Posted by on Nov 9, 2010 in Life and Style | 0 comments

bj-vs-hj

I decided to go out by myself Friday night. I love doing this, because you never know who you’re going to meet and you’re not obligated to entertain anybody but yourself. The world is your oyster, you are its pearl… A lot of people think I’m a freak when I proclaim this, or the fact that I also love traveling by myself.

Anyway, prior to my departure I happened upon a tweet from @imboycrazy about a beauty event by YOUTHskin/care (organic, hand made skin products=love), and thought, what a perfect intro to my evening…

And it was, met some super cool chicks, including Alexi Wasser, got some super cool swag (more on that later this week). Discussed everything from leather lube to Playboy’s leather & lace issue from 1986 or 1993 or who-knows-when, how Asian men like to get pee-ed on (apparently in Hong Kong), and finally, a debate on whether handjobs are better than blowjobs. The consensus seemed to be blowjobs blow handjobs out of the water, but I pride myself on my handjob abilities, wet and dry.

“Dry?” The long-haired gentlemen sitting next to me asks; a perplexed look on his face.

“Yes,” I answer, “you have to go slow and make sure you don’t have sweaty palms. So you can’t be nervous.”

His response: Ah hah.

And then he left with @imboycrazy.

Later that night, sitting at Umami Burger I text hubbie: Do you prefer blowjob to handjob?

Hubbie’s response: In general, yes.

And then I finish off my earth burger, which you have to ask for because it’s not on the menu.

I get in my car, get on the 101, and then in my single-girl-out-on-the-town euphoric bliss…I decide not to take the exit home. Nope, instead I take the next exit, because I start thinking: I’m going to pop into Firefly, and see if EyeCandy is there tonight. One time he mentioned he frequents the joint, and now everytime I drive by, I wonder… Completely retarded, I know, because what would I really do if he was there, aside from satisfy some foolish urge to invite drama into my life.

No really, I would talk shop, which is what you do with your client. And casually admire his physical perfection, get high off the flirting, pretend for moment I’m single, unattached; give myself a thrill, that fix of dopamine we all love so much.

So I do it. I pull into Valet, walk in, and…he’s not there. Oh, probably a good thing.

Forty-five seconds later I walk back out to Valet, he looks at me kinda funny, tells me there’s no charge. I thank him, and feel foolish. No. Justified. I am a women, with needs, desires, innocent fantasies in my head, which fuel my libido, make me feel sexy, want sex, and provide great fodder for masturbating in the bathtub.

Five minutes later I pull into the garage. Hubbie opens my car door, “you know, I’ve been thinking, you give a really great handjob.”