie and my chai tea latte and looked for the nearest exit, but not before telling him that we’d be friends, and we’d work on his self-confidence. I reiterated that when he called later to thank me for meeting him.

I meant it.

—Big Sister

April 10, 2010
The Asian Queen - Part One


-By Big Sister

I told my friend about this blog. He is a writer, and wanted to contribute. Here’s a little something he wrote recently as a start to his book “Core Samples from a Thirty Year Old Man”.


Once upon a time I met a Little Asian Girl in Hong Kong. She had named herself after a precious gem, I’ll call her Ruby.

I was infatuated with her. She told me she didn’t have much experience with men, then she told me she was engaged to a millionaire back in Beijing who was about 12 years her senior. I was 7.

We proceeded to fall in love, sort of. On account of her engagement, and small town fame back in Beijing, she wanted to keep her personal life private. Not easy for a man used to unbridled and often unguided beingness. There was some give and take in that area. I got the impression that China’s gender roles were somewhere between 50 and 75 years behind the US. And my own were about 50 to 75 ahead of the US. This was 100 to 150 years of difference. Is that possible? She liked to play the fragile girl, though I thought it immature and antiquated. I suspect she thought I was a brute for not accommodating. She was a rare beauty and brilliant too, but alas our two versions of wisdom never quite matched up.

We had really great sex. She made me virile unlike any other woman I had been with. She kept her pubic hair almost as long as the hair on her head. She said that it was her identity. I didn’t mind, really. In fact, when I had been younger I found a woman’s pubic hair to be quite attractive. That was before Brazilian waxes became popular. The only two things I had a problem with were that it made it harder to find and keep track of her tiny clitoris and that if we went to the beach…yeah.

She once asked me what I thought of her body and specifically her ass. I was honest and said her ass was a bit sagging although overall I still thought she had a great body. In retrospect, I think it was the lighting that made her ass look saggy. On another occasion it looked much better: brighter light, less shadow.

One time I brought her downtown and we went to one of the hourly hotels to have sex. This was due to a housing situation that didn’t allow for late night lovers. The hotel we went to was the kind that prostitutes would take their johns to. She didn’t notice, but as we entered the hotel a pimp outside almost attacked her, thinking she was an independent making money on his turf, but his buddy held him back. It all happened very quickly. The place had mirrors on the ceiling. During the taxi ride home she told me how much she enjoyed watching me make love to her through the reflection on the ceiling. She liked looking at my back moving. She was very quiet and distant in that cab ride. It worried me greatly. I wondered if she had judged the sex hotel experience to be dirty and/or beneath her, and thus me unworthy of her respect. I didn’t say anything about my concerns though. Her distance kept me from sharing my thoughts.

That was one of the last times we made love.

I can vividly recall the only time my attraction to her faltered. She got up from lovemaking to answer a call from her fiancé. I asked her not to but she seemed very unconcerned with how it made me feel. It hurt me deeply. I remember my erection wavering for a moment, and being struck by the possibility that I could actually be turned off to her. The notion had never before crossed my mind. I lost a bit of respect for her, which made me very very sad, and I realized, perhaps, that she really didn’t care for me much at all.

I believe Ruby thought boys should not cry, but I cried in front of her twice. Once when I was unsure if I could continue with a monogamous relationship, and another time on the phone when I could no longer contain my shame and sadness over not being able to give her the life that her millionaire fiancé could. It had been a very long time since I had cried at all, let alone with abandon, and few women had ever evoked real tears from my eyes. I don’t think she had respect for tears. Or maybe just my tears. Or maybe just my reasons for tears. Another philosophical quandary in our difference.

She was the flame and I the moth. The closer to her I got, the more I turned into ashes. But like a flame, she was totally unaware of my dilemma, aware only of her own radiance. 

— Big Sister’s Compassionate Cohort 

April 3, 2010

I’m starting to change my mind about young boys. I had a zen moment today, and I realized that 2 out of 3 of my best fucks were the only two boys I’ve ever slept with who were younger than me.

18 and 19, to be exact.

I liked D. the second I saw him. In the same second I also realized that I’d seen a picture of him before, on someone’s blog, and had thought he was cute. He was a head taller than me, with the kind of raunchy, wild hair that I’m a total sucker for. He came out of a car with a whole lot of my friends from another city.

I was busy doing my thing, but I knew that he was watching me. I liked it. I remember saying a few things back and forth to him, and he was a shameless flirt. The thing that made it tolerable was that he was only flirting with me—he ignored everyone else that passed between us.

I knew he was young, but he moved like a man who had confidence in his presence. He was straightforward, deliberate, he looked into my eyes when he was talking to me, with an impish smile on his lips. With all of that in the bag, somehow his age only made things a little more exciting.

I left the party and stood outside for some fresh air. He came upstairs with another girl, who preened him like a drunk duck. She clung to him and giggled at everything he said, and he held her to keep her from falling down. He saw me, and I knew right then that he was a boy I would like to take home with me.

I told him where I was staying, and that if he needed a place to stay, he could come by and sleep with me.

"I have something in mind for you." I said. He smiled and told me he appreciated the offer, and left.

I kicked myself. I wasn’t used to leaving open invitations like that—was I sure he’d accept? Had I set myself up for a sleepless night wondering if he’d come? Ugh. I hadn’t made such a sloppy invitation since I was 17.

Maybe I wanted someone to fuck around with. Someone who would play those adolescent games and make them worthwhile.

I fell asleep naked, quicker than I intended to. But I woke up fast and furious at the sound of the door opening. I heard him take off his shirt and move into bed beside me.

You know how some men aren’t sure what to do with a sleeping woman? You can feel them wondering if they ought to wake you up, or testing tentative sleeping positions with an arm placed awkwardly over your body. Of course they think we’re sleeping, but we’re always awake.

Not D. He slipped into bed and pulled me into him, his arms around my waist, his cheek touching mine. He sighed a deep, honest sigh, and I knew this was a man who could sleep if he wanted to, fuck if he wanted to, and do what he wanted to. That turned me the FUCK on.

We slept. For 30 minutes, maybe. And then I decided that was enough, and I put his hand on my breast. I felt him stir, I knew he was half asleep and registering slowly. When he registered, he didn’t disappoint. These were hands that knew how to please a breast.

Just one. Slowly.

I swear I can only love a man who knows how much attention my nipples crave. He moved his body closer to mine, his lips grazed my neck, then he teased bits of skin between his teeth. He made a hungry sound, and squeezed both my breasts, his chin buried in my neck. As my breath grew heavier and he knew I was awake, he gripped my shoulders and pinned me onto my back. He looked at my face for one second, and then put one of my breasts into his mouth.

I hesitate a little to tell men to bite me, because I’ve gotten mixed reactions—some that threw us off completely. But I knew I wanted to be ravished by this boy.

"Bite them," I told him, as I gripped his hair.

He says that was the moment that he knew I was going to be worth losing some sleep for.

-Little Sister

To Be Continued…

March 27, 2010
The “Bitch Splitter”

This is a chat log from sometime in March 2010.

—Big Sister

(12:33:36 pm) THEGUY: q: how much does a polar bear weigh?

(12:34:41 pm) ME: enough to break the ice ;)

(12:35:18 pm) ME: I see you play the git-fiddle

(12:35:58 pm) THEGUY: HAHAHAHA

(12:36:03 pm) THEGUY: yah

(12:36:05 pm) ME: I play a little too.

(12:36:09 pm) THEGUY: NICE

(12:36:12 pm) ME: :)

(12:36:14 pm) THEGUY: my names lou btw im a songwriter for disney

(12:36:15 pm) THEGUY: no shit?

(12:36:17 pm) ME: reading your profile now…

(12:36:25 pm) ME: yep. and a whole lot of other stuff ;)

(12:36:33 pm) ME: My name’s *******

(12:36:40 pm) THEGUY: check out my stuff here

(12:36:44 pm) THEGUY: myspace link

(12:36:46 pm) THEGUY: lemme know what you think

(12:36:52 pm) ME: ok

(12:39:11 pm) ME: No question. you’re the real deal

(12:39:21 pm) ME: I know how much you must have put into that…

(12:39:29 pm) ME: and how amazing you have to be to get that far, so Kudos.

(12:40:45 pm) THEGUY: thanks

(12:40:51 pm) THEGUY: do you think im cute?

(12:41:11 pm) ME: Do you think I am?

(12:41:23 pm) THEGUY: fuck yah!

(12:41:32 pm) ME: Thanks :)

(12:41:41 pm) ME: Yes, you’re very good looking.

(12:41:57 pm) THEGUY: lemme tell you a bit about myself

(12:42:19 pm) THEGUY: im rich, educated, cute, white, and well-endowed…interested? ;)

(12:43:39 pm) ME: Well, you seem pretty full of yourself. Otherwise, what’s not to like?

(12:44:01 pm) THEGUY: haha

(12:44:06 pm) THEGUY: i just like being forward and honest

(12:44:08 pm) THEGUY: i can prove my claims

(12:44:10 pm) THEGUY: check it out

(12:44:18 pm) THEGUY: smart: link (Link doesn’t work now, but it was a pic of him holding a masters degree with his name on it.)

(12:44:24 pm) THEGUY: rich: link (Link doesn’t work now, but it was a picture of him—in a bini, with heavy glossy chap stick on—holding a fan of $100.00 bills.)

(12:44:31 pm) THEGUY: the other thing: link (a picture of him wearing a gaudy star of David pin, laying down, holding his hard on.)

(12:46:25 pm) ME: Honey, while I applaud your success, you’re not my type. I’m sure there are millions of girls who would jump at the chance to get wit’chu though.

(12:46:35 pm) ME: Good luck

(12:46:36 pm) THEGUY: wait

(12:46:39 pm) THEGUY: why not your type?

(12:48:19 pm) THEGUY: listen

(12:48:24 pm) THEGUY: i have a confession to make

(12:48:35 pm) THEGUY: i dont care about that stuff either

(12:48:38 pm) THEGUY: i only say that stuff to impress girls

(12:49:02 pm) ME: My advice: if you’re truly smart, all of the other stuff speaks for itself.

(12:49:13 pm) THEGUY: well I am

(12:49:14 pm) ME: to say it comes off as peaCOCKing. lol

(12:49:23 pm) THEGUY: haha how do you know that term??

(12:49:42 pm) ME: but I guess I understand a world in which pointing those things out would impress girls.

(12:49:52 pm) THEGUY: yes in my perfect world…

(12:49:56 pm) THEGUY: none of that stuff would matter

(12:50:02 pm) THEGUY: but unfortunately i’m not able to choose the world I live in

(12:50:46 pm) ME: Oh, and not to be mean, but I would call your cock average. To call yourself well-endowed is setting expectations too high. I like an average cock just fine though. Now, on to other things.

(12:51:01 pm) THEGUY: haha yah right

(12:51:21 pm) THEGUY: my cock is huge

(12:51:25 pm) ME: Nor can I choose the world in which I live. Though I’m glad you’re in it. Adding music and art to it.

(12:52:31 pm) THEGUY: babe the average cock size is 5” my dick is 9” how the fuck is that average?

(12:52:53 pm) ME: it doesn’t look 9” is all I’m saying. If in fact it’s actually 9”, than yes, it’s big.

(12:53:00 pm) ME: I’m so happy for you :)

(12:53:17 pm) THEGUY: ok how many inches does it look?

(12:53:55 pm) ME: 6. Maybe 6.5. Again, not a thing of importance, unless a person is less than 5”. Then it’s just sad.

(12:54:19 pm) THEGUY: are you insane

(12:54:24 pm) THEGUY: unless you fuck black guys

(12:54:32 pm) THEGUY: my dick is about as big as it gets

(12:54:51 pm) THEGUY: my dick is long thick and huge

(12:54:57 pm) ME: ok. You should know.

(12:55:02 pm) THEGUY: why the fuck are you bullshitting me

(12:55:04 pm) ME: I see that you’re Jewish.

(12:55:08 pm) THEGUY: yah i am

(12:55:15 pm) ME: How do you feel about the whole shiksa thing?

(12:55:19 pm) THEGUY: i like it :)

(12:55:29 pm) THEGUY: admit i have a big cock though

(12:55:30 pm) ME: what about marriage?

(12:55:35 pm) THEGUY: ummh

(12:55:38 pm) THEGUY: well

(12:55:43 pm) THEGUY: she’d have to be really special, or convert

(12:56:00 pm) THEGUY: you’ve agitated me though

(12:56:03 pm) THEGUY: admit i have a big cock

(12:56:33 pm) THEGUY: admit you said that just to try and throw a wrench in my spokes

(12:57:14 pm) ME: Nope. Nothing like that.

(12:57:23 pm) THEGUY: if you actually think my cock isnt huge

(12:57:28 pm) THEGUY: then you must have a giant vagina

(12:57:53 pm) THEGUY: a lot of girls cant even take my cock

(12:59:13 pm) THEGUY: they call my cock “the bitch splitter”

(12:59:22 pm) ME: I’m over it.

(12:59:34 pm) THEGUY: you’ll be all over it soon ;)

(12:59:45 pm) ME: I doubt that very much.

(12:59:49 pm) THEGUY: let me come pound you :)

(12:59:58 pm) ME: uh huh (bored)

(1:00:00 pm) THEGUY: ive got a place in ********

(1:00:04 pm) ME: so I see…

(1:00:20 pm) THEGUY: is my cock kissable?

(1:00:32 pm) ME: Like I said, I’m over it.

(1:00:37 pm) THEGUY: haha

(1:00:40 pm) THEGUY: is it suckable?

(1:01:30 pm) ME: Probably.

(1:01:34 pm) THEGUY: you know *****?

(1:01:36 pm) ME: But not by me.

(1:01:43 pm) ME: Yes, I life right off *****.

(1:01:51 pm) THEGUY: you know gene *****?

(1:02:20 pm) THEGUY: oh yah portland

(1:02:24 pm) THEGUY: chicago’s better ;)

(1:02:37 pm) THEGUY: oops wrong IM

(1:02:45 pm) ME: …naturally.

(1:02:48 pm) THEGUY: do you know the ***** condos?

(1:02:49 pm) ME: good luck.

(1:03:04 pm) THEGUY: wait

(1:03:07 pm) ME: You lost me. Like I said, too full of yourself.

(1:03:07 pm) THEGUY: i dont get understand

(1:03:12 pm) THEGUY: why dont you like me?

(1:03:23 pm) THEGUY: im too full of myself?

(1:03:30 pm) ME: Sadly.

(1:03:36 pm) ME: Otherwise, yes, you’d be lovely. Plus…

(1:03:42 pm) ME: I dated a Jewish guy once…

(1:03:46 pm) THEGUY: ?

(1:03:54 pm) THEGUY: and?

(1:03:55 pm) ME: who eventually broke up with me because he told me there was no point in continuing…

(1:03:59 pm) ME: since he’d only marry a Jew.

(1:04:02 pm) ME: waste of time.

(1:04:07 pm) THEGUY: well babe im not like that

(1:04:11 pm) ME: nice and intelligent as you all are.

(1:04:25 pm) THEGUY: im not like that

(1:04:32 pm) THEGUY: i would marry a shiksa if we were in love

(1:04:47 pm) ME: BS.

(1:04:52 pm) ME: Your mother would kill you.

(1:04:59 pm) ME: her grandbabies wouldn’t be Jewish

(1:05:07 pm) ME: I’m no fool

(1:05:16 pm) THEGUY: would you consider converting?

(1:05:52 pm) ME: As a matter of fact I would. Funny thing is, I already know waaaay more about Judaism than you probably do.

(1:05:55 pm) ME: Anyhoo…

(1:06:07 pm) THEGUY: and listen about you thinking im full of myself and all that, you’re wrong, you have no idea what ive been through in my life, and i really dont care about any of that stuff

(1:06:34 pm) THEGUY: im a very internal person so to speak

(1:06:41 pm) THEGUY: and im very free of materialism

(1:06:48 pm) ME: Ok.

(1:06:57 pm) ME: Well, if that’s true, maybe get back to that…

(1:07:04 pm) ME: and get away from the whole Hollywood thing…

(1:07:08 pm) THEGUY: i do have things that many people may find materialistically appealing

(1:07:15 pm) THEGUY: so i sometimes use that to my advantage

(1:07:16 pm) ME: of having to appeal to girls who only want you for your cock and your money

(1:07:23 pm) THEGUY: but its not like i actually care about that stuff

(1:07:26 pm) THEGUY: i like sex

(1:07:30 pm) ME: who doesn’t?

(1:07:37 pm) THEGUY: and so sometimes as a guy

(1:07:52 pm) THEGUY: you have to use your tools to get what you want

(1:07:59 pm) THEGUY: its not a reflection of the person i am though

(1:08:20 pm) THEGUY: but when it comes to sex im very primal

(1:08:21 pm) ME: Well, then you’re misleading the good girls that you really want to settle down with, aren’t you?

(1:08:34 pm) THEGUY: i dont know

(1:08:39 pm) ME: the only girls you’ll attract with that schtick are the ones you can’t take home to mama.

(1:08:55 pm) THEGUY: i suppose

(1:09:01 pm) THEGUY: i have no idea

(1:09:14 pm) THEGUY: do you like massages?

(1:09:21 pm) ME: So you’re aimlessly looking for the “right” woman.

(1:09:26 pm) THEGUY: perhaps

(1:09:29 pm) ME: if you don’t know who you are, or what you’re putting out there…

(1:09:38 pm) ME: how can you expect to identify “right” when it comes along?

(1:09:56 pm) ME: you might just be putting her off with all that.

(1:10:00 pm) ME: Obviously…

(1:10:00 pm) THEGUY: i dont know im hoping it’ll just happen by chance

(1:10:04 pm) ME: you’re a man to be admired in some ways…

(1:10:08 pm) ME: with many strengths.

(1:10:24 pm) ME: chance never did shit for nobody.

(1:10:28 pm) ME: you know that as well as I do.

(1:10:32 pm) THEGUY: do you like massages?

(1:11:31 pm) ME: of course.

(1:11:40 pm) THEGUY: i give great massages

(1:11:43 pm) THEGUY: next time i come to *****

(1:11:47 pm) THEGUY: lemme give you a massage

(1:11:53 pm) THEGUY: do you know the ***** condos?

(1:13:00 pm) ME: I used to work near there

(1:13:06 pm) THEGUY: haha

(1:13:11 pm) THEGUY: well that’s where my house is

(1:13:17 pm) THEGUY: i have a house there

(1:13:29 pm) THEGUY: maybe you’ve seen me ;)

(1:13:37 pm) THEGUY: next time i come there why dont you come over

(1:13:40 pm) THEGUY: and i’ll give you a massage ok?

(1:14:12 pm) ME: I will respectfully decline.

(1:14:19 pm) THEGUY: what do you have to lose

(1:14:19 pm) ME: But I appreciate the offer.

(1:14:30 pm) THEGUY: a nice cute jewish guy with a big cock giving you a massage? whats to lose ;)

(1:14:34 pm) THEGUY: heehee j/j

(1:14:36 pm) ME: lol

(1:14:54 pm) THEGUY: youd really enjoy my massage

(1:14:57 pm) THEGUY: full body

(1:15:01 pm) THEGUY: have you ever had your ass massaged?

(1:15:10 pm) ME: You’re not turning me on.

(1:15:23 pm) ME: If you had read my profile, and if you knew women at all…

(1:15:23 pm) THEGUY: have you ever had your ass massaged?

(1:15:31 pm) ME: you’d know that launching into talk of sex right off…

(1:15:41 pm) THEGUY: haha

(1:15:42 pm) ME: is a turn off. Yes, I have.

(1:15:50 pm) THEGUY: do you like have your ass massaged?

(1:16:05 pm) ME: Wouldn’t you like to knopw.

(1:16:11 pm) THEGUY: i would :)

(1:16:20 pm) THEGUY: i would massage down your back

(1:16:22 pm) THEGUY: down to your ass

(1:16:28 pm) THEGUY: and with my elbow

(1:16:35 pm) THEGUY: start massaging your ass cheeks

(1:16:36 pm) ME: I will block you if you don’t stop.

(1:16:41 pm) THEGUY: ?

(1:17:00 pm) ME: I told you, I’m not interested in this. You’re totally off base.

(1:17:12 pm) THEGUY: what feels better

(1:17:19 pm) THEGUY: having your ass massaged or your breasts massaged?

(1:17:22 pm) ME: What part of “I don’t date Jewish guys”, and “You’re too full of yourself” don’t you understand?

(1:17:31 pm) ME: Ok, blocking. Take it easy.

(1:17:34 pm) THEGUY: wait

(1:17:41 pm) THEGUY: i thought we talked about that

(1:17:53 pm) THEGUY: i thought we’re past that

(1:18:37 pm) ME: «blocked>

March 26, 2010
Little Consolation (The Slut Story, part 2)

Here are my principles on this dating issue. I figure we set the ground-rules for my exhibitionism on this blog (if only so you can enjoy it that much more when I break them).

I’m Not A Slut

1. I don’t date guys that I’m not solidly attracted to. I don’t date the “maybe” guys. Tried it, it didn’t work. Even tried it just to be “nice,” and that worked in the opposite direction. Ended all sorts of ways, not the least of which was a naked man weeping at the end of my bed. (Yikes, I tell you.)

So now I make sure I’m interested. And it’s got to be more than a flicker of interest, because I’ve found myself halfway into bed with a man in whom I have lost most interest. That also, doesn’t end well, especially if I try to grunt it through because I’ve “come so far and can’t turn back.” Yikes. I’d recommend a, “I had a great time, but I gotta get up early tomorrow,” any day over bad sex, however lame it sounds in an echo.

2. I don’t sleep with guys who are jerks. Who say, “Yeah I know how much you want this,” over and over. Who don’t put out. Who expect me to go see them all the time. Who get done and leave. Who don’t expect to have to be my friend the rest of the time. Who wouldn’t be proud to say they slept with me.

3. I don’t sleep with two guys in the same day. Did it once, didn’t like how I felt. Turned down several guys since then for that reason.

4. I’m honest with guys when they’ve been jerks, when they’ve treated me unfairly, when they’ve been unreasonable. I think that if I was so disattached and couldn’t respect someone enough to tell them that they’ve made a mess, I didn’t respect them much and oughtn’t have slept with them in the first place.

5. I once, when I was almost 19, slept with a guy because I was raging mad at another guy. That’s the one and only time I’ve “used” sex for a purpose other than to make me and my partner happy, and I don’t intend to ever do it again.

I Might Be A Slut

1. I have fucked guys whose girlfriends/wives didn’t know about it. I once had sex with a man whose wife was sleeping right next to us. I’m not sure if he asked her before we did—they were pretty cool about that sort of thing—but if I’m honest, I would’ve done it at the time even if she didn’t know. It wasn’t my idea or anything, but still.

It’s come to bite me in the ass a few times, and I feel bad about it. I’ve had enough people do it behind my back to know how little respect I could feel for someone who would do that.

2. I lost my virginity when I was 13, to an 18 year old pastor’s son that I barely knew. On his scooter, behind the garage. Not much more to say about that.

3. I like dirty sex. Wild sex. Hard sex. Sex that rips clothes and bites nipples and lower lips and leaves bruises on skin. Some people would use that as an argument for sluttage, but I think that only means I know how to enjoy my sex.

4. I once told a friend of mine that I would have sex with most of the men that I call my friends. A lot of what makes a man attractive as a friend also makes him attractive in bed. Most of the reason why I wouldn’t have sex with those few that I wouldn’t have sex with is because they’re such good friends that I wouldn’t want to try to navigate that crossover, or because they’re married or involved with other good friends that I wouldn’t want to tarnish a friendship with. Still, I’m not very choosy when it comes to having a good time with a good lad.


As you can tell, I haven’t really convinced myself in either direction. I’m content to believe that I have an inner slut that comes out and tackles a good fuck when she pleases. As for whether or not that is a good thing, I leave it to you to decide.

- Little Sister

March 25, 2010
Rejected (The Slut Story, part 1)

Here’s where we interject with a sad story.

The only drawback of sex is that it has to be with two people. Because where two people are, there blow the winds of drama and pressure and emotions, and the inevitable disappointment when one discovers that ones social standards are at an entirely different level than the other’s. We are all left empty-handed, or holding something we don’t want after a closer look. This is when the romantic in me crawls out of my heart just long enough to yell, “Why do we ever touch it at all?”

And then I punch his lights out and handcuff him to a rib.

Why do we ever touch at all? It’s all a little short-sighted, really. Cause it’s there and we want it. We want. We touch. We taste. We bite. We swallow. It’s so simple, we probably learned it from Doctor Seuss.

Last year, I almost fell in love with a boy I’ve known since I was 13. He was a good friend, a better friend, a best friend. I only fell in love with him because he wrote the premise for it—being affectionate, holding me and not wanting to let go, holding my legs over his in the car on the way home, sharing his ice cream with me, holding my hand. He was cute and sweet like no boy I’ve ever known.

For reasons I won’t get into, I didn’t think it’d be prudent to come out and ask him, but boy did I wonder. And the wondering got to my head, I guess. I realized that I felt safe with him. I felt like everything a girl ought to feel around a boy that she loves.

I brought him to a corner one night and tried to tell him that I could fall in love with him. He looked at me for the longest time. I was sure he’d say something like, “Oh…wow. Gosh. I don’t really feel that way, I’m sorry.”

All that night he didn’t have a clear response. The next day, he gave me his answer.

"I love you a lot too. I’m just really traditional, and I can’t help thinking about all the guys you’ve had sex with. There’s guys you’ve had sex with that I don’t even like. It makes me mad thinking about it."


"Yes. When you were my friend it was okay. Now I can’t deal with it. I think it would drive me insane."

"…Dude. As your friend, that’s a serious problem. I don’t know if you’re ever going to meet girls who haven’t had sex with someone before."

"It’s not just that you’ve never had sex before. I know you like sex. I know you’re a big…sex…liker."

"You want to say ‘slut,’ don’t you. Whore?"

"I would never say that to you."

"That’s what you mean. You couldn’t love me because I’m a whore to you?"

"No. Just, look around this room and tell me how many guys you wouldn’t have sex with if they asked you."

"Plenty. …Um, five for sure."

"There’s about 30 guys in this room."



It oughtn’t have made me embarrassed, but it did. It wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t emotionally constipated—I’d told him how I felt, he was the one with the blockage that we couldn’t get past. Fine. Rejected. Done and dusted.

Of course I couldn’t let it slide, and my brain spent a long time trying to calm itself down. Was I abnormally fixated on sex? Would it bother every guy I ever had a relationship with in the future? Should I have higher standards? Or should I be less honest about it? Should my “place” that I get to with guys where I’m comfortable enough to have sex with them be…a little farther off?

Am I a slut?

-Little Sister

To be continued…

March 25, 2010
An anecdote and a question

To commemorate the event that is “our first post,” dear sister—or maybe more out of my wild desire to dirty the clean white pages that I see, I will write about the first wild and woolly thought to enter my mind.

I was on the train home from work last night, when I got a text message from a guy I’m seeing, asking me to bring a camera the next time I see him. When I asked him “why,” as per the clever and sensuous banter I am conditioned to provide, he said, “Cause I want to film you sucking me.”


This is a man who will want to spend 80 percent of his evening contentedly being gone down on. He says I’ve done it better than any woman he’s ever known, including his ex-wife. He tells me about things he’s seen in porn and things he’s heard of that he wants me to try. I’m perfectly happy to indulge him, because I’m no stranger to the headlands, and I find that the better I get at it, the longer I am content to do it. But at a certain point (somewhere between text messages), I realized that he’s the sort of man who takes a lot without putting out.

What do I care? If we’re talking casual sex, I’m not big on cuddling and kissing and awkward stroking of places not on the map. I like to get into it, make it count, make it long and make it hit home. The more I find myself getting sidetracked with a casual partner, the more worried I get that I’m doing something dangerous, that someone’s getting more emotional than they ought to, that we’re wading deeper and deeper, and someone’s trying to push the limits. So, technically, I don’t care that he hasn’t mentioned those things. That he doesn’t turn around and say, “Babe, what can I do for you?”

But then again, I like my men to be courteous. Animals, but gentlemen. (Gentleanimals?) It comforts me when a man, without being weird and frisky, can be concerned that I’m comfortable, happy, and that I know how much I’m appreciated. Kind of like I don’t expect a man to make me breakfast in the morning, but if I mention it one day because the thought pops into my head, and I get a very curious and stubborn reaction to it, I wonder what the problem is. What’s the psycho wall? What’s the reason why he’d be afraid of doing that?

My text message to Mr. Head: “Tell you what—I bring a camera, you do something that I want.”

Mr. Head: “Like what…?”

Me: “I don’t know. Something you know I’d like.”

Mr. Head: “You know I don’t do that stuff.”

Whoa whoa whoa. What stuff?

Me: “You don’t do stuff you know I’d like?”

Mr. Head: “You know what I mean. I don’t go down on girls. I don’t fuck because I don’t want anyone getting pregnant.”

Serious? …What?

I’ve come to realize there are a lot of guys out there with weird walls. Everyone has walls, so technically it shouldn’t make a difference to me what anyone’s walls are. Right?

Hm. Let’s think this through.

The reason why I can be okay with casual sex—the reason it works for me and isn’t constantly developing into something else—is because I rely on a good sense of balance. If someone is giving you your rightful portion of something in return for something you’ve given them, there’s no issue beyond the transaction itself. There’s no coloring outside the lines. Everything is clean—everything is clear.

When I start giving more than I’m getting in a casual relationship, I get concerned. Why am I standing for it? Now I start delving into my ulterior motives. I start having to consult my emotions, to make sure everything’s functioning properly, and my reasoning isn’t skewed.

I don’t like to have to do that. That messes me up.

The choices that confront me this time are pretty clear. Do I keep sleeping with him, in essence telling my brain a little at a time that I’m a slut who settles for less than she’s worth? Or do I stop sleeping with him over something that sounds so selfish and petty as “a lack of concern for my needs?”

After all, I enjoy giving the BJs. Are they their own reward? Answer me this.

-Little Sister