In praise of HANDSY men

I’m just going to come out and say it:

I like a man with grabby hands.

You know EXACTLY what I’m talking about if you have the same affinity for it as I do.

A handsy man is one who is constantly touching you.

Grabbing for you.

Getting up in your space and making you feel his presence.

I love this.

Charlie The Aussie was a handsy man.

So is The Swede.

As far as lovers go, a handsy man makes an OUTSTANDING partner.

You’re right in the middle of doing one thing when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, you discover he’s also doing something else.

Like with the Swede, one hand would be up in my hair, messing it up, and pulling on it and I’d discover the other one was stroking my, ahem, chest.

It’s quite a thrill, if you catch my drift.

My friend Yvonne said that she felt starved for touch after her husband passed away.

I think he was a handsy man.

She said he was always touching her.

It occurs to me that out of the Five Love Languages, TOUCH is one of them.

Maybe this is how Yvonne’s late husband, Charlie The Aussie, and The Swede show affection.

Then again, maybe they’re just REALLY EXCELLENT LOVERS.


Bad at Flirting

I don’t intentionally set out to be BAD AT FLIRTING.

It just turns out that way.

I’m actually quite shy when it comes to being around people I have an attraction for.

I play it cool.

No sense letting on that I’d like them to stuff me like a Christmas stocking.

Usually someone else has to make the first move.

And then I unleash myself.

Beware of the beast!

I have been known to:

  1. Shove my naked crotch in a man’s face.
  2. Tell a guy that having sex with him is on my bucket list.
  3. Years ago I told a guy I was going to go home and masturbate while thinking of him.
  4. I showed up on a doorstep in nothing but a long jacket, garter belt and stockings.
  5. I once told a guy I was going to hit on him and then proceeded to hit on him.
  6. Don’t get me started on all the XXX rated pictures I’ve sent through text. . .

Subtle, I am not.

I don’t know how a shy person evolved such an outrageous way to flirt, but it’s the honest truth.

I’m either totally shy or I’m bombing you with my lust.

There’s a reason my playa name is Bombshell.

New Bucket List Item

I’ve got a lot on my bucket list.

Things like visit Greece and Australia.

Go great white shark diving.

Dance all night at Burning Man (I haven’t done this yet).

Just the other day, I realized I had a new Bucket List item.

Something I was jonesing for hard.

Sex with a Swede.

Actually, sex with THE Swede. Fullstop.

I know. I know.

I’ve known him for a full year and we haven’t gotten around to it yet.

In my defense, he does live in Stockholm, 99% of the time.

It’s not like we’ve had the opportunity.

But there we were in his hotel room, rolling around on the bed, kissing and groping when I realized that I wanted this man.



I just added him to my bucket list.

Have you ever heard of a bucket list, I asked him.

Yes, he replied.

Guess what’s on my bucket list, I prodded him.

I don’t know. What’s on your bucket list, he asked.

“Sex with a Swede,” I whispered in his ear.

“I can help with that,” he offered. . .

The Backdoor

I’m sexting with this guy a few weeks ago.

We’ve been going at it a little while and are getting ready to wrap things up when he says, “And then I cum in your ass.”


I rolled my eyes all the way from here to fucking Istanbul.


Cuz that does nothing for me.

I’m not knocking it.

I know there are people who absolutely LOVE it.

But I’m not one of those people.

And I can say that with the confidence of a person who has tried it enough times to know that it’s NOT FOR ME.

I have all the tools: the lube shooter, the anal plug, the inflatable anal plug, the enema bulb. . .

It’s not like I haven’t TRIED.

It’s taken me 43 years of life to come to this conclusion but I feel justified in stating right now, FOR THE RECORD, that I will never have anal sex again.

I’m sorry if that disappoints some of you.

But there are so many other delightful parts to me that a lover can occupy himself with I think I’m giving some truly stellar alternatives to The Backdoor.

Why anyone would choose to give me the sensation of having to take an enormous shit is BEYOND me.

That is all.

Par for the course

I really don’t want to write this post.

I met ANOTHER man who turned out to be ANOTHER dirtbag.

I’m sort of a little stunned by this turn of events.

Even though it seems to happen all the time now.

We met online and started texting.

I gave him my phone number and we continued to text directly.

He seemed interesting – successful, handsome, South American. . .

Then he sent me some wonky texts, hinting at a BDSM inclination.

So I was direct:

Now, it’s not that I mind BDSM activities. Power exchange can be a lot of fun. But when you lead with that, it makes me think there’s very little behind the façade and I lose interest.

I realized this guy had no long term prospects with me so I decided to play with him a bit.

We sexted.

Yes, I’m not so proud that I did it, but hey, I was lonely and horny and he was there.

We went back and forth with fantasies.

He of course assumed he could top me and so in the end, his final text to me was “I came right in your tight ass.”


Cuz that does absolutely NOTHING for me.


I disappeared pretty quickly once I watched his final video.

“I hate to sext and run but I’m falling asleep.”

And I was.

It was 2 am!

So there you have it. Michelle meets a guy. Guy turns out to be a dirtbag. Michelle uses the guy for sexting and the guy ruins it in the last sentence.

Par for the course, my friends.

Par for the course.

La Tomatina

tomatinaOnce upon a time, I imagined that I would like to experience La Tomatina in Bunol, Spain.

But rather than going all the way to Spain, I chose to participate in the Tomato Royale at the Alameda County Fairgrounds in Pleasanton.

Exotic, I know.

I was dating Luke at the time and he and I hooked up with two guys who in turn hooked up with two girls and we drank beer non-stop until just a few minutes before tomato throwing time.

Then, the two guys pushed their way to the front of the gates and we followed.  We were some of the first people to hit those tomatoes and discover that. . .


Yeah, we were standing in a pile of hot, stinking, rotting tomatoes.

tomatoesI grabbed a handful, crushed them, and launched them at my boyfriend.

He proceeded to drip them over my head.

I reminded myself to keep my mouth closed.

Ew!  Yuck!

Remarkably, if the tomatoes weren’t crushed, they were rather hard and it felt like getting hit in the head with a baseball.


I quickly tired of the sport and decided to go clean up with a hose.

Best part of the day:  Taking a shower outdoors with that hose.

2nd best part of the day:  getting asked by the two guys and two girls if we wanted to “hook up” with them in their hotel room.


We said no.  But it was a nice invite!



My ridiculous vow of abstinence

michelleI know I said that I was going to go 90 days without sex, but I’m rethinking the wisdom of that.

It’s not that I CAN’T achieve my goal.

After all, I’m not even TRYING to go out on dates with anybody ever since the last fiasco where I met a. . . GASP. . . TRUMP SUPPORTER.

I know, I know!

It was BAD!

So there are no opportunities for me to break my vow of abstinence.


However, I’ve noticed that my consumption of soft core porn has increased.

This is a sure sign that my hormones are trying to WAKE ME UP and GET ME MOVING.

I know that every time I watch the naked bare butt scene in P.S. I Love You, I’m looking to get my rocks off.

And when I break out Red Shoe Diaries, you can be sure I’m in the mood.

I was even so desperate, I watched 50 Shades of Grey.

You know you’re in bad shape when you watch that movie.

So I repeat myself – it’s not that I CAN’T achieve my goal, the question is more, WHY WOULD I WANT TO?

Texas-style Cunnilin9u$

michelleSo, there I am.

Minding my own business, just sorting through emails when something catches my eye.

An email from “How About A Date” advertising a Man looking for a Woman for “drinks at the Beach Chalet in SF followed by Texas-style cunnilin9u$.”

That’s right!

Caught your attention too, no doubt.

So, I’m wondering, is Texas-style cunnilin9u$ something exotic I need to hear about – like a Dirty Sanchez or a snowball?

So I google it.

And it seems to me that all Texas-style cunnilin9u$ is is oral sex with a Texan.

Go figure.

Nothing to expand my sexual horizons.

I was disappointed but also a little irritated.

So I reported the date to the staff at “How About A Date.”

And I got a reply, “What exactly do you object to in this date?”


Isn’t it obvious?

This is “How About A Date” not Adult Friend Finder.

So I politely explained that the date advertised “cunnilin9u$.”

Oh. That.

Yeah, that.


Therapy, my style

Ever since Trump took office, I’ve been plagued by anxiety and sleeplessness.

I have this tremendous fear about the direction he is trying to lead our country in.

Of course, not being able to sleep makes for lousy mornings and even lousier afternoons as I fight my post-lunch sugar crash.

As it turns out, there is a cure out there for what ails me and it doesn’t require Trump’s immediate impeachment (although that would be preferred).

It’s Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Not Negan-style Jeffrey Dean Morgan.


I don’t watch The Walking Dead.

I’m taking P.S. I Love You Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Billy Gallagher – the sexy, walking-around-with-no-pants-on, Irish musician slash lake patrolman who “cleans Hilary Swank’s pipes” in the movie after her husband dies from a brain tumor.

THAT Jeffrey Dean Morgan is EXACTLY the therapy I need to fall asleep during a Trump Presidency.


I’m not above admitting that I *may* have added other accoutrements to the mixture in order to help myself relax and fall asleep.

But the magical element?

Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

You heard it here first.


Toe sucking. It ain’t bad.

toeOne of the funny things about having a blog is getting to see the search terms people put into their browser that land them on one of my pages.

Apparently I’m popular among toe suckers, though I’m not sure why.

The sum total of my experience with toe sucking was when the guy I was dating at the time decided to suck on my toes.

All I can say about toe sucking is:

It sounds weird but it’s NOT THAT BAD.

Actually I LIKED it.

Maybe I liked it because of what the guy did RIGHT BEFORE he sucked my toes (catch my drift?).

Maybe I liked it because it felt so soft and sensitive.

Either way, I NEVER would have let him do it had I known what he was planning on doing.

I normally am WAY TOO SELF-CONSCIOUS about what I taste/smell/feel like.

But he managed to sneak it in and so I can say with conviction:


The other funny thing about toe sucking is that I occasionally get google alerts for toe sucking – mostly Craigslist personal ads from men looking for women who will let then suck their toes.

I didn’t realize that THIS WAS A THING.

I’m sure writing this post about it is going to even further put me on the map for people with toe sucking fetishes, but so be it.

I wouldn’t normally ask for it, but if someone wants to do it, I’m certainly not going to stop them.

Toe sucking.

It ain’t bad.