Mike: Wanna do it?
Me: Nope. Thanks for asking.
Mike: You never wanna do it.
Me: Nope, but your penis rules!
Mike: It does?! *eyes light up like Christmas morning*
Me: Yup, sure does.
Mike: I feel great now! That made me happy! *walks away*

Seriously? That’s all it takes?

Chris Rock sums up married life:

My husband’s undying love for me has nothing to do with the fact that I am unconditionally loyal, fiercely in love with him, good in bed, or even that I play a mean skin flute.

Only the fact that I am downright wicked at polishing a chrome rim keeps him faithful and married to me.

For those of you that are a tad prudish or have more pride then I, divert your eyes. Close the page and walk away for what you will encounter in this post may cause you to be a little uncomfortable.

Despite what you may have read in the past. I have never divulged in the world of BOB’s (Battery Operated Boyfriends). There’s no explanation for it really, it’s just not something that I’ve ever become interested in. I don’t find it dirty or weird at all, and I’ve been known to venture into store carrying such paraphernalia, even purchasing something, just never something for me.

(I pray no one in my family is reading this. *waves* You’ve been warned. Heed the warning. Respect the warning.)

My sex life has always been very healthy. I haven’t had a lot of partners, just ones that were as active as I, so lack of the sex (good sex) was never really a concern.

Until now.

Sure Mike is as horny as ever, but it seems to always be about him and his needs. Never mine. Getting to the goal is the main priority, nothing else. Lately it seems every encounter ends with him completely satisfied. And myself? Far. less. Which, in turn, has decreased my need for it entirely since I already know the outcome; plus I’m just about as satisfied sitting here at the computer, blogging. So horrible, I know. Don’t judge.

Lately my thoughts have wondered to exploring the world of self-gratification. As odd as it sounds, I am not sure where to start, or how to start.

(That sounds even stupider written down then it does in my head.)

My self unconsciousness makes it harder for me to contemplate it because what if I get caught? Mike is not one for self gratification either, (weird, I know, I’ve asked about it a lot and it’s just not something that he does either) and what if he caught me? Would he be upset that I was finding time to please myself while I constantly turn him down (since he needs it all. the. time.)?
It’s not like privacy in our house is abundant either. I can’t even have a moment in the washroom without someone barging in, be it Mike, Carter, the dog or the cat. I can just imagine being in the shower, pleasuring myself and Carter swings open the shower curtain (like he always does): Hi Mama!
I would be scarred for life, he’s too young to remember, but I would.

(You’re probably thinking: Just lock the damn door, idiot. But that’s not so easy either since we never close doors, let alone lock doors. Mike would know something was up for sure.)

See, these are the fucked up things I consume myself with. Who cares really? Buy the damn thing and ask him to join in. That’s what you’re thinking, right? Well, knowing Mike he’d bitch about his arm getting tired or it’s too much work. So I’d be right back here, where I am now, wondering what the hell I should do, for me.

I can just picture it. I go shopping for BOB, bring him home, whipping it out of the bag and saying: Honey look what I got today, it was on sale! As it jiggles back and forth in my hand, while Carter starts a screaming tantrum because I won’t let him hold it.

(Can you believe that I just wrote this whole post sitting in my office?)

As of late my work has brought me to a somewhat intimidating area of town; it’s one of Toronto’s poorest neighbourhoods. Poverty stricken, the streets are riddled with those that are homeless, ongoing illegal activities and some sketchy characters to put it mildly.

Sketchy, like the older gentleman that approached me the other day to let me know of the damages inside the shelter he’s staying at (A Salvation Army shelter for men is adjacent to where I am working). As he shared his story of cracks and peeling paint (which I am actually looking for, just not a guided tour from the freaky old man), he smiles, baring his toothless grin before he turns to walk away, continuing his conversation - with himself.
Or the dear lady, tragically stuck in the 80’s with her multi-coloured florescent ski jacket, dirty pink jogging pants and ratty un-kept hair, walking towards me. I noticed, but not enough to realize that she was walking STRAIGHT towards me. At the last second, she frantically hits herself across the face and turns 90 degrees to cross the road, all the while having a conversation - with herself.

I’ve been around here long enough to be a little more comfortable with the drunk and/or high men standing outside the men’s shelter watching me while I fight the urge to yell at them: Take a picture, It’ll last longer! I can handle the police presence and the inordinate amount of sirens on a daily basis.

Today was a little different.

I started on my way, doing my normal thing but kept getting distracted. More sirens then normal, more police cars too. Strange, but not completely unusual. Shortly after my co-worker arrived, a police car patrolled by rather slowly eying someone across the road from us; he then quickly drove across the road blocking the man’s path with his cruiser.
Being the creeper (people watcher) that I am, I was loving this. A regular COPS episode right in front of me! Oh how I wished that the Tazer would come out as the officer approached the man asking him to drop his bag.
Assuming it was just another drug bust, we carried on our work. I kept peeking back, trying to see what was going on when the cop signaled us over. WTF!? I thought I was in shit for creeping.

Damn me being a creeper! Dammit straight to hell!

Apparently my co-worker fit the description of someone they were looking for - as did the man we assumed was being busted. The officer then called over back up. Back up?! What the fuck for? What the hell is going down, and what am I all of a sudden apart of!? Am I going to be Tazered?

After a brief questioning (Have I seen anything suspicious today? Um. Look around, what not suspicious?) from the H-O-T-T-E-S-T police officer I’ve ever seen (Talk about back up; he could back me up ANY DAY. I would have allowed a strip and cavity search (too far?) for sure; Yes, officer, you can cuff me. Please. And spank me too while you’re at it. Harder! Harder! ) we were sent on our way. I was hoping that he’d keep us around a little longer (well, me), why do I always find guys in uniform so. damn. hot.?

Turns out, there were two bank robberies very close by this morning.

Who needs money, I got all the eye candy I needed today.

:::

I know I said I wouldn’t whore myself out more, today I feel compelled to do so. (Everyone else is doing it, so I can too.) What can I say, I’m a whore for attention (and comments *ahem*). I am craving some (of both) today.Vote for me!

You know you want to.

And just because I nominated myself doesn’t mean I’m not worthy.