To *#&%@ Or Not To *#&%@? That is the *#&%@ question!

Category: , , , By Glamour Diva & galaxyMafia
Oh my Dear Readers, Ms. GD has a serious case of the winter blahs. My skin is dry, I’m congested, and all I want to do is curl up in my bed and sleep…between bouts of eating fatty pastries and drinking strong, hot coffee that is. Sigh. What a lazy, lazy girlie I’ve become. Double sigh.

So yesterday I was at work, surfing the net and minding my own damn business, when I decided to catch a wave over to The First Church of Wentworth Miller. Those crazy, lust-filled broads at the church are always good for a chortle and they did not disappoint. But upon further reading I discovered a mini discussion hidden between the usual “Went is so purty” and “I wish I could do him like he’s never been done before” comments. Many of the ladies (and gentlemen?) where commenting on their sex lives, or the lack there of, and who was most deserving of a hot night of passion with The Pretty based on who’d gone without the longest. [If you want specifics on how the extreme awesomeness of The Pretty brought them to this topic you’ll have to go there and read it for yourselves. Trust me, it’s worth it.]

A few of the congregants offered that more than merely not having been laid in a while they’d in fact been celibate for a few years and that this entitled them to an all expenses paid ride on the Wentworth Express. This of course led to even more comments on who’d been celibate, or even virginal, the longest!

With all that talk of sex and not getting any I couldn’t help contemplating my own sexless existence. Am I celibate or am I simply not having sex? What is the difference you ask? Well there is plenty of difference and also none at all. It all depends on where your head is at…pun intended. If I take the definition of celibacy literally then yes I am celibate but if I look at it from an ascetics point of view then no, I am not.

I was a late fornicator, er I mean “bloomer” so compared to some sluts I’m not much of one. Sex has always fascinated me but the act itself was of little importance. I think both my good, southern upbringing and my natural, thoughtful and rational temperament kept me from doing the deed too early. But in my mid-twenties I decided that I’d had enough of not knowing. I mean, what was all the fuss over a simple, biological action? So in my usual thoughtful and rational way I went about finding the perfect partner. Is he reasonably attractive? Check! Has he been around the block a few times? Check! Does he live alone? Check? Is he willing to use condoms? Check? Is he a complete stranger [Translated: My parents don’t know him or anyone in his family]? Check! Is he just enough of a cad to have no moral or ethical barriers to deflowering me but not so much so that he won’t be concerned with giving me a pleasurable experience? Check!

I was so nervous but not about losing my virginity. I kept praying that he wouldn’t kill and rape me (Yes in that order)! He picked me up at my parent’s house and we went back to his apartment. We walked in and he offered me something to drink. We then sat on his couch and watched Sports Center. I remember it was summer and right in the thick of baseball season so I was really into the baseball scores but all he wanted to do was make out. I reluctantly relented and let him kiss all over me and feel me up…with one eye on the television. When he say that he didn’t have my undivided attention he turned off the television and turned on the radio; cheesy “quiet storm” R&B oozed from the radio but failed to put me completely at ease.

Now this is where things become a little hazy. To this day I don’t actually remember taking off my clothes. I don’t remember sitting on the bed or even what the lucky fellow looked like (I remember he had a really big penis though)! I do remember him spending a lot of time performing cunnilingus on me and I also remember the pain when he entered me. Oh, and when he rolled over and I suddenly found myself on top of him I panicked because I was a novice and I felt this move was too advanced for someone with my skill set. But thank goodness for his patience and for me being a quick learner! Yay!

After it was over he took me home and he seemed concerned about my well being, he kept asking me if I was okay and if I enjoyed myself. He even called the next day to ask how I was and if I wanted to see him again. I said no. I’d had twenty plus years of theory and, according to him; I’d fulfilled my lab requirement the night before so I was done. He was a bit nonplussed but he never called back and I was all right with that.

So Atlas shrugged and Glamour Diva was a virgin no more. It was a relatively quick and [not really]painless experience and I was able to go on with the rest of my life – mystery solved. I’ve kept this attitude until this very day which is why I never feel like I’m denying myself or that I might be missing out on something if I’m not gaping my legs. I’ve discovered that for me, no sex is my normal state, my comfort zone. Now in my mind I’m the nastiest slut to ever walk the earth but the thought of actually fucking, like with another person and not just my vibrator? I’ll pass. There are just too many variables to consider! To shave/wax or not to shave/wax? His place or mine? Dating or friends with benefits? And what about my short attention span? And what if he starts to have romantic feelings for me? What if I start having romantic feelings for him? Like I said, too much!

So what would I do if I actually met The Pretty and, wonders of wonders, he was actually attracted to me? Would I do him? Let’s see…HELL YES! I mean he is THE PRETTY after all! But the real question is could I muster the sustained interest to do him consistently, say for longer than three months? Could I be in a committed relationship with him where sex was required more than once or twice a month? Probably not (A hot slut like him wouldn't stand for it!). Now I know what you’re thinking, how in the hell could Ms. GD resist sex with the luscious Mr. Miller, the man she spends so much time writing about and squealing over? Trust me Dear Readers, it will take more than God’s gift to Monday nights to get me to give up the punany consistently. I don’t know what it is or even what form it will take but I know it’s going to have to be big…tsunami big…Krakatoa erupting big…Big Bang Theory big! But in the meanwhile Ms. GD will continue to fill her days with writing, reading, raging against the machine, Prison Break watching and sexy man ogling. Can you dig it Dear Readers?

Ms. GD thinks she should get back to practicing yoga so she can be good and limber when Mr. Miller comes a-callin’. And he will come a-callin’ when she gets that multimillion-dollar book deal from Random House… – GD

1 comment so far.

  1. anybody 9:10 PM, December 30, 2005
    Oh GD, you are going to chortle when you hear that I had such yearnings for none other than Donny Osmond then Billy Idol. The point is, my dear, that you are an intelligent woman and it is so important that you remain true to yourself, whether THE PRETTY shows up on your doorstep or not. Remember that!

    Yoga is good. Your inevitable book contract is good. And never forget that you are good, no great too! (Never sell yourself short!)

    p.s.-- In my heart, I know that your multimillion-dollar contract will come through, for you are one of the finest writers I've ever read.

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