I never outgrew that childish anxiety that comes the night before something new or important. I can’t make myself sleep before first days of classes, trips, etc.
And so I can’t sleep before this silly munch. Because I am unbelievably lame.
But, guys, it’s like my cotillon into kinky society. So bear with me here. I’m just an anxious little debutante, clearly.
Craftsmate: I want to try out this new flogger on you.
Me: My only concern is marking up my thighs all over again.
Craftsmate: I mean, I could do it on your back or your ass.
Me: With the other people around? I don’t exactly want to show a bunch of strangers my ass.
Craftsmate: …
Craftsmate: thinkivykink.tumblr.com
Me: God, I hate you.
So, tomorrow, that guy from my school who found my tumblr and later flogged me (I’m going to call him Craftsmate. Because he does kinky arts and crafts and he’s my classmate.) and I are attending this teensy tiny four-person munch that is going to consist of him, one of his friends from another Ivy who actually found me independent of Craftsmate and has been reading my tumblr for a while now (oy), and one of his kinky friends from Ivy University who has no idea who I am and has no idea about my tumblr (whew).
I’ve never munched before so I’m like actually nervous but sort of excited. I don’t want to be totally public about my proclivities or the fact that I am the proprietress of thinkivykink, but I think this could be good for me. The fact that it’s only four people, all my age, all from my school or somewhere similar, is actually a relief.
So, yeah, here’s to trying new things.
©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#510)
It’s important to behave well. Even at picnics.
Mean Sasha Grey is the patron saint of Pretty.
And packed.
A little.
I was literally about to walk out the door Saturday morning when I got a text from the guy who was supposed to take me out. My feelings about the guy were fairly ambivalent. He’s Ivy League-educated, brilliant, fairly successful, he appreciates the arts. But, about a week ago, he got drunk and sent me a lot of reeeeally obnoxious texts. So, I was sort of like, whatever.
Everybody does that at some point in their lives. Anyway, the text read that his family had dropped in by surprise to visit and he couldn’t take me out. I wasn’t sure whether or not to call bullshit, but he apologized a ton and offered to take me out again so I shrugged it off. I walked back upstairs in my cute sundress with my hair done all nice with no plans until the evening.
“Well, it’s a shame, you look lovely,” my mother said. I laughed. “Want to take me out?”
And so we got in the car and headed out to buy some shoes, shamelessly gossip about people we know, yell along to “Sledgehammer” and Pretenders songs in the car and have one of the most pleasant afternoons I’ve had in a while. So, my best date ever turned out to be with my mother. Go figure.
Shucks, you guys.
This past Saturday night, after my super awesome best date, I took a little trip to celebrate a friend from Ivy University’s birthday. There, out of nowhere, while I’m catching up with some friends, I run into The Grown Up. Turns out he’s friends with the birthday boy.
He’s spent some time out of the country, my schedule’s been busy, blah blah. Either way, he had given me his number and I had never called it. But we’ve run into each other a few times and he’s always friendly and lovely.
Welp, I got a little liquid confidence in me and asked him why we haven’t hung out. To which he replied that he didn’t have my number. Oops.
“But, you could give it to me,” he said, “since you don’t seem to know how to use the phone.”
I grinned, “where’s the fun in that? Here, you can guess my number and then call me the next time you’re around Ivy University.”
I proceeded to go through each number by giving him a hint about it. Such as, the number of continents or "if you write this number out and look at it really fast it looks like sex".
“This is incredibly attractive to me,” he said with a snort as he reached the sixth number.
I shook my head, “I’m not flirting with you, I’m just challenging your mind.”
“Okay, Ivy,” he chuckled, “okay.”
So, I quit my job today. With less than two weeks left of it. But my boss crossed a line and I decided to shut it down.
I excused myself for about twenty minutes beforehand and freaked out about doing it. I’m a wuss when it comes to confrontation. But, I knew I’d regret it if I went in there with my tail between my legs.
Well, I handled it so professionally that my boss said she understood, gave me my pay for the week, and even gave me some extra money and offered to buy me dinner. So, I’m proud of myself. I’ve been working, in and out of relationships, to learn how to address things when they bother me rather than let them stew and to appreciate the legitimacy of my feelings. I consider the fact that I kept my dignity and served myself and my needs to be a huge step here.
So, uh, yay me.
I’ll kick your butt, Daddy. No lies. I’m hard candy.