Portrait

Me and My Opinion

Real girls in their own place.
Not too crazy and just a pinch of naughty...

stickyisaslut:

A few years ago I went to New York to meet a man. 
He’d asked me go to a hotel in mid city and said he’d be there in a few hours. Planning to take a hot shower and lounge around in the suite’s complimentary robe, I made my way up the elevator and down the hall. While pulling my bags I bumped into a good looking man with an Australian accent. 
He was staying in the room two doors down. He was alone and bored for the evening, he told me. Why is that? I inquired, and thus learned he was a pilot who wasn’t flying out until the next morning. He added, “These minute vacations are the nature of the beast.” He opened his beige trench coat to reveal his standard-issue aviation suit and a set of wings pinned to his lapel. He was handsome, had dusty blond hair and of course his accent was irresistible. 
I wished him well and continued down to my room. To this day I regret not stopping to talk to this man. To this day I remember his kind, lovely face, his tuft of dishwater blond hair, and his welcoming conversation and tone. I could tell that, had I asked him to, he’d have gladly joined me at the bar for a drink or perhaps, more?
It was apparent several hours later that the man I was meeting in that hotel room wasn’t worth the cross-county trip as we barely spoke again after that night. I reflect on my time with the pilot prior to that east coast rendezvous more fondly than I do the sexually disappointing night that followed.
Now, a few years older and a few years worse for wear, I enjoy staying in hotels alone. Not because I romanticize the concept, not because I’m a tortured artist who craves seclusion, but because putting yourself out there, to be somewhere, all by yourself, yields infinite possibilities. You never know who you might meet or what trouble you’ll get into or how productive you’ll be or how much glorious, uninterrupted sleep you’ll indulge, and that’s the beauty, that’s the draw. The unknown is the appeal. Why not vacation like a stewardess, embracing the city you’re in from the comfort of an over-priced hotel bar? 
I take myself on these short trips in anticipation of adventure. I go out searching for inspiration. I’ve been doing it for years, and I’ve yet to fail in drawing a story or two from these late-night, drunken, smoke-filled rooms. And some day, one day, I hope to finally earn my wings.

See more Sticky here

stickyisaslut:

A few years ago I went to New York to meet a man. 

He’d asked me go to a hotel in mid city and said he’d be there in a few hours. Planning to take a hot shower and lounge around in the suite’s complimentary robe, I made my way up the elevator and down the hall. While pulling my bags I bumped into a good looking man with an Australian accent. 

He was staying in the room two doors down. He was alone and bored for the evening, he told me. Why is that? I inquired, and thus learned he was a pilot who wasn’t flying out until the next morning. He added, “These minute vacations are the nature of the beast.” He opened his beige trench coat to reveal his standard-issue aviation suit and a set of wings pinned to his lapel. He was handsome, had dusty blond hair and of course his accent was irresistible. 

I wished him well and continued down to my room. To this day I regret not stopping to talk to this man. To this day I remember his kind, lovely face, his tuft of dishwater blond hair, and his welcoming conversation and tone. I could tell that, had I asked him to, he’d have gladly joined me at the bar for a drink or perhaps, more?

It was apparent several hours later that the man I was meeting in that hotel room wasn’t worth the cross-county trip as we barely spoke again after that night. I reflect on my time with the pilot prior to that east coast rendezvous more fondly than I do the sexually disappointing night that followed.

Now, a few years older and a few years worse for wear, I enjoy staying in hotels alone. Not because I romanticize the concept, not because I’m a tortured artist who craves seclusion, but because putting yourself out there, to be somewhere, all by yourself, yields infinite possibilities. You never know who you might meet or what trouble you’ll get into or how productive you’ll be or how much glorious, uninterrupted sleep you’ll indulge, and that’s the beauty, that’s the draw. The unknown is the appeal. Why not vacation like a stewardess, embracing the city you’re in from the comfort of an over-priced hotel bar? 

I take myself on these short trips in anticipation of adventure. I go out searching for inspiration. I’ve been doing it for years, and I’ve yet to fail in drawing a story or two from these late-night, drunken, smoke-filled rooms. And some day, one day, I hope to finally earn my wings.

See more Sticky here

The Fuck Zone

stickyisaslut:

I know it’s a trend nowadays but I find it very annoying that men bitch and complain (which is really chauvinistic and immature) about needing to avoid the “friend zone.” I hate the concept and think men should shut the fuck up, but I do reluctantly agree that in essence, it exists. There are men that I know very well, who I’m sure would love to sleep with me, and who I find very attractive, that I do not want to have sex with. I probably will never want to have sex with them. I’ll concede that a way of conveying that, a way of saying that there are attractive men out there who I don’t want to sleep with (because sorry my entire existence doesn’t depend on sex and getting the sex) could be called a friend zone as in, I am your friend and want to continue to be. Like a no parking zone, except not cars but men and not parking but sex!

I too tend to get stuck in a bad zone with the opposite sex that usually results in months of over analyzing text messages, waiting by the phone and trying to act not hurt when I’m really fucking demolished inside. I would like to call this the “fuck zone”

Have you ever met a dude who at first is super fucking into you, like – he wants to take you out on a date. Maybe he even asks you out on a date. But then, after you’ve established a mutual attraction for one another, a conflict arises, things need to be rescheduled and in his eyes his attempt to court you failed?

Have you ever felt like you’ve been put in into this invisible category of women where all of a man’s communication with you after the failed date or after the accidental one night stand or after he, you know, he kinda drops off for a bit and then hits you up again, revolves around sex? It’s as though some men give you one chance to accept their offer to be a rad guy who wants to maybe girlfriend you and, if it doesn’t work out, the respect he had for you expires and he starts sending dick pics? No? Because it seriously happens to meall the time.

Sexting, instant sex messaging, sex chats, sexy emails, sexy talking, sexy picture requests. At first it’s new and exciting. You say to yourself, “This guy must really like me because all he wants to talk about are the sexy things he wants to do to my vagina.” Then it turns to, “Oh my god I actually described the way I give a blow job to this guy,” to, “Oh my god I actually took a picture of my boob and sent it to him and now he’s asking for pictures of my cooch.”

For a while you get those butterfly tingly feelings in your heart and vagina because the guy may throw in the occasional, “God ur cute” “baby” “sweetie” “lol ur adorable” between messages laced with requests for you to, “Go ahead and pull your pants down in the bathroom of your office and take a picture of that pretty little wet pussy for me, baby.” Whoa whoa… what?

Sometimes you get so excited by the prospect of someone desiring you that you forget to distinguish thatthis is terrible behaviorand you begin to rationalize and normalize the dirty correspondence in your mind. You may even get this guy to go out on what you think is a date but soon you realize he’s so hyped up on the sex talk that the date actually ends up turning into sex. Only sex. Which then turns into a g-chat every week or two which somehow morphs into booty-call-hour text messaging and you end up only seeing this man at night!

I’ve been pulleddeepinto the fuck zone so many times. There are guys out there who know a hell of a lot about me, who’ve seen every part of my body, whom I’ve never seen in the day time! I don’t know what kind of car they drive, I’ve never seen the inside of their apartment, but they know my first name, last name, email, blog, Twitter, Instagram, home address, Jesus Christ! I wonder how fuck buddies and booty calls existed pre smart phones?

I really don’t think I’m alone in this. I would be surprised if  the majority of women I know have not been coerced into sending naked pictures of themselves or at the very least risque pictures of themselves while engaging in overtly sexual correspondence with no real foundation or relationship base for it.

I look back and cringe at all bullshit I’ve written to guys who I thought really liked me, and at all those times I thought I was being really hip, cool, forward thinking, progressive, really owning my sexuality by saying “oh baby yea I want you to tie me up and hit me really hard from behind…” Great job little girl you’ve made it to the fuck zone! Now you get to haveallllof the meaningless sex you want with none of the romance! What a win for feminism!

What are some nice ways of saying, “I think you’re really cute and I actually will sleep with you but can you understand it takes a little more for me to be somebody’s little slut”? How do I ask a guy if 10 other women are also describing how they’d give him a blow job? Or ask how many chicks are sending him pictures of their cleavage or of what it looks like when they pull up their dress? How many girls actually oblige these guys on the “send me a pictures of that wet pussy” request? If a guy just wants me to be his little whore, he’s going to have to fucking pay me, preferably in wine and delicious appetizers.

I get into these situations and wonder, do these guys and I even know how to communicate with one another? It sounds so fucking fake when they ask me how my day was when I know all they really want to ask is what kind of panties I’m wearing. I know guys who have pictures of their penis ready in their phone, you know, just in case. There’s nothing fun, gradual, or flirty about sexting with a guy who has a penis pic inventory! These guys can make me go from feeling liked to feeling naughty in a good way to feeling like a run of the mill phone sex operator in 12 text message exchanges or less! In my head I scream “Hey buddy all these pictures and all this sex talk is cool but, um, how about your favorite book?” Why am I afraid to be a boner kill? What am I even getting out of this?

I’m calling out for help to the beauty mags, the RookieMags, the Esquires, the Hello Giggles: with all the advice out there for men on how to avoid being put in the friend zone, can I please read some literature on how to stay out of the fucking fuck zone without a guy thinking I’m an absolute prude? The sex zone hurts way worse than a friend zone because at the end of the day, you aren’t left with a friend. You’re left with self-esteem issues.

originally published for The Gaggle 

Shitty Penis

I know this sounds shitty but, I’ve dated a lot of useless humans.

I had a boyfriend once, who technically wasn’t my boyfriend because he still introduced me as his friend to anyone and everyone, even though we’d been together for about eight months. Wasn’t I such a good FRIEND for letting him crash at my place for two months? 

He was a real treat. A real pal. Such a buddy!

Let me preface this by saying that when I was dating this particular loser, I was just coming out of a very toxic relationship, so I was still a bit fucked up in the brain; I made poor, poor choices. 

I’m going to bypass all the boring reasons of why he sucked (never actually took me on a date, told me I was pathetic…OK so he was a self-proclaimed recovering heroin addict who got beyond drunk every night, etc normal shithead biznass) and give you the good reasoning behind my irritation with this capital B, Bro. 

I know that everyone has their ‘things’ or their ‘kinks, quirks, whatevers.’ I accept that and think it’s great when people are tapped into their own needs and desires. I am a sexual being and am perfectly okay with trying new things as long as they are presented to me in a respectful and open, communicative manner. However, if your partner is not keen on them, do not force them onto them! Be it in a joking matter or otherwise, humor is not an excuse to be a jerk!

I was not laughing the first time I took a shower with my darling ‘FRIEND’ and turned around only to find he was cackling hysterically with his shitty penis peeing on my leg. 

That’s right.

Peeing. On me. 

Without my consent or amusement. 

Now, you’d think I’d cut that shit out right then and there and be like, “Hey BUDDY, you’re great but don’t ever do that to me again or this little weird arrangement we have is donezo.” 

No, I just proceeded to smack his chest in that way that idiot girls (And guys? I guess? I’m sure that’s happened?) do and yowled ‘stop itttt!’ 

He kept laughing and I pushed him out of the shower. 

Let me repeat, I was not doing well in the brain department.

Although I was really disgusted, I still decided to give him another chance and let it go. You could also read that as I was lonely and pretty much let anyone love me who said they would. Totally your call.

Fast forward a few months later in the relationship and my BFF but not BF is now living at my apartment because he got evicted and needed somewhere to stay while he was ‘apartment shopping.’ 

I’m really good at picking em, you guys!!!

He didn’t really have too much stuff moved into my place because we (me) were hoping that he’d find his own place soon and not have to move everything around all over again. 

We’d had a really nice night. I’d made dinner, we hadn’t fought that day and we had my apartment to ourselves. I had to work early the next morning,so I decided to call it a night. I hopped into the shower, not a care or thought in my crazy brain. I had the delicious hot water running down my face, soap falling down my chest. Feeling real good. As I washed my hair, I felt someone step into the shower with me. “Aw how sweet. He wants to shower with me and appreciate my adorable self. Whatta babe.” 

I heard him laughing and everything froze. It was like a horror movie. The kind where the girl closes the medicine cabinet and BAM! there’s some horrific thing behind her. 

I turned around slowly and there, there it was. His nasty dick. Urinating on my lovely, once clean bottom. Everything that had been going on in this relationship up until this point all came boiling up into my brain, like an angry movie montage. I saw red; I was livid. I was done. He was so done. I would not half-heartedly kitty-scratch him or throw a tantrum or just shrug it off this time. 

I dumped him. Right there in the shower. I told him to get his fucking stuff and get his shitty penis out of my house. I was going to finish my shower, he could go pee on someone else. 

xo,

Taryn

The Single Life: Guacamole and Dicks

I’ve been single for almost five months now. This is probably the longest I’ve been single in five years. Ever since I moved to California, in some way, I have been in some kind of (fucked up) relationship. 

I just have to say though, being single is the BEST. 

For the past five years, I’ve pretty much been setting up my day like this: ‘okay wake up, i should make breakfast for us, ugh no don’t kiss me in the morning you know i hate that, kay gotta go to work bye, oh man i should plan something for us to do when i get off work so that he isn’t bored and i need to make dinner, ugh i’m so tired from staying up late watching that movie that i didn’t want to watch.’ This is exhausting. Nice, but exhausting.

Do you know how awesome it is to wake up in the morning and be all like “I’m gonna do all these things today that I wanna do!” Like, damn, that is the greatest. I can be a lazy idiot and eat guacamole all day in my onesie. The only person that can give me shit about that is me! My cat loves it. I’m home all the time, we cuddle and I cry a whole bunch because she’s so cute, look at her little footsie, it’s so fuzzy and ow that hurts mommy, we don’t bite, bad kitty! 

I have so much money now too. In the time that I’ve been single, I think I’ve been able to go shopping more in the past five months than I have, probably, ever. There is no, “babe, I need gas money.” “Babe, I didn’t eat lunch because I needed to buy cigarettes.” “I’ll buy the movie next time.”

Every time I get a package at the door for some on a whim purchase, I am a kid at christmas. I have money to go out, I get drunk on the daily and I date when I feel like getting around to it. I’ve developed a ritual where no matter what, I get fucked up on Wednesday nights. I love Wednesdays now. Great day. Please don’t call it hump day. I get home after work, lounge a bit like some kind of princess, get all cute for no one but myself and maybe that hot older dude at the bar. I drink and have a fair amount of weeknight fun. I don’t have to answer to anyone about it except my boss when I come in hungover as hell every Thursday. I hate Thursdays. 

Dating has been…interesting. I can tell that I’m starting to get older because my tolerance for bullshit and wasting my time has diminished greatly. Also now, I can’t sleep in anyone else’s bed except mine. Used to be the girl that fell asleep on hardwood floors and stairs. Also used to be the girl that drank too much on the first date and left a lasting impression if you get what I mean. (You probably don’t.)

The men that I’ve gone on dates with are nice boys. They bought me a drink, asked boring questions, listened to my boring answers. We laughed at the right times. Did not kiss me goodnight. One night, I even texted one of them a sassy ‘no kiss?’ text. He asked if I wanted him to come back and properly end the date. It was 4am. I said no. See? Growing.

Of course, I do miss the regular sex. Who doesn’t enjoy that? But the thing is, regular sex can also become monotonous sex. And that is my nightmare. Being single has actually not turned me into a sexual deviant or desert wasteland. It’s been…delightfully surprising. I’ve had my…experiences.

I’m just going to put this out there, I like sucking dick.

Crazy, I know. I just, like it, sue me! And AND get this, you don’t even have to get me off every time. I mean it’d be nice, but it’s not necessary. That’s how much I enjoy it. I know. I’m a blessing. But as much as I love cocks in my mouth, I don’t want to lick em like my life depends on it all the time. I need to, like, eat and online shop and stuff sometimes. So, when I’m single it’s great because every time I diddle a dingle, it’s like I’m god’s gift to the Earth because I put my all into it! I got the time! I got the energy! I spend all my days doing me, so of course I’m going to fucking ravish you with my beautiful mouth! You’re welcome! 

It can get to be a bummer sometimes. Being single definitely has it’s downsides. I like cuddling in the morning and drinking coffee together at the bookstore. I like dressing up and being taken somewhere; being showed off. I like the inside jokes and late night talks; the trust. It’s the other shitty sides to relationships that I don’t miss. And they all have them. Maybe, when I meet the right person, I’ll think about doing it again. But right now, I’m having the time of my life.

 

xo,

Taryn