A Dirty Book is Rarely Dusty


The Vagina Monologues. This is going to be nothing like them. I am not here to empower your or my you-know-what. In fact, most of the ridiculous things that have happened in my bed (and there are many) had nothing to do with my anatomy. What am I doing then? I’m just talking. We’re having a conversation. Here’s my promise: I’ll tell you some tales from the crypt, and I’ll leave the dated sex tips to Cosmo

Let’s start at the beginning shall we? Turn-ons. I would be lying if I said one of my first turn-ons wasn’t Fred Penner. All that flannel and facial hair…Make fun of me all you want, but 20 years later it’s still what every a**hole (heartthrob) on a Saturday at the Biltmore looks like. Sure they may look like Fred, but I bet my childhood hero wouldn’t leave me saying “I shaved my legs for this?!” 

The 40 year age gap between good ol’ Freddy and I brings up a life long passion/curse of mine. The old older man. While at 23 the novelty of sleeping with older men has lessened its appeal, I still find myself equating age with the promise of a good time. Age=Experience. Respect Sleep with your elders. But let’s keep the daddy issues for a different blog, and talk shop. 

I lost my virginity at 15 to a 19 year old. 19 seemed practically ancient at 15. He had tattoos and a driver’s licence, which was all reason enough to ignore the Melissa Etheridge t-shirt he always wore. Because we’re friends, I’ll tell you I found it hard to ignore that he left the t-shirt on the first time we had sex. That’s right. Just that Melissa Etheridge 1998 concert T with a little bit of w***er hanging out from underneath. 

And so started my pattern of older men. Always widening the age gap in hopes of better conversation, a confident demeanour, and let’s face it: a better lay. But alas, this day never really came. This trifecta was virtually unattainable. With good conversation and a confidence came a disappointment in our third and arguably most relevant category. Take for example the obscenely handsome man 13 years older than me that I started seeing after months of flirting at work. Tears don’t belong in the bedroom. His tears definitely did not belong in the bedroom. I guess my first mistake was asking what the Kanji symbol on his shoulder meant. I didn’t actually care. It turned out I cared even less that it was for his twin brother that never made it out of his mother. As I lay there cradling a crying and very naked man, I asked myself if this was karmic retribution…and wondered if I had to start cruising the hospice for a date. 

So here we are 20 years after my love affair with a children’s folk singer began, 8 years after I lost my virginity to a Melissa Etheridge T-shirt, and 1 article into the most fun I’ve ever had on paper. Have you heard all of my stories? Hell no. Have I heard any yours? Send me an email already! Me? I’ll be here, alienating my lovers by taking notes. I will be scanning my memories and patrolling the sheets. Tripping the light orgasmic. No bone will go un-turned. The puns don’t get better than that ladies and gentlemen. Good night.


Got something for me?  (Please no nudes, unless you're at least an 8 on ratemybody) [email protected]

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