Pussy Boy

JP and I used to sing a song… and still do occasionally… dedicated to Da Bod dubbed “Pussy Boy”. I guess it isn’t a song so much as is a sing-song chant with our shoulders alternating up and down (while laughing) ‘singing’ over and over “pussy boy, pussy boy, pussy boy, pussy boy”. (It sounds better in person, I swear).

As much as I may love the boy I am with, I need a man.

I can be quite the freight train to deal with (surprise!). Yes, I realize that I can (at times) be Veruca Salt, but I need someone who will be able to deal with that. If you let me walk all over you, I will. I will find amusement in it, and then spit you out. Harsh but true.

I’m not the cuddly-lets-have-deep-talks-on-the-pillow type of girl. I am not saying that I won’t do it, but it’s just not typically me. You have your side of the bed, I have mine. T (perhaps I shall speak of sometime) after two years of dating would finally fall asleep with one finger in the waist band of my panties. That was cuddling, and it was perfect for me.

Even as much as I may have thought, for a brief moment in time, that The Man might have been the one, he still never held my hand in public. Shore, perhaps under the table while we were having dinner, but the closest while walking was while my hand was in a fist, he would wrap his has around it.

I love men. I think, perhaps, you could most likely vouch for me on this matter. But I also will challenge any “man” who deems it necessary to pussify himself to, “reach down, see if they are there, and sack up like the man you are meant to be”.

After I started blogging about my new found porn-emailing fun, I received an email from a friend whom read my blog, Blake. Blake complemented my blog... and I do love me some praise… (FYI, keep it coming!!! I truly do love the petting...).

I responded to Blake, and when he sent me another email, the questions he had asked about my weekend were posted in that day’s blog. I figured that would suffice to answer his questions. Quite the contrary, I received this, “No reply? Blakey sad.”

I held my tongue for a day, and I could no more. My response, “Seriously you call yourself Blakey? And you want girls to reply… interesting…”

I have had a grown man say to me, “I sowwy” and “I hope you wike me”. I wouldn’t speak that way to a human, child or not, I would hope that you would pay me the same courtesy.

Men, please please please, could you just act like you are indeed a man? I love to talk, flirt, have fun and play coy… with you… but let me… please let me... feel like the woman I would like to be… standing before you.

For the love of god, don’t turn me into your mother. I’ll end up talking back to you like the pussy boy she raised. (Da Bod, I LOVE you... and your mama. Just sayin').