“She Gave The Worst Head…” Pt.2 And Some Blow J History

This could be the second worst thing a chick has ever heard aside from being labeled as the DUFF in her group of friends, but then again, Duffs have to learn quick to give great head in order to get any type of attention at all. So, what are you doing wrong?

Mistake #1: You don’t like giving head because a long time ago, your mother, or your grandmother, told you that oral sex was for trashy girls. Whores. Sluts. Trollops. Strumpets. Hookers and biker chicks. Perhaps you even came from a very religious background and was told your mouth was only to recite the words of God and the bible. They even have “Purity Balls” where fathers take their daughters & present them with a ring, much like a wedding ring & make their young daughters promise to stay pure. Without the young girls realizing it, their daughters bodies & souls belonged to their fathers, long before they belonged to their husband.

***Marriage is an ancient institution & was seen as a strategic alliance between families***

Did anyone else see Love or sex in that sentence?

(okay, time to get back on blow job track)…

Mistake #2: When your husband/boyfriend finally convinces you to go down south, you don’t know what in the fuck you’re doing. You’re not completely to blame. No one ever taught you. So, you begin to feel insecure about it and avoid the cock sucking issue at all costs. Looking at his “Member” for the first time probably gave you nightmares. It’s true, they are a wee bit strange to look at for the first time, but I’m sure vaginas don’t resemble pink Macaroons either.

Mistake #3: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT, listen to our girlfriends advice about blow jobs. Every man is different

Mistake #4: Tucking your teeth behind your gums is amateur hour. Only high school chicks do that after school behind the bleachers. The guy can still feel your teeth, which makes it hard to cum, which also means you could be down there for a looooong time and injuring your lips in the process. Open your mouth wider and forget you even have teeth.

***The blow job was a revolutionary invention and birth control method, which was great for the dudes, but what about the ladies?? Ah, that’s right, married women were above blow jobs, BUT, the whores were not.***

Mistake #5: You’re married. How are you above giving the man you’re married to a blow job?

***Blow jobs were not actually popularized until 1929***

Mistake #6: If you don’t find a way to ease yourself into giving head, trust me, your boyfriend or husband will find a woman who will.

Blow Jobs=Oral sex. It’s just sex. Have fun with it. If blow jobs are something you enjoy immensely and you happen to be with a girl who is not even willing to walk into a sex shop or give it the ‘ol blow, well, then perhaps she’s not for you. And that’s okay because you’re probably not her type either.

Blow Jobs: A Tale of two Cities: How 2 Give The Best Blow J’s (CAUTION: VERY DESCRIPTIVE) NC-17 pt. 1

My Grandmother always told me the way to a mans heart is through his stomach. She may have been a little behind the times. Unfortunately for me, I can’t cook. I mean, I can make a mean pop tart, but that’s about it. However, while dating my very first boyfriend in high school, I discovered new tips, tricks and talents about how to get to a mans heart without having to sweat over an oven or bust through his ribcage. I don’t believe these special talents were around when my grandmother was going to school. This special talent is referred to as a Blow Job, which I find a wee bit misleading.

First of all, you’re not “blowing” anything. Can you imagine having a chick blowing on your junk like it was a harmonica? Secondly, if you find it to be a “Job,” or a chore, then don’t be surprised when he pays a stripper $5 to give him the best oral sex he’s ever had. And trust me, she will. Then he’ll come home to you after getting his brains blown two ways from sunday, while trying desperately to come up with a believable story as to why he’s broke and just getting home at 4:00am, which is extremely hard to do when you’re exhausted from your cum coma. “Doing what? Reading The Giving Tree?”

Women who don’t give head are usually women who don’t enjoy receiving head either. YAWN. I, however, LOVE give head. I like the way it feels getting hard in my mouth and I love the dominating position I’m in because lets face it, ladies, give your man head means he’s in control. He has you on your knees or in some other awkward position, giving you directions, moaning your name (if you’re REALLY good at it), and trust me, there’s nothing better than having a man moan your name or levitate off the bed, which has happened during my, what I like to refer to as, my religious experiences. Watching their toes curl and their legs flex, they can barely take it. That’s when I know I’m in control. I control his pleasure

Now don’t get me wrong, I LOVE sex, but giving head makes me incredibly wet. Soaked. It’s as if someone took a super soaker to my vagina. And by nature, I’m a pleaser. I don’t stop giving head until that man has cum. I never leave anything half assed. If you’re going to start it, “Finish Him.” And when he has finally let go and is in that state of euphoria, you will never witness a man so tender, so loving. He will praise your every stroke, every move you made with your mouth and go on and on about how he’s never had a blow job like that before. Afterwards, you should ask him to write a Yelp review for you. 😉

Not all blow jobs are the same. It takes practice and years of critique to be the Bruce Lee of oral sex. Blow Jobs are for teenagers, drunk at a shitty high school party doing keg stands. When giving head, listen to your dude and the sounds he makes. If the guy is a dead fish then abort mission because this dude would rather enjoy getting head from the quarterback on his team.

And don’t be afraid to ask for directions. Ask him what he likes or doesn’t like. Listen to his moans and pay attention to how his body reacts when you try something different. I think It’s incredibly hot watching a mans entire body tense up and his toes curl. I don’t mean to brag, well…yes I do, but I have never had one boyfriend complain about my head game. I’ve given two blow jobs to two different people in less than an hour. I am the Mr. Miyagi of blow jobs.

I never rush through it. I kiss down their chest. I unzip their paint slowly. Pull down their boxer briefs, which I believe every man should wear (unless you want to look like Benjamin Button at 35 years old). I slowly pull them down, but I don’t put him in my mouth right away. I breathe my warm,hot breath on the tip of his head and then I proceed to lick him from his shaft to the tip of his head. I suck slowly on the tip of his head because the most sensitive part of a mans penis. Then, before he realizes what’s happening, I push his head into my mouth. Just his head.

Now ladies (and gents), pay close attention, your hand is your best friend. Many of you are so concerned and focused on pleasing him with your mouth that you forget you have an entire body to use. Especially your hands. Use your hands to stroke his shaft and cup his balls. Not all men are into having their balls played with, so, make sure this is a discussion you have before you begin. Communication is everything. Your hands give him the feeling that you’re going deeper than you really are.

An element of surprise when it comes to sex is HOT. I dated this guy two years ago and I would give him what I would call “Ambush Blow Jobs.” He would just be getting home from work, my unsuspecting victim, and I would unbuckles his pants, get on my knees and blow all the stress of the day out of his mind. Don’t forget the occassional eye contact. Don’t stare at him the whole time, just once in a while. And if your mouth needs a small break, that doesn’t mean order food from EAt24. Don’t stop. Pull your mouth away, look him in the eyes and don’t be afraid to talk dirty, really dirty.

Continue to stroke him while you talk dirty and as I stated before, this is not a JOB regardless of what the title says. You do not get a half hour break for lunch. Give your mouth a rest, lick the very tip of his cock, stroke him and talk dirty like you just got back from the Bunny Ranch.

I’ve never been a fan of lube. When it comes to being natural, I use spit. It doesn’t stain the sheets and it doesn’t taste like grape soda that’s been sitting out in the sun for three days. Ick. Why would you want to ingest lube in the first place. Lots of Saliva is the magic key to the land of OZ. Drinking lots of water will help to keep you hydrated so that you don’t get dry mouth. Not to mention drinking plenty of water is great for your skin. But I digress…

“What do I do about the big finish???” Again, this is a conversation that needs to be had before you gobble his sack like a thanksgiving turkey. If you don’t swallow, no biggie, but be sure to have a bunch of baby wipes handy and close by. Men are usually just grateful to receive a blow job and the oral sex gentleman will gladly give you a warning when he’s about to cum, leaving it up to you. If you happen to be feeling froggy then jump. If you’re not there yet mentally, then away his bat signal, his moans will become louder and your womanly instincts will let you know when to pull away. However, don’t pull away and run off to clean up. Continue to play with his cock. Stroke his shaft from the bottom to the top and get every last drop out of him. He may be sensitive, so, go slow.

Cleaning him up will be the most lady like thing you’ve done since wrapping your pretty little mouth around him.

Now, here’s a couple Fay Tips: 1. Don’t be shut off if he happens to fall right to sleep after experiencing his “Religious Experience.” He’s in a cum coma and there will be no waking him. An ex of mine was having insomnia once and had to be up early. So, I put him to bed and very coquettishly whispered, “Baby, I think you need a blow job.” Ten minutes later, he came and fell right to sleep.
Fay Tip: 2 Make sure he eats a lot of pineapple. This will make his cum taste incredibly sweet and if you if swallowing wasn’t your thing then, it will be now, but in order for this to work, he must eat pineapple everyday.

*Hope you enjoyed Part 1 of how to give the best oral sex.*
*Part 2 will be how to avoid giving the worst head…ever.*

The Truth…

With your back turned to me,
pushing wardrobe on hangers
from one side to the next, you
came to a decision. A decision
about me.

Still rubbing the sleep from
my eyes, barely awake and blurry
eye’d, I felt something was amiss.
Women’s intuition I suppose.

You continued to get dressed,
avoiding all eye contact with me,
as well as physical contact. You
couldn’t escape fast enough.

And then you spoke.

You said three lines:
“This isn’t working out.”
“We can still be friends.”
“I want to live alone.”

You couldn’t even look at me.
You dressed quickly and raced
right passed me. I didn’t even
have a foot out of bed and you
just left.

You avoided everything about me.
You avoided my entire being. I
didn’t even exist to you. Then I
heard the front door slam as you
left for work.

I was dumbfounded and at a loss
for words, but the slamming of
the door & the dangling of keys,
the turn of the lock, helped put
things in perspective for me.

I sat in bed, in the same spot
where you left me & went over
your callous, empty words that
came with your vacant expression,
over and over again. Repeating
every line you said.

I pulled myself together. I grabbed
my things, left nothing behind, just
as you left me behind. I wanted no
memories of me ever being there. I
was nothing to you that morning.
Perhaps I never was.

I didn’t want to leave any trace of
myself behind. I didn’t want my ghost
to linger in your apartment. I made a
choice that morning as well. I no longer
wanted to exist in your world and I still
don’t.

Your text message two days later gave me
quite the laugh. “Hope we can still be friends.”
When do the jokes end? An eight year friendship
gone. I’m sure it matters less to you. But you
did matter to me. And because I’m not a heartless
bitch, I wish you nothing but success and happiness.

I have no hard feelings or ill will towards you
& will never bad mouth you. Hell, I’m not even upset or hurt.
I’ll admit that I was for about a week, but that faded quickly.
I know you’ll do well and have much success in your endeavors.
And you’ll always have my support from a distance, but I cannot offer
you my friendship.

I hope you find what you’re looking for.

My Battle Struggle…

I wake up every morning to a battle. A battle within myself. A battle I created. I struggle trying to figure out who I am, not only to myself, but who other people think I am. I battle my mind, my heart, my soul and my true feelings. Feelings. I play my feelings pretty close to my chest. I was told by my mother, when I was very young, to never let people get too close or give them any information they may use as ammo against me in the future. I have been following this advice since I was fourteen years old and I’m not sure if it has protected me or ruined me.

I’ve had a few slips and have given in to friends or lovers because they made me feel safe and protected. They made me feel as though I no longer had to wear my armour, which has proven my mother right. Eventually all the wrongs I’ve committed, mistakes I’ve made, the insecurities I allowed them to see, were all used against me as ammunition. And I sat there, taking every bullet like rapid fire. I didn’t even bother to fight back. I had already lost the battle by revealing my strategies to these people who were never friends or lovers, but enemies.

The same person who warned me to never reveal too much about myself to anyone, is also the same person who taught me to never show weakness. The predators of the world emerge at the very sign of weakness. They can smell it and like snakes slithering in tall grass, they come out of hiding. It’s better to show strength even if you have to fake it. But I’ve been faking my strength for so long that I’ve lost myself. I fake my strength and I fake my feelings. I have faked my feelings for so long that I can no longer tell if I’m hurt, angry, happy or in love. Numb is what I feel.

Feeling numb, feeling nothing or not knowing what to feel, this has been my armour. In the past year, I’ve been had, I’ve been used and abused both verbally and mentally by Friend, lover, boyfriend, it’s irrelevant. They were people that I cared for, trusted and loved. I gave them all of me. The good, the bad and the ugly. My kindness was taken for weakness and I will never allow that to happen again. Even now I have revealed too much. Normally I save such things for my journal entries where no one can see or read the truth. So, why am I sharing this now?

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be vulnerable. I don’t even know or remember what it’s like to just be held by someone who truly gives a shit about you and will just hold you and allow you to be completely vulnerable. And before any of you jump to your lame conclusions about porn being the reason that I’m like this, you can shut the fuck up with your bullshit theory. Porn had nothing to do with this. Porn has never been my battle or my struggle. I have no demons when it comes to porn. I’m not sure where my demons came from, but their numbers are growing.

Anyway. Before I reveal too much…

(if you can relate, feel free to share your thoughts)

You Know What Chaps My Ass….

…I’m about to tel you…

So, I’ve been house sitting in North Hollywood for the last week and regardless of what you may think of NoHo, I actually enjoy myself here. I’m close to my Nerd Herd, I love all the little art houses and enjoy spending my time at the federal. My favorite thing to do in the morning is get up, well, actually, no, that’s not my favorite thing to do. However, Once I’ve had my shower and have woken up from my coma, I like to explore the neighborhood I’m in. I’m an LA Native. I love taking walks through the neighborhoods and discovering little gems that you otherwise may not see while driving. I walk for about a mile everyday even though there’s an amazing gym here, I just hate being cooped up. I’d rather get my heart rate up, have the sun on my pale, Irish face, listen to my music and go on auto pilot.

And Today was a beautiful day for just that. Taking a walk, clearing my head, listening to The Beatles. I gotta say it was a good day…that was, until, an older man of Indian heritage (dot not feather), came up to me and began preaching the word of god. I’m not religious by any means, but I don’t consider myself to be an atheist either. Being an atheist is the same as being Arnie Grape, much like religion.

So, being the polite, little miss sunshine that I am, I allow him to go on and on about Jesus, God, & how in his country he’s considered a medicine man by the name of Yogi. A Medicine man, eh? Part of me wanted to ask if he was holding, but I had chocolate milk getting warm by the minute and still had a block to go before I could reach my fridge. And as you know, hustlers come in all shapes, sizes and religions, so, he was not letting me leave so easily. He claimed to be psychic and that the last year for me has been hard. Meh, OK…I’ll agree with that. “There is a sadness in your eyes.” He must have had ex-ray vision as well considering I was wearing sunglasses. Whatever. I’m open minded.

I began to give the bat signal that I was in a rush and must go, backing away slowly, making not sure to make any sudden movements and this guy, Yogi, begins to follow me. At this point, I told him that I was late for work and had no more time (or the patience) to talk about God, but was thankful for his words of wisdom and how he absolutely knew that this year was going to be better for me. And I’m all for that. Bring on the fortune and half naked chicks. But just as I was beginning to walk away, he handed me his number and said, “I spoke the word of God to you and would appreciate a donation.” Um…Exsqueeze me??? Did you just say you were a man of god? I can’t imagine Jesus walking around, healing the sick, curing the blind and feeding the starving and then boldly asking for a money donation.

First off, this is NoHo. Not Las Vegas. Mr. Yogi, the medicine man, was dressed in a hoody and Dickies. It’s not like he was on the strip in Vegas dressed as Elvis or Hollywood Blvd dressed as Marilyn Monroe. I didn’t ask to take a picture with you and I certainly didn’t ask for your bullshit speech about God and this, that and the other. I just wanted to drink my chocolate milk in piece and avoid human contact. This is not to say that I’m so coldhearted bitch who had $100 on my pocket and was just outright refusing to give him a little something. Truth is, I didn’t have money on me, but I was chapped my ass the most, was having “a man of God” asking for a donation because as he so elegantly put it, “I saved you. I saved your soul, your soul which has been damned.” Yeah, that’s great, kid and I surely appreciate it, but I’m probably going to hell and just pumping that gas. I didn’t approach you. You approached me. If money is what you need, I hear Pastors/Preachers make great money speaking the word of God, as if we all knew Jesus/God personally.

The moral of the story is, if you’re going to approach complete strangers on the streets, tell them how hard their life is and how sad they are inside and all it would take is a donation and the word from God, perhaps you should put a wee bit more effort into it and put on an Elvis costume or dress up as Charlie Chaplin. Anyway, just a thought…

Some Amber Alert’s R BOOSHIT…

*Amber Alert originated in the US in 1996 after 9yr old Amber Hagerman was abducted and murdered in Arlington, Texas…and bippity, boppity, boo…*

First off, I think it’s a swell idea that Amber Alerts are automatically received through our cell phones to warn us about a possible child abduction. Just like I find it helpful and informative that we receive “Flash Flood” warnings in certain areas. I don’t even mind the horrible alarm that sounds each time I receive these alerts. Child abductions are serious and if an abduction happens in my general area I want to know about it.

Amber Alerts have certain criteria you have to make in order for an AA to be issued. Law enforcement has to be absolutely positive an abduction has taken place, that the child is at risk of serious injury or death, & has to be 17yrs old or younger. (So, if you’re 18, you’re shit outta’ luck & you better figure out how to MacGyver your way out of that trunk). But if you take a look at the information provided with the Amber Alert, you’ll often notice that they have the make, model and license plate of the vehicle, as well as the first and last name of the suspect. Which usually means that the abductor and the abductee know each other and are more than likely related.Today’s Amber Alert is no different. The child abducted is Jayden Santiago and the suspect is Giovany SANTIAGO. I’m going to take a wild guess here and say that Mr. Santiago is the child’s father.

The definition of Kidnapping in the US is defined as the unlawful and non-consensual transportation of a person and is a BIG Oopsy-No-No and can hold a sentence of up to life in prison regardless if there was murder involved or not. If you kidnap a child & ask for a ransom that alone will get you life in prison! However, I do not consider a father taking his own daughter to be kidnapping, but in this case the father is armed, dangerous and suicidal. You can tell this guy doesn’t play golf on the weekends. Ward Cleaver, he is not. His hobbies include stabbing people and making failed attempts at suicide. Potato sack races with the Brady’s is not his idea of a good time. So, by all means, issue that Amber Alert & I’ll retweet the shit out of it.

This being a special circumstance where the father is not of sound mind, it is imperative that an Alert is issued in order to get the child back. However, there are some cases that should only be considered domestic disputes and we should save the Amber Alert’s for those serious abductions that happen at playgrounds, malls or when children walk home alone from school and are kidnapped by an unknown person or persons. The Amber Alert becomes a little less important when the family is able to identify the suspect through a family portrait they just took. “Overuse of AMBER Alert’s could result in the public becoming desensitized to Alerts when they are issued.” DOY!! Issuing an Alert every time a father/mother takes his or her own child is considered OVERUSE.

The usual suspect of a “kidnapped” child is the parent, usually the father, who got into some sort of custody battle with the mother & decides, after some thinking and plenty of King Cobra, that he’s going to take the kid/kids regardless of what the consequences will be. I do agree that the authorities should be notified, but unless the father is out of his McFreakin’ Mind, such as in this particular case with Santiago, perhaps we should save the Amber Alert for those who have a higher chance of possibly being sex trafficked and/or murdered. I’m all for giving the domestics their own special Alert. In fact, you can make it an app where you can upload your own photo and write a small bio about yourself, whether your single or married, & get updates about the people you follow who are having domestic issues. And for each domestic dispute, you’ll receive a direct message & you can have the option of liking or disliking their dispute with a simple click of the LIKE or DISLIKE button. Simple right? You can even save your favorite Domestic Disputes to refer back to later or link up with a fellow divorcee. The options are endless.

Okay, this blog was supposed to go in an entirely different direction, but as the facts sloooowly surfaced about this kidnapping, I was already in too deep and instead of letting this issue go altogether, I had to spend an hour rearranging everything.I get completion anxiety. So, if this blog sounds a little ridiculous and repetitive, that’s because it is. But like your creepy uncle once said, “just go with it.”

Thug Lyfe

Congratulations to those of us who made it to 2015! Myself included. This being my first blog in over four months I feel that I should be wowing you with wisdom and wit, but it appears that you clicked on the wrong blog post. So, you’re shit out of luck.

But while you’re here…

…A few things to get you through the new year…

1.Don’t be a dick
2.Don’t masturbate in public
3.Don’t name your kids after food groups
4.Don’t watch Fox News
5.Don’t say Bae if you’re in your late twenties
6.Don’t say Bae at all
7.Relax. It’s just sex…but get tested
8.Kale is for people who hate themselves
9.Listen. Smile & then do whatever the fuck it was you were going to do anyway because you’re a fucking adult!
10.Drink your Ovaltine