I needed to prove to myself that I was not a sex addict, so I cut several cars from my promiscuous train. The pickings grew slim, and I rotated the crops often. Nothing changed, my main objective was still sex.
http://www.femininecollective.com/winter-of-my-damn-discontent/
The winter of 2004 grew long and extremely cold, and so did my trail of marriageable men.
I needed to prove to myself that I was not a sex addict, so I cut several cars from my promiscuous train. The pickings grew slim, and I rotated the crops often. Nothing changed, my main objective was still sex. I was not in search of Mr. Right. When I needed sex, I would dip into the “No-No List” (off-limits men) that I kept hidden in a drawer, just in case of an emergency. As the snow finally thawed that April, so did my heated sex drive. I needed a fix. Basak, the cousin of my hunky Turkish personal trainer, Seref would do. He was great fun.
I liked his kinky style of sex. We’d wrestle in bed. He liked it when I pinned him down and spanked him.
He told me all kinds of weird things he had done like lying naked in a crowd while the group sprayed insults at him and God knows what else. He told me that he liked being humiliated. To each his own. Still, I liked his weirdness. Made me feel better about mine.
I was just finishing up a week’s vacation with my daughter, Rebecca, in South Beach—her choice. I knew it was going to be frustrating for me to be in Party Capital USA and not be able to join in on the fun. But she wanted to go to the beach, and that was where she chose. Needless to say, I was returning to NYC in a few days, and I was in great need of an orgasm. I called Basak in advance to place my order.
“Basak, dude, what up?”
“Hey Shanti girl. Been a long time. How are you?”
“I am good. Hanging out here in South Beach.”
“Alright, how fun!”
I decided to let Basak hold onto the illusion that I was partying on down here.
“Yeah, it’s great. Got me to remember our fun nights out on the town.I would love to see you when I get back.”
“Cool, absolutely.”
“What are you doing this Saturday night?”
“Hanging with you, of course.”
“Aaaalright! I return Saturday afternoon. I’ll call you then and set-up a time/place.”
“You got it babe.”
Young guys are simpler. Their hormones run high so when they know they are going to get some; they are easy to convince. Older men have “considerations” like, is she using me for my money? Is she a good partner for me? Will she cheat on me? Will she love me? Guess their hearts and brains start working when the testosterone wears off. I find these “considerations” boring, especially when my promiscuous train is running at high speed.
Rebecca’s dad picked us up at the airport, dropped me off and then took her for the weekend. Yes! Momma’s gonna get her some tonight!! As soon as I dropped my bags, I called Basak and left him a voicemail.
“Dude, I’m back. Let’s go dancing at this cool new place, check it out, then check each other out back at my place. Call me.”
I decided to check my sex suitcase. Most people keep their sex paraphernalia in a drawer by the bed but with a young child, it’s too risky.
I keep my toys in a small, plaid, locked suitcase under my bed. It was out of sight and safe from my daughter.
I opened the suitcase to check and make sure there were enough condoms and lube to carry us through the night. I also made sure that my porn stash was tidy, and my toys were clean. Dildos, vibrators, ticklers, and of course my butt plug. That was my secret weapon. Oh, I liked it on me, sure enough, but I also used it on the guys. I always covered it with a condom for ease of cleaning, especially if we both used it on one another that same night.
Of course, most of the guys protested initially when I announced I wanted to use a butt plug on them. However, once they got a blow-job with the butt plug in place, they never went back.