He’s got to be out there somewhere

Do you ever stop to think about how many times you’ve actually had good sex in your life?

Because I did.

It’s not the best record.

I guess I was thinking about it because lately, my husband and I are back into this pattern where we never have sex. It’s just the usual we’re never both in the mood and awake at the same time. His libido is the same, he just jerks off instead. Which worries me. Because one time, that’s how it started, and we all know how it ended. But that isn’t what this is about.

This is about me considering my sexual history, and how any of it was barely even worth it.

Don’t worry, I’m not wasting time on this, I’ve written 10,000 words this weekend. CF is up to 170,000. Yeah. Woo. It’s also almost done. So that’s exciting.

But anyway.

So sex with my first boyfriend Nick was good. That was about the only good thing about that relationship. He was such a jackass. We dated four months.

Then the second guy, Chris, as hot as this guy was, it just wasn’t possible to have good sex with a guy with that small of a dick. It was maybe three times with him max.

Then third was Dan, another like “official” boyfriend. He wasn’t terrible, but like, lazy and selfish kind of sums that guy up in every way, sexually included. We dated eight months.

Fourth was Doug (as you all know him) – that was good sex. Like at one point we had sex standing. A guy that’s strong enough to do that with me is rare enough. I’ve never had anyone else even attempt it. But it was so like messed up in other ways, like I was obviously REALLY into this guy and we had sex a few time, and it was usually really good, but then he was all “I’m not over my ex” with me. His ex from high school. But anyway.

Fifth was Matt. That was once. He was hot enough but the sex was subpar. I was pretty drunk too. Again, once with this guy.

Sixth was my husband, and like, that’s always been all right. It’s never been bad, and he’s more generous than a lot of guys I’ve been with, but again, it’s just not…eh…idk…..it’s just lacking in some way

Seventh was R. I think we know well enough about all that.

Eighth was the first guy from the couple we “swang” with, the ones we went bowling with. We had sex for all of like three minutes. It really sucked. I barely want to count this guy.
Ninth, again, I don’t really count this one, because we never had vaginal sex. He’s actually the only person who’s dick I sucked who I didn’t also fuck.

Huh, what does that say about a person where if she does anything with someone, she does it all? Except anal. I’m not doing that. As much as I write about it, because I have so many fucking gay characters, it’s from watching porn, not personal experience. But anyway.

So yeah, like 8 guys, maybe nine. I don’t know why I thought it was ten. Maybe some day soon…

That’s why I subjected this blog as I did.

Since it didn’t work with R. For reasons of his raging alcoholism. And I was spending too much time with him. I know better now. I’m hugely confident I would do better with that sort of situation now, with someone else. This is not me being into R and wanting him specifically back. I don’t miss him. I miss what we had. We spent so much time together. BUT, at the same time, while the sex was good, he was really selfish and inattentive at the same time. He felt no need to make sure you were taken care of, this I can assure you. But again, I did have sex with this guy like…a ton.

So it didn’t work with R, though it might have. And then there was that brief foray into possibly getting down with N. But alas that didn’t happen either.

So now. I wonder.

He’s got to be out there somewhere. There’s GOT to be some guy who wants this role in my life, who is someone I can have what I want with, who’s smart enough to talk to. It’s not such a tall order. It really isn’t. The guy could have his own life, like be single or not, have a wife or a girlfriend or whatever, it’s not really my business. I am not interested in changing my situation. This is about the…something else, that I’ve felt the need for, for a long, long time.

It’s painful the last good sex I had was R, and even then he was so unideal in other sexual ways it’s hard to even long for him. And with Doug, it’s like, how could he be so stupid not to be into me? And with Nick, he just sucked so much as a person.

So I don’t even want the guys who were good in bed, for various reasons.

So there’s got to be a guy out there. There really does. But I can tell you I’m 30, I’m sick of waiting for him.

When I imagine him, he’s a younger, taller version of Professor I. He lives by himself in a boho apartment. He wears turtlenecks and blazers. He can talk to me, and he wants me, and he wants to do both, and I know that when he looks at me.

It’s not so much to ask.

I’m certain of it.

So I guess until then I’ll be writing CF and relatively content with my husband.

So that’s fine, I guess. Things are like, fine, and stuff.

~Cassie

Sir, I would argue most things don’t have a point

Want to know a pretty embarrassing yet still totally true secret?

The only thing stopping me from trying to fuck this one professor from my undergrad now is the idea that if I’m ever a published author it’ll be more of an excuse to contact him than…just randomly deciding to do it on Linked In.

So like…I’m saving that attempt at seduction for when I have a true reason to be contact him. IF I add professors to the acknowledgments, still undecided if I will, he would be one of them, along with like three others from undergrad and….one…..from grad school. That’s one thing I always found fucking hilarious. I liked the professors at my first college, the one in my hometown. I didn’t get along with any of the students. I don’t know what it was, just no one ever talked to me, unless they were complimenting me. God that sounded bad when I read it. Whatever. I stand by it because it’s accurate. Like one time when I was leaving a psych class in undergrad, a girl asked me, “Do you do your own make up?” Which is pretty cool thing to be asked, because it’s implying they noticed such an intensity/variation in your face art (as I like to call it) that it seems like you’re having someone else do it for you. But…I didn’t know what to say to her question besides, “Yeah.” Like….if I were different, I would’ve started a conversation there. Because that was probably what this other girl was trying to do. I’m jut SO bad at those sorts of things. Like…either I was never taught, or I just never learned or absorbed it, but I NEVER know what to do or say. There’s of course my good friend alcohol. I mean, I already like drinking (I feel like I might have mentioned that by this point? Yeah it’s probably come up) and then I’m like nervous, and awkward, and dying to do anything to make myself more outgoing/likable. Yeah that’s a dangerous recipe. And the fucking product is a hungover Cassie the next day. The last time I really did that was when I went to that work outing last February. I drank like….a tall boy, a pitcher, another tall boy, then two more talls at a B Dubs. Which I hate that restaurant because they’re way overpriced but my young, bougie coworkers think its the best. I’m like, oh they’re too young to have taken the time to try anyone good..I see….But yeah, I was hungover as hellllllll the next day.

Then, in grad school I liked (in some cases, REALLY liked…huh? get it?) the students, but less so the professors. There were maybe two…possibly three if you throw out the bitterness on the third one which was hard to ignore at times, who I really liked. And I had higher hopes for grad school, IDK why. I guess I got laid way more because of grad school.

But anyway, SPEAKING of work.

So.

I was being a huge ridiculous pessimist. Like W. Which is why I’m normally a self-proclaimed cynical optimist (like, make the best of things, but remember shit happens, k?).

But I mean, her email was a LITTLE ominous. Even best friend agreed. And she’s the last person who would become emotionally distraught. She’s so effing clinical. I mean, I know why, so it’s fine. She shows her love in the funniest of ways, just like my 100% first generation from Germany grandmother. So to me it makes sense. I always found it very strange that best friend tests INFJ and I test INTJ because…to see our interactions….you would think that’s reversed.

I think I know why. But I don’t have time to get into that. Plus. I can’t talk about her childhood without bringing up my own. And again, no time.

So my boss gave me a great review, and $1/hour raise (I make $19.50/hour now….again no idea where my money goes) and she wanted to conduct it on Saturday because she wanted to discuss moving my career forward with the company because she likes keeping good people with the company. And she does. She demanded the president of the company invent a job for someone because he wanted to leave our department to work for an automotive company. He still left our department, but to go work for the president directly. So yeah, if she values someone, she like fights to keep them.

I am apparently one of those people.

I kind of like…can’t tell when someone’s just being a hard ass or if they’re being emotionally abusive. I mean to ME those are the same thing. But also, because of my endurance/tolerance levels, I can put up with SO much stress and still seem calm. That’s not what’s happening internally, but I’m like always a mess in there. Organized chaos, as I like to think of it.

So. Now you know one of my many embarrassing fun facts. I don’t even want to call them secrets because they don’t matter that much. I just know better than to tell people about most of my shit. Because, like 98% of the time, they do NOT fucking care. And that’s fine. People are busy with their own compartmentalizing and repressions and so on and so forth. Ain’t no one gotta tell me about how some people are SO talented at hiding how horrible their life really is, those feelings have nothing better to do, and they’ve grown so strong over time from such constant misery, that they start eating away at you. Literally. Not in the makes you thin sense. In the cripples your bones with pain way. You can call it slipped discs, and bulging discs, you can get repeated back surgeries, you can be reduced to needing a walker or some means of assistance just to get around, you can listen the entire time to your spouse in your ear reminding you this is happening because you’re so overweight and have been for so long……but your grown ass daughter who bailed on you knows the truth.

I was talking about my mom just then.

That was something I realized, I think there’s times when someone might read this and think one of the many times I’m describing what’s going on with my parents, and it seems like I’m talking about my own marriage, because I get weirdly second person about some shit. IDK why it’s involuntary. I always have to edit the shit out of my blogs, because when I get stream of consciousness I drop thoughts to never return to them. I’ll write a very eloquent subject to a sentence, then add a period and move on. Like….why did we mention this…

I know I speak in the plural about myself.

It’s not an MPD thing, I swear. It’s like…you know how you have to become your own father figure/hero, in some cases? So like, if you do that, you develop an inner dialogue with your inner self. The one that’s always telling you what you KNOW you need to do.

Like move on.

Stop thinking about the unhappy past.

Stop comparing yourself to others.

Stop wondering why over deprivations and barely acknowledging the good.

Stop trying to fuck people you wanted back-when. It never goes well.

But, now we’re back to why I started this blog.

I really need to go get real writing done.

Sorry blog, to me this is almost masturbatory. Enjoyable and all, but….does it have a point?

Although, I’ve got to say…..it makes me significantly hopeful how normal/happy this blog is compared to say…the livejournal that I had when I was 17-20…..HOLY shit……the bitch was so dark and sad and lonely I fucking let it die. Livejournal only keeps stuff for so long.

In fact I have a history of erasing myself on social media.

I turned off my Xanga, social lifeline in high school, once I started college.

I deleted my Myspace when I started liking Facebook.

I had to stop using Livejournal because….shit was dark.

I deleted Facebook and Instagram July 2017 because that was when I realized I couldn’t take the bullshit anymore.

Now it’s just Twitter, but only one real life person is on there. So far. One day I’ll have to make a bunch of social media accounts for my pen name. But I’ll worry about that problem later.

So. You guys know the stories of the two times I HAVE gone back and fucked someone I wanted to real bad at one point.

The first was the guy you all know as Doug. The post I wrote about him last April is still my most viewed blog. Okay I’ll link it for fun. So we all know how that went: Doug or “You’re gonna want to strap yourself in for this next one.”

Then there was R.

Because I was way into him the entire time I knew him in grad school. What can I say? I met him in a Shakespeare class fall 2014. It’s easy to remember because it was around when I got engaged.

I was honestly pretty infatuated with him for quite some time. He was very attractive (he would be still but…your drinking, your constant sedentary lifestyle, your unstoppable mountain of inactivity stemming from depression….you know….) He had a very broody prettiness to him, and fucking excellent hair, and all right, yeah, great dick. Obviously. What do you think I was putting up with and for what? Honestly, at the beginning, unless I was done up, R looked like he might’ve been too hot for me. Like, he had a certain presence, and a shit ton of tattoos (it’s fun fucking a person with a bunch of tattoos, it’s like having sex with an art museum) and all that. Which is funny because his appearance didn’t match his personality at all. Which I liked about him. And, I also liked that he talked to me. All the time. Over facebook messenger, over text, he’d only call if he was wasted and upset. So still a lot but never for normal reasons. Then he called me a lot when he was in jail but that was out of sheer boredom. He was in jail over my birthday and called on my birthday but then didn’t acknowledge he even knew what day it was, when I have possibly the most memorable birthday ever.

So….again, R was another time when I was like…SUPER into the idea of fucking someone…then after a few years had passed, it randomly and actually happened.

Wait.

It’s always 2 years.

WEIRD.

Doug was 2 years after high school ended.

R was 2 years after I met him.

I guess, if you count attempts, N was two years after he first contacted me, (asked if we were swingers, then was like oh let me check with my wife, then was like oh wait nevermind she’s not into it anymore). That was actually what prompted my husband to make that profile and why we met up with those two different couples fall 2016. It’s like when we thought about the notion it seemed appealing so when N and his situation didn’t pan out we were like well lets see what else is out there. Yeah not much. The guys especially were just total goons. I barely count the last one as a sexual partner because all that ever happened was I sucked his dick forever. Which of course is easier to do when you’re plastered. But yeah, dude could NOT maintain an erection once a condom touched his dick-skin. Let me tell you. Like. If you have such an aversion…perhaps the sexually deviant life is not for you….

So when I say I’ve had sex with ten guys, I kind of only BARELY count that 10th guy, because to me to count as a sexual partner there needs to be some dick in vagina. Just a personal estimation of the word’s meaning, is all.

I don’t mention my number of partners because I’m like…omg look at my superiority….because I REALLY cannot stand people like that. Coming from the community/life I was raised in….that’s very much a real thing. I know women who got pregnant right after their wedding then had a premature baby who felt the need to post on Facebook how people were making “unfair assumptions” about them – that they got knocked up and that’s why they got married. Could you imagine feeling the need to do this?

I mention my number as like, a matter of record keeping. Who knows, it might increase soon.

If I find someone worthwhile. This is not easy.

I may or may not have started an Ashley Madison, and a Wild+. My husband has like a Tinder, a Grindr, a Bumble and a Wild+ so.

But so far the ones hot enough to be worth my time don’t seem into me.

Which okay sure.

That’s the thing like. There’s a too perfect quote for still feeling fine when someone isn’t into your appearance, and it comes from someone I saw perform live, it was awesome: “You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there’s still going to be somebody who hates peaches.”

So you know. Plus like, IDK there’s a certain body type I am not at all like, so if that was someone’s preference I could see a “yeah no thanks” from a lot of those dudes. Plus I’m suuuuper fussy. I mean. Why wouldn’t I be? There is no rush.

So. This started as I’m going to use CF, when it’s done, to try and fuck a professor from my undergrad. Then I briefly mentioned how my pissing on about my work review was totally unnecessary, then I got distracted yet again. What a shock. Weed man. Makes you creative. Also makes you dyslexic and ADD. Maybe that’s just me. But still, I feel like I need weed. With booze I’m like….okay….you should probably go back to not doing that again…..but….also….hard…..

Anyway.

I haven’t been drinking this weekend. I’m sick. I’ve been chugging cough syrup, I’m not going to also drink. Like. Cmon. Liver. I need that bitch. Of course I’m still smoking. I’m not insane.

SO anyway. The only fun in my foreseeable future is a needle-in-a-haystack find on online dating.

There’s one guy on AM who needs to be a little more intellectual or a little more attractive, and he would do. But….IDK…..he goes a line too far with certain things that make me think he’d be CRINGE in public/person.

I like having shit to look forward to.

There’s working on CF.

There’s Thanksgiving. Not the fucking holiday, are you kidding me? Then I have to deal with my mom emailing me over her sadness at not seeing me AND spend all of it with my in laws. They’re stressful people. And my husband acts really weird around them. So I don’t like the holiday, I fee like Jake Peralta feels about Thanksgiving, “The pilgrims were murderers and turkey tastes like napkins.” BUT, it is a four day weekend. So that’s fun. I spent Black Friday 2016 hung over from a swinging adventure. Still hate that term by the way, need to invent a better one and inculcate it into the mainstream lexicon. I spent Black Friday 2017 making Christmas wreaths and watching Six Feet Under. What weird magical Cassie joy will this year hold.

My team at work won second place, the prize for our incredible hard work is a subpar lunch. But still. Our seven person team came in second, up against departments like 4 times as big. And we made and brought in everything, and we all had bitchin’ costumes. The team who won first just bought tons and tons and shit, and they were three huge departments in a conglomerate. I’m still proud of us. We tied the department who won 1st, for 1st, last year.

There’s true drama over Halloween at my work.

It’s my favorite little thing about that place.

And, I guess my boss is waiting for them to invent a job and when they do she’s going to put my name in for it.

That’s why she wanted the review to happen when we were alone. Because people listen.

SO the opposite of what I thought.

So that’s tight.

I also was honest and told her that I was thinking of leaving the company because I don’t want to live in this area anymore. I just don’t like this part of the state. Like, it’s not that great, the people from down here just act like it’s the fucking best thing ever.

She said it’s possible I could move and still work for the company. That that might actually work well with what position she wants me to take, when it exists.

SO. There’s that also.

Anyway. I’ve wasted a frighteningly amount of time now…so…to CF!

~Cassie