So. It’s come to my attention that the person I’m sleeping (yes, I can admit that I’m sleeping with someone, good for me) with has several “friends” who give him shit for sleeping with me, the “me” namely referring to “the girl who writes this blog” because these so called friends of his haven’t ever actually met me and don’t even know what I look like.
Okay. I see what’s going on here. This mystery beef pretty much has nothing to do with me as a person, but more to do with the fact that a group of dudes read my shit, realized their friend was fucking me and somehow that became fodder for, um, ragging on the dude I’m fucking? Let’s be mature adults here and call a spade, a spade: the only reason a group of dudes would feel it necessary to give him shit is because I’m a sexually confident, open minded, literate, intelligent and I’m sure that this group of dudes have no idea what it’s like to be in the company of an independent, well rounded woman. It’s obvious that this group of dudes is merely intimidated by the fact that I have the chutzpah to fuck people, enjoy fucking them, and then write about it. Jealous much?
Yeah, of course these guys are jealous. Girls like me never fuck boys like them. And they know that. They wouldn’t even know how to begin to talk to a woman like me, which is probably why they’ve never even actually talked to me. And even if they did talk to me, they’d be met squarely with rejection because, well, firstly, they’re the type of guys who need assert their masculinity by ragging on a dude because the girl he fucks writes a sex blog, and, secondly, holy shit, have you seen the guy I’m fucking?
Yes, exactly. Because while I pride myself on being an intelligent, independent woman, it’s not like I’m going around fucking anything less than the most attractive, intelligent, kindhearted men (or women…) I can find. Cuz that’s the thing – the guy I’m fucking is clearly awesome, in and of himself, as a stand alone guy, so of course these envious peon assholes need to find a way to validate their own feeble, nonexistent masculinity by talking to shit to the biggest threat to their illusory masculinity: a real man.
The thing is, I’ve never met these guys. I don’t know who they are, but it’s obvious to me that their obscene dearth of character makes them people that I hope I never have to meet, because if you’re using this *purely fictitious* blog as a means for talking shit to the dude I’m fucking you clearly suck. Also, I’m surprised that these assholes know how to pronounce half the words I use, but I’m sure there’s an app for that.
In conclusion, the status of my relationship with this guy isn’t really any of your business. I’m not going to tell you what the sex is like, or how often we have it, or where, or if we cuddle and if I get all emotional when we get drunk together. It’s not really any of your business. You know why? Because I respect him, and I respect his privacy, and I’m not gonna put him or his dick on blast on the Internet. None of you will ever be worthy of fucking me, so just deal with it.
Oh, and for everybody else who’s still with me, um, yeah, I’m fucking some dude, so what? I try not to talk about my personal sex life on here, but, meh, what’s to be expected. Just because I’ve been ‘single’ for three years doesn’t mean I’ve been single for three years.