risquédivorcée

Hiya kids – your naughty Auntie was working on a second post last night, but got an unexpected call from R30 who was feeling like he was ready to come off from injured reserve. He may be feeling differently this morning though! Lord knows I may never walk again and I just slept for almost 9 hours straight. I also cut my “no intercourse for a week” restriction short by about 12 hours, but I was finally feeling up to it and it had been 10 days since I’d had any and almost a month since I’d had R30 & his fantastic combination of tongue, adoration, stamina and cock. Four times almost killed me, but the man showed up with flowers and non-latex condoms, so you have to love that. Also, he still says thank you. 🙂 Now, back to my flashback Friday post…

I want to share something rather sweet that happened last week, but in order to give you the big picture I have to tell you something that will be a little bit bitchy. Furthermore, the person that I am writing about is a follower. Yep. That’s a new one for me too. I hope that if and when he reads this he will take it with the sense of humor with which it was intended.

So…let’s go waaaaayyyy back…to 1986. There was this bad boy…and I liked him a lot. But I was still kind of a good girl. It was the age-old tale of me trying to tame the bad-boy and not understanding why he didn’t love me enough to mold to my shitty, naive, young idea of what a perfect boyfriend would be. We kissed, we “went together”, we talked on the phone, we hung out but…that’s all. And he broke up with me right before junior prom. To his credit, he was very sweet about it and I had seen it coming for a long time. He was decent enough to suggest that we could still go to prom together since we had planned to, so we did, as friends. I don’t remember very much of the prom itself, but lots of photos show that we looked hot and I remember having fun and going to at least two after-parties that I was happy to be part of. I believe that wine coolers came into play at the second party and knowing us at the time, pot probably did too. He was a lovely escort and a gentleman, but  around five am he took me home and fucked me on the floor in my living room. He has the distinction of being the second person I ever had sex with and the first person to ever come on my stomach. But he was 16 and it can’t have been more than 5 strokes and it certainly wasn’t two minutes.

So it doesn’t count.

Because, based on this experience – which, until recently, I counted as my worst, sexually – I came up with a rule: “If it’s less than two minutes you don’t have to count it.” Over the years, this has been amended to “unless you get pregnant.” Seriously, this is something that I have shared with my niece and many girlfriends forever. “He was miserable in the sack.” “Oh? Well, you know the rule – if it lasts less than 2 minutes you don’t have to count it!” 🙂

Let’s be fair – the guy was 16 and I was smokin’ hot. At least he managed to get it in unlike B36, and managed to have the control to pull out – which was pretty responsible. Leastwise it was more responsible than I was at the time – I wasn’t using any form of birth control and was both clueless and very lucky! (Also, not nearly as slutty as I am now!) Also, I must add a side note of second-hand credit to the guy – a few years later one of my friends apparently had a brief affair with him when he was in his 20’s and counts it as the best sex she’s ever had. I know we have all improved since we were fumbling, clueless kids. God knows I didn’t have any idea how to suck a dick until years after my junior prom. Still, for me, it was the typical tale of the prom date who pulls out and leaves and pretty much never speaks to you again. Oh, there was awkward chatting at that one reunion 20 years later, but seriously, we didn’t talk again until Facebook.

Even with Facebook, we didn’t really catch up or have an actual conversation until last week when I messaged him about an ignorant anti-gay marriage post that someone had put on his wall. As it happened, he was online and a chat ensued. Credit to us being confident, comfortable grown-ass adults instead of insecure, clueless teens – it was really pleasant and fun. We discussed social issues and our shared feelings about equality and LGBT rights, we talked about kids – he said I was too cute to have adult children. Nice. We talked about marriage – challenges, successes and my somewhat recent single status. I shared how terrified I had been to split from my ex – who I love dearly & who will always be a part of my life and family – but how much better we are apart. I shared how scared I was to start dating again after 25 years as a BBW and how I was shocked to find that I was not only successful, that I was popular. To which he responded: “Of course you are popular. Good looking, intelligent, articulate the whole package.”

Holy shit. I’m a middle-aged woman who doesn’t need a man to validate me, but can I just say? My 42-year-old self and my 16-year-old self shared a little fist bump in that moment. Funny thing, the human psyche. I can barely remember dating this guy, but I clearly remember feeling “not good enough” when he dropped me and man, those insecurities hang on! I felt lighter after that – like I’d released some ages-old hurt that I had been hanging on to for 26 years. Is that weird? I dunno. Maybe it was just some sort of closure that we’d never had. Huh. It was certainly nice engaging in a funny conversation and remember this person that I once knew and liked. So much so, that I shared this blog with him and received a nice message about how much he enjoys it.

So here ya go, hun. You’ve been featured. I hope I’m not over-estimating your good humor. <—- That’s the friendly, real me line. The naughty Risqué Divorcée line goes like this: “so, do you cheat on your wife as much as you did on me back in the day?” 😉