Last night was pretty fucking fun. I will never tire of giving sex advice to inexperienced straight girls.
“Yes. Guys like blows jobs more than cuddling.”
“No. Most straight guys do not like a finger up the ass.”
“Yes. The worst thing you could do is cry after sex.”
It amuses me to no end.
This evening I went running on the bike trail. I was on my 2nd 2-mile repeat when I see this little brown thing scurrying around right in front of me. It was getting kind of dark, so I picked up a stick and threw it at what turned out to be a baby raccoon. Needless to say: I was mortified. To make things worse, around comes Mike (from work) and his wife Jennifer on their evening bike ride. Perfect timing.
So basically Mike thinks that I am a baby raccoon killer. And I will probably never live this down at work.
The truth of the story is: My mom has taught me to always assume that all approaching wildlife is rabid. This might seem ridiculous to you, but this is a very deeply ingrained psychosis. She instilled in us the fear of germs. My mother also refused us children food on vacations if we washed our hands in the public bathrooms. She would force a wet-wipe on us and then admonish us for touching “what most probably were shit, semen, and HIV encrusted bathroom fixtures.”
Ok. So I made that quote up.