I’m feeling like reading the Tao of Pooh or something, even though my tastes run more towards Eeyore. So here’s how I feel:

I’m just a little black rain cloud,
Hovering under a honey tree…
Only a little black rain cloud,
Pay no attention to me.

LOL.  Like I am trying to stick my hands in a honey jar and I don’t want anybody to catch me out.

I have a funny, sick feeling inside. My payment for the GRE sadly went through this morning (sadly because it’s Thanksgiving weekend, I paid them last Tuesday and it waited until today to go through… yammer yammer yammer)… and sadly because oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. That means I am going to have to go take it. Jesus Christ. I let myself get wrapped up in my own bullshit last week to avoid writing my paper and studying for the GRE. Now I have five days? To knuckle down and smarten up. Cuz I have a great big fucking exam to do.

One of the questions on UCI’s application is an essay prompt:

In an essay, discuss how your personal background informs your decision to pursue a graduate degree. Please include any educational, familial, cultural, economic, or social experiences, challenges, or opportunities relevant to your academic journey; how you might contribute to social or cultural diversity within your chosen field; and/or how you might serve educationally underrepresented segments of society with your degree.

I like “Please include any social experiences or opportunities relevant to your academic journey… how you might serve educationally underrepresented segments of society with your degree.”

Mwahaha.  Remember this summer when I had the interview and my first response to “what will you bring to the table?” was “dances”??? Yeah.

I totally would like to argue that being a phone sex operator has definitely shaped me as a person, intellectually as a thinker because I don’t just make snap judgements as I perhaps used to, and that I would be bringing a fairly diverse and brotastic view of things to society. Frankly, I am deeply interested in some of the work being done in critical theory on sexuality and mixed media, and I have a unique background which affords me a different view point on the entire thing. I am not going to though, because it’s just a different level of unprofessional.

*Giggle* I just remembered the penultimate night of my last lit class. I was bitching to the instructor about GREs and papers and such and somehow, I don’t quite remember how, horribly mutilated penises found its way into our discussion (it was a group of us) the teacher was saying he had seen the worst, I was begging to differ. We all walked in a mob down to his office to peruse this book which had the scary mutilated penis picture in it, but he couldn’t find it. Steve (a cutie Liberal Studies major who blows glass and wants to teach elementary school)(actually, in retrospect Steve looks a little like someone who sent me their picture recently… creepy) was saying that he’d seen a video on YouTube where a dude took a box cutter to his ballsack and pulled out his testes and had some chick suck them. Totally reminded me of every douchebag caller who has ever been into eunich-ization. (I made that word up because I can’t be bothered to look it up.) So anyways, I kind of nodded at Steve and the teacher and said that I knew lots of guys at work like that– that my favorite guy who likes that shit was Actaeon the dude who is into being a deer and getting hunted. The look my teacher shot me was… different to say the least. Quite amusing. However, that’s proof that there’s a place for admitting you’re a phone ho and then a place for avoiding admitting it at all costs, regardless of how fucking excellent the segue into talking about your clients may be.

Between studying for the GRE and writing a paper this coming week, I will be making new mp3s. I’ve been rather astonishingly verbose here on the blog so I may as well start recording it.

I was dressed when I crawled pathetically into bed last night.

I was not when I woke up. And we’re not talking “just in panties” naked, we’re talking bare-ass starkers. Not only that but the clothing wasn’t in the bed or by the bed. I figured I got really hot and decided, half asleep, to strip down– but the clothing was nowhere to be seen.  As I quite like the thermal I was wearing (it matches the pink/purple streaks in my hair) and the squishy comfy pj bottoms, not to mention cute the little PINK! panties I was wearing, I grew quite distressed over not knowing where my fucking clothes were.

Also. It’s eight-fucking-thirty in the morning. And I didn’t get off to bed until after 3.

Plus, I just checked the good old bank balance… I work my ass off last weekend and I don’t get paid. Typical niteflirt shenanigans.

I am about to pop some Ambien and fall asleep. I don’t like the Ambien, but it beats staying awake till five in the morning and getting 2 hours of sleep, or running the risk of od’ing on benadryl (which sounds theoretically impossible… but there’s been a time or two, let me tell you). So, we’ll just take the Ambien for now.

Sooooooooooo…. Autoshuffle. This post is brought to you by a very old post on my very old blog. I am reading Nicky Hornby’s “High Fidelity” right now, and am feeling all musically inclined. Let me tell you, I loved John Cusack in the movie, but love the character of Rob so much more. The film is set in America, but the book is set in North London, and it’s like a literary reminder of my stomping grounds. It’s awesome– the record shop is supposed to be in Holloway, up the Seven Sister’s Road, and I used to live close enough to take a LONG walk to there… used to go to the Holloway Odeon all the time– as a matter of fact, that’s how I spent my 20th birthday, watching 6th Sense @ the Holloway Odeon… *sigh* The book is just awesome, and I love Hornby’s voice as Rob in it.

What am I thankful for?

• cellphones with cameras
• starbucks
• all of my friends
• heh. open relationships
• niteflirt (really, I mean it)
• books
• and my kindle.
• oooooooooooh vast
  
• the  “my backpack’s got jets” song about boba fett

That’s about it. have a wonderful and happy holiday! and when you get a chance, call me

It is so true. The mix tape is a magical being, I think. It’s always so wonderful to receive, especially when there’s a romantic connection. When I was a teenager writing to my penpals overseas I loved getting mixtapes from this one Scottish guy, I seriously thought he was fucking brilliant. Until I saw Empire Records and recognized, in order 90% of the music, from his latest mixtape. He was sending me rips of soundtracks and pawning them off as his own collections. I was, of course, wounded.

I still love receiving mixtapes though– and you always know that’s when the shit is getting serious, unless the person is just a nutball who is way into music. I’ve received some great mixes in my time. mmmmmmm I need someone to send me a mixtape for fucking.  I’d start mine off with Bodies by Drowning Pool.

So there’s this song that is running through my head, but I don’t know who sings it. I really like this song, but I can never remember the name of it or the name of the band that sings it. The way I perceive this song is the way I want to be loved. The part that gets me is when the guy goes, “lost for you, I am so lost… for you” but there’s more, it’s like this awesome mix of sex and love to it. I love this song, whenever I hear it on the radio, but then I forget it.

Okay, I give up. Obviously I am listening to a mixtape as I right this and shit’s on my mind and everything. I want to say thank you to all of you who have emailed and called and weighed in on my current situation. I appreciate it. But now, I think I am fucked generally. What do you do when faced with an impossible chance and two people who know just how impossible said chance is? Do you behave like an adult and reason out all the reasons you should stay where you are (safe, reasonably content, etc etc)?

Ugh. I hate being a girl sometimes. And by girl I mean, “emotional, obsessive, prone to bouts of crushing insecurity and insane neediness” NOT “possessing of breasts, brains, and a pussy” because I actually like that part of being a girl. I just don’t like the chick-y-ness of being one sometimes.

Thank god this has only happened 2x. I couldn’t handle it if it was a regular occurrence. I gotta put my fuck me shoes on, stop listening to querulous and overtly romantic music, and remember that I am fabulous and wonderful… ((shhhhhhh does it sound much like I am lying to myself?))

Top 5 Favorite Boy Parts

1. 1. Hands. (the better to finger me with, grab me with, etc)
2. 2. Necks. I remember being 14, entranced by *ahem* david duchovnys neck, just wanted to suck the daylights out of it.
3. Arms. Ok, that scene in Chronicles of Riddick where Riddick fucking lifts Jack by jamming his forearm between her legs, in the slam?? I damn-near pass out every time I watch that scene.
4. Backs. I like rubbing them, rubbing myself on them, kissing them, and beating the ever-loving shit out of them. Is it wrong that there is just something so fucking hot to me about a guy’s back when it’s covered in welts? (or fake scars in the movies?)
5. cock. Technically, this should be number one, but, why play to expectations?

1. 1. 1. Finger fucking. Yeah, this is number one, it will always be number one.
   2. 2. Getting gagged with a cock.
   3. 3. Facial money-shot. Mwaah. love it.
   4. 4. Getting to use your face as a pillow, all kinds of tonguing and clean-up. Puss and Ass.
   5. 5. Penetration. With just about anything– I do mean anything. Call me and ask me for a list.

So let us refer to #1 and something which has been on my mind for awhile. People, you read my blog. How do I know, because you call me, laughing sometimes so hard you have tears in your eyes. You mention it in emails and conversations. Why don’t you leave a comment? Are your comments being eaten by my spam catcher, or do you not want people knowing you were here? (If the answer is B you should rethink your purchase of the www.sweetsexyvicky.com bumpersticker, or the SSV owns me Lapel pin you purchased, cuz really.)

Alright, referring to #1. Finger fucking. It is my favorite, for so many reasons. Maybe this is lame but, I think that a certain part of me will always feel that mind-boggling out-of-body feeling I felt the first time a guy slid his finger into me. It was like nothing I have ever felt before; so full of promise and dizzying arousal. I remember being crushed up against his van, looking up at the amber haze in the sky from the street lights and thrilling that the neighbors might see. His heavy high school ring caught and snagged on my pantyhose, ripping them to shreds and his stubby fingers impatiently tore aside my panties. I can remember this vague, completely out of oxygen feeling as I started to flow away on hormones and the way his body shuddered against mine as he whispered “you’re so wet” in shock against my lips. I swear for a moment I detached from my body and could see the two of us from a different vantage point. ((Of course, what I don’t mention was there I was, virginal me, grinding against him, moaning and trying with every muscle and fiber in my body to get him to touch me rougher, pinch me, something— even then I wasn’t fragile thing.))

Of course, when I start thinking about that I think about the night I was laid out, flat on my back with a certain boy between my legs, shoving his fingers inside of me while his lips grazed my knees and thighs and I struggled oh-so-hard not to make any noise. That’s followed up quickly by the delicious feel of damp fingertips pressing against my lips and mouth, the smell of the boy and myself, the taste… *sigh*

I forgot to finish up on the topic. What’s got me all excited about fingerfucking?

I’ve been exceptionally sensitive to people’s hands lately. I’ve been thinking about hands, sizing them up, and comparing them etc etc. See, while my first true experience with finger banging came somewhat lateish in life– I was born with a hand fetish. Mr. S in the 5th grade– whoa. He used his hands to gesture and indicate all sorts of things, and I was his ever-patient disciple, sitting quietly in the second row, eyes huge as they tracked his gloriously huge hands through the air. I remember he had one of those chalk holder things that was like a mechanical pencil, only for chalk. Ostensibly it was to keep your hands from getting all chalky, but he played with it, twisting it in between his fingers as he lectured so that his fingertips with their blunt, short-cut nails always had a fine dusting of chalk on them.

Then their was C, a boy in my grade who had the most magnificent thumbs. I could (and did) stare at his thumbs all day long. I would sit, all quiet and shy in the corner by the teacher’s desk and stare longingly at C’s hands. I used to imagine biting them and sucking on them– and yeah that was in the 7th grade. So shameful!!

I think my next post will be about my top five favorite boy body parts.

ttys!

I got the baddest, sweetest fucking hoodie ever. See, a certain someone said to me over dinner, “I was in Macy’s the other day and I thought of you.” I was mildly amused and astonished. Blah blah blah and a week later I have a Mark Ecko Boba Fett hoodie. Tell a lie– I have a Mark Ecko Boba Fett hoodie which I am giving to James for Christmas. Very cool– and now I want one for me too.

In honor of the hoodie I give you this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwpCI7SqQc0

If you’ve seen Zack and Miri Make a Porno, you will recognize the song. If not, it still rocks so watch anyways.

I am so done with school at the moment. You know it’s bad when you are fantasizing about restraining professors with ball gags and fisting every stupid person who thinks that saying “misogyny” makes them fucking intelligent. You know what makes you intelligent? Separating yourself from the herd of sheep that believes that anything remotely unpleasant that is said about women is misogyny. Guess what, bitches?

Women are the cruelest, fucking evillest, vilest cunts I know. Not men. And calling a duck a duck is not being speciest or whatever the fuck hatred of ducks is. It’s just speaking the truth. Check it. Gah.

I am kind of all pent up so my post is all over the place. My friend loaned me The Libertine with Johnny Depp in it. I love this movie, I really do. It is just so… stimulating. I like calling a whore a whore and not having said whore be offended. I damn near came in my pants when the one whore kicks Wilmot out, saying that she’d rather he spill his load all over her face rather than leave her caring about him. I am in a dilemma like that right now, I totally emphasize.

The worst *in a good way* part of the movie is right at the beginning, when Wilmot and Elizabeth are in the carriage to London. He shoves his hand up under her skirt and fingers her while she tells him about how he kidnapped her. She grabs his hand to keep it there, she comes, he rubs his fingers across her lips and she sucks his fingers like the greedy bitch she is. Then the scene cuts to him standing in a street in London, delicately sniffing his fingers. It’s just so wrong that it’s beautiful.

So, because I am having troubles sleeping, I popped Closer in after that. Now, my absolute favorite scene in Closer is when Clive Owen is storming around the house after Julia Roberts admits her infidelity:

LARRY: Did you cum?
ANNA: Why are you doing this?
LARRY: ’cause I want to know.
ANNA: First he went down on me, and then we fucked.
LARRY: Who was where?
ANNA: I was on top, then he fucked me from behind.
LARRY: And that’s when you came the second time.
ANNA: Why is the sex so important?
LARRY: Because I’m a fucking caveman!
LARRY: Did you touch yourself while he fucked you?
ANNA: Yes.
LARRY: You wank for him.
ANNA: Sometimes.
LARRY: And he does.
ANNA: We do everything that people who have sex do!
LARRY: You enjoy sucking him off.
ANNA: Yes!
LARRY: You like his cock.
ANNA: I love his cock!
LARRY: You like him cumming in your face.
ANNA: Yes!
LARRY: What does it taste like?
ANNA: It tastes like you but sweeter!
LARRY: That’s the spirit. Thank you. Thank you for your honesty. Now fuck off and die, you fucked up slag.

That is just the best bit of dialogue in a play based movie ever I think. “It tastes like you but sweeter” is a horrible thing to say to a man.

I also love the way Portman plays Clive Owen in the strip club. All you tease and denial fans, go watch and admire. He keeps paying her to tell him her real name and all she says is “Thank you, it’s Jane” and he doesn’t believe her. So he keeps paying her like a dumbfuck.

Hi  I know i shouldnt do things like this when im fucked up but crown royal will make you do things i normally wouldnt.My name is Alan Marr i live in charlotte N.C.. I am a sissy ,I have a very tiny  dick .(like almost 4 inches when i can get hard) I am 37 years old.I have a wife named Joyce we are seperated she left me for a 18 year old guy.She told me that i couldnt satisfy her and havent in almost 5 years. I am sitting here in a pair of her panties and a bra.She knows i  was a sissy but she thinks i dont do that anymore.I kept some of her panties and bras when she left  she cheated on me like 6 times 3 of which  were black guys .she even told her sister i had a little dick and that was part of the reason she cheated and left.it has been a ugly seperation and she was even alittle cruel she had been putting  her crushed up birthcontrol pills in drinks for me for  almost 5 months before she left. that is why i cant get a hard on and plus  it has made me grow very noticable boobs and huge sore nipples. she dont know i cant even get hard and i hate  playing with a totally limp dick but i have not a choice she said she would make sure i wasnt getting any pussy and she did.I want to be humiliated and  even blackmailed  into crying like the bitch i really am.I work for Duke power as a service tech.I even wear panties to work under my clothes.Her number is 704-222-8643 and her e-mail is joycmarr@gmail.com .i have to put band aids over my nipples they are so sore when im at work  . i hope this goes away and i  look  normal again soon .i would tell you anything else you wanna know i just wanna be made to worry and even cry . I hope  this is enough for you to teach me a lesson .Ill be sitting here in these purple panties with  my tiny limp dick hoping  ..thanks

well there you go douchebag. Now the world knows

An actual conversation betwixt myself and the security guard on campus:

V– do you ever get bored out here?
SG- sometimes, but I like watching people
V– ooh, I bet you could write a paper on the mating habits of Cal State Students, as observed in the parking area.
SG– blank look.
V– [explains what  I mean]
SG– Something about my ex wives
V– you don’t look old enough to have exes.
SG– baby girl, I am old enough to be your daddy.
V– I’m older than I look– I am 28.
SG– blink. Ok, maybe not quite. Maybe a young daddy, like 15?
V- but would you be a very good daddy?!
SG– it depends on what kind of daddy you’re looking for… a daddy daddy, or one to smack your ass.
V–I am the one that likes to do the spanking….
SG– oh really!! I don’t like being spanked unless its with a wet noodle or a tongue…
V– how on earth do you spank someone with your tongue?!
SG– it’s easier to show than tell…
V– Is that old line still working for you? It used to work great for me…

blah blah blah lots of flirting and spank talk. eventually would down to Voting for Obama etc etc etc.

Had dinner with friends, it was nice. I am sicker than a dog now (ha. shows you what a fucking ho I am, sick with the mange and flirting with the security guard. I had to leave my silly class because I was getting close to hallucinating….)

mmmmmmm Brandon, your Klingon photon metaphor made me heart sigh. Call me or something… I love it.

Oh, and peoples… all bets are off. I know whats up now bitches. maybe 

——

I just want to write this down real quick. Read this and pretend I am writing it to you

There is absolutely nothing like the feeling of your long, self-assured fingers sliding in and out of me, pushing into me, poking and prying into me and laying me bare under your direct gaze. Urging me closer to my own self fulfillment, plundering my secrets, devouring and savoring my darker, hidden corners. Quick with the flashy turn of wrist, slow to stroke my insides, you push and prod, hem and haw and balance me on the razor’s edge of orgasm, teasing me with your strong, capable hands. 

Hey my lovelies!

If you have talked to me recently you will have heard of my most recent sexual dilemma.  Or more like the most recent 2 dilemmas. (Dilemma 1 being the fact that James and I fucked around so hard Halloween night that my business now looks like I got myself fingered by Freddy-freaking-Kreuger)(dilemma 2 having to pertain to the following rant)

I am a girl. Ok, I am a girl who likes to think, likes to swear, loves to shop, be bossy, and put people in their places. I am a Dominant. That means that I have a dominant personality, I am an alpha female, I am in charge and I like being in charge.

It does not mean that I am dominating anyone. (Unless they ask for it). Domination takes 2 people, someone to be submissive and someone to be dominant. You cannot dominate someone if they do not let you. Likewise, you cannot be submissive or submit to someone if they do not realize that you are submitting to them.

For instance:

We are out to dinner and I tell you that you are buying, and you pay. I am just being a cow/bitch/rude person/myself. You actually agreeing with me is you agreeing with me, nothing in my demeanor forced you into saying yes, in fact you could have said no, but you didn’t. Likewise, I was not expecting you to say yes, therefore I was not dominating you because I did not have an expected positive outcome.

We are out to dinner and I tell you that you are paying and you are having the tilapia with macademia nut crust, white wine, and rice pilaf. I look you dead in the eye when I say it and I am serious. When you nod, you avert your glance and you are somewhat sexually aroused as you do as instructed. I know that you are sexually aroused and we are both aware of it. I am getting something from the exchange, beyond my meal.  I am dominating you and you are submitting to me.

There. I said it. I cannot dominate you without being aware that I am doing it and without you making a clear decision to submit to me. Furthermore, the kind of domination you are talking about is sexual in nature, and there has to be something to it. SO. 

If you want me to dominate you, slap your ass, boss you around, or otherwise– fucking ask me. Who knows what kind of reaction you will get.

If you want to be a tourist, then ask touristy questions.

’nuff said.

I am considering putting up a pool. guys, if you want to buy in to the pool you can contact me at sweetsexyvicky@gmail.com. The pool is to see what the hell is really happening. If we’ve talked, you know what I mean. If we haven’t, call me and get the low-down.

———————

mmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Michael, and by Michael I mean NAVYBOY. I am sorry to say that, you’ve been replaced. His name is Brandon, and for some reason, in my head he looks like superman. He’s now boyfriend #1 (yeah, he kind of kicked James to the curb, but only because he is fantastic and has enthusiasm).

How can you not fall in love with someone who accepts how badly you want to have Eli Roth’s baby?

speaking of…

Eli– you didn’t answer my email. I am heartbroken. We could live in czechoslovakia together making horror movies… I could play with props… we could fuck and be nasty and I could be your muse. Seriously, think about it. Please. xxxxx Vicky

FINALLY

people, go vote! Tomorrow is election day– utilize your citizenship!! and vote no on prop 8 if you live in california.