That Whole "Domestic Goddess" Thing

****More insights from JJ****

Apparently I'm a betrayal to all womankind that I don't yearn to get dragged by my hair back to a cave where I will cook, clean, and squeeze out screaming babies for my man. I guess I never got that domestic gene and never really got the appeal either. I'm sure there has to be some correlation between stay at home moms and alcoholism. Just sayin.

My apartment has no frills, no decor, no themes per room. What's important to me is functionality. And I scour the internet, garage sales, and consignment stores for previously loved furniture. That means, gasp, nothing matches! Oh well, I guess Better Home and Garden won't be doing a feature on me. Another dream gone. This is why I don't have a twelve chair dining room set. I never have and never will host elaborate dinner parties. You will find a folding table with four folding chairs for when I play poker with my friends. The types of parties I tend to host are keggers where people mostly stand or pass out on my couch when they've reach the point of shitfaced. In my kitchen I have items I actually use: toaster, microwave, oven/stove combo, and a fridge. Why the fuck would I need a 27 spices spice rack? Or decorative pot holders? There is no need to set an ambiance like some Martha Stuart wannabe fruit.

Kids are annoying. All kids, no exception. And if you're thinking I am wrong because your kids are precious gifts from heaven I can guarantee at some point someone has wanted to backhand one of your kids. I am NOT advocating beating kids, I firmly believe that's wrong, but it doesn't mean that the thought doesn't creep up in all of us at some point including you about your own. They're noisy, messy, rude, whiny and from what I hear expensive. Not to mention it completely destroys any hope of a social life. And so many women use pregnancy/having kids as an excuse to turn into a fat blob version of their former selves. I enjoy my freedom and my fabulous body, so no thanks.

As far as cooking goes, I'd rather pay someone else to do it and deliver it. I'm actually at the point where I call in and say "It's me, the usual." I'll eat right out of the container to avoid washing dishes. You can call me lazy, it's true I am. But I also do circuit training five days a week for forty-five minutes each day, maybe that balances things out a bit? So there go my hopes of being a domestic goddess. I'm completely okay with this since The American Dream isn't my particular dream.

The other night I ran into my neighbor while doing laundry. This isn't a complete shock considered we live in a Duplex with shared laundry facilities in the basement. As I was bent over lunloading my clothes from the washer and into the dryer a husky voice commented, "Not bad."

I turned around to see those icy blue eyes flirting with me. I replied, "I don't know whose ass you were looking at because mine happens to be fantastic."

"I wouldn't know, never got the chance to feel for myself."

Without saying a word I turned on the dryer then sat on top of it signaling for him to come to me. He put his hands on my thighs while staring deeply into my eyes. I licked my lips. A playful smirk spread across his face. Patience was never a virtue I possessed. I mouthed the words "Fuck me."

His face dove into mine. His tongue explored my mouth while I ran my hands under his shirt to feel his tight body. My hand slipped down to his throbbing cock. It was practically busting against the inside of his jeans. When I rubbed it he began to moan inside my mouth. I love it when a guy is vocal about his pleasure. I pushed him away. He had that hungry puppy look in his eyes. This could be a whole lot of fun.

"Take off your clothes and show me what you're working with", I demanded. Either he'd play by my rules or the game was over and I could tell he was the type to play along.

He pulled his shirt over his head revealing the smooth, toned, olive body underneath. Shoes kicked off. Button undone. Zipper unzipped. Pants and boxers slide down his legs together. His cock pointing at the direction of where it wants to go. I smiled, "Not bad."

His reward came when I pulled my tank off. Unclasped my bra. My hard nipples pointing at what I want. Shorts slipped off. No panties. Lastly I kick off my flip flops. I jumped off the dryer, turned my back to him, and bent myself over the machine. Then I invited him, "Come find out."


Listen perverts you are not getting the complete play by play on what happened next. It was good, damn good. Now I know why those moans are so loud coming through the walls. And the droubt is definitely over. What the hell was I thinking? Neighbor boy and I left things open ended. It amy happen again, it may not. We'll see.

No doubt every time I think of doing my laundry I'll get a little wet. Who would have ever considered house hold chores an aphrodisiac? It's funny how a bout of great sex always reminds me of some of the not so great ones. I think someone somewhere decided it was the woman's job to put the male orgasm above her own. Yeah, well I don't think so. Why should I waste my energy teaching a man things he should already know? Like where the clit is. Hello, it's right there!!! Even a blind decrepit old man in the dark could stumble upon it. Other reasons I will kick a man to the curb before he's even had a chance to put his clothes back on: making it a race to the finish line. Cumming in under ten minutes is not an achievement, it's a sad event. If a man can't maintain his erection, well there's medical help for that. If a man can't please me then he needs to leave. I have laughed at and made somewhat harsh comments at the pathetically clueless. "Are you kidding me?" "Wow, have you ever been with a woman before?" "Are you ever trying?" "I could have done it better myself".

Before you think I'm some cold-hearted bitch, well think whatever the hell you want, the fact is I don't do relationships. I do hook-ups. So if I have a man back at my place it isn't for scrabble. He needs to handle what I brought him here for or step aside for someone who can.

My job sucks. My apartment is sub-par. My cat is a bit psychotic. So....one thing I always look forward to is a good pounding. If I lose that then what have I got left?