Tag Archives: Facebook

Mo Dick, Mo Problems

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So I’m Skype texting with my girlfriend, Grayce, whom we girls call, “Gray,” because her life is all sorts of 50 Shades, and I’m telling her how the latest guy to catch my attention, Joe, is, predictably, an asshat.

Me: Girl, WTF? Why are men such douche canoes?

Gray: Because they have fool tools.

I added a flower, so it’s not crass. Yes, you can buy this at The Pink Moustachery. I’m all about customer service, web dwellers.

Me: The bigger the fool tool, the bigger the douche canoe.

Gray: Sounds like my ex. Total fool, but what a great fucking tool.

Me: Seriously. Your ex should come with a warning label: Mo dick, mo problems.

Gray: LOL!! OMG, girl, that is the TRUTH!

Me: At least a big dick is a good distraction, if you don’t let it distract you from how big a dick its owner is.

Gray: OMG! We need to put that shit on an e-Card.

Me: Too much work. I’ll just blog it. And I’ll call your ex “Moe” on the blog just because that shit’s funny.

Gray: I’m laughing so hard I’m gonna wake up my kids.

Me: Men are good for killing bugs, lifting heavy shit, and sex. In that priority order.

Gray: Truth.

Me: It’s all shit I can do myself, but I’d rather have it done for me.

Gray: E-card. E-card. E-card.

Me: If prostitution were legal, I would buy a man whore to kill my bugs naked.

Gray: That is a GREAT idea.

Me: The guy would be naked, not the bugs. I mean, the bugs are naked too, but that’s not the point.

Gray: Are you drunk?

Me: And then, after he killed the bug on my wall, I’d be all, “Bitch, go get a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. Mama can’t cum with bug guts on the wall!”

Gray: Must. Document. On. E-cards.

Me: If I ran shit, I would make it mandatory for sex ed teachers to explain to guys WHY a woman should cum first. Divorce rates would plummet. You’re welcome, Entire Fucking Planet.

Gray: So true!!

Me: You want her to do that thing? With the thing? Like you saw on YouPorn? Make sure she cums first.

Gray: LOL!!

Me: And yes, YouPorn is a thing. Thank you, Northman.

Gray: OMG. I can see you lecturing teenagers. You’ll write books.

Me: Yeah, I’ll be “researching” for my book and going, “Not now, baby, Mama’s browsing YouPorn.”

There is so much wrong with this.

Me: Seriously, if they spent half as much time explaining to teenage boys why it’s better for a woman to cum first as they do telling teenage girls not to have sex at all, all would be right with the world. Because you know, when mama’s not happy, nooooobody’s happy.

Gray: So fucking true. Luckily, I’ve never had a selfish lover. They all love making me cum.

Me: Fuck you.

Pause with no response from Gray.

Me: You’re googling YouPorn aren’t you? Admit it!

Gray: Me? No.

Me: No, you’re just on Zazzle or something ordering tee-shirts with “Mo dick mo problems.”

Gray: I was not! I wasn’t!

Me: ….

Gray: I was gonna do it tomorrow.

Me: There it is.

Gray: Well, it’s true! Mo dick, mo problems! Moe was so big, I couldn’t fit that shit in my mouth.

Me: That’s too much dick. That’s like having GGG tits. More than a mouthful is wasteful.

Gray: He is huge. The sex was awesome. Too bad by the time things ended I didn’t want anything to do with his thang.

Me: Dude. If you divorce a man that big, vaginal rejuvenation surgery should be part of the divorce settlement. Be like, “You broke my heart. Fine. But my pussy you have to fix.”

Gray: That could pass here in California. You may be onto something.

Me: Damn straight. Shit. They ruin our tits with pregnancy and nursing. You don’t wanna pay alimony forever? Tack the girls back up where they belong and turn this hallway of a pussy back into a straw. Level the damn playing field a LITTLE.

Gray: That is the funniest thing I have ever heard. Ever.

Me: My brain is all sorts of fucked up, girl. And I know what you find funny, so it’s easy. Mostly it’s the same shit I find funny, because you’re awesome. Obviously. I don’t hang with non-awesome women. They’re intimidated my awesomeness, and they get all clingy and offended by my cursing. I’m like, “You have given birth, woman. And you think some f-bombs are going to scar you?”

Gray: Omg! You are seriously awesome and so fucking funny.

For Gray. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you, you e-card demanding bitch who’s never had a man not help her finish first.

Me: Please. Come see my vagina if you want to see scars. C-sections do not make for good vajazzling canvases. As if it’s not enough to wax it, now it has to fucking sparkle?!? I’m not a vampire.

Gray: Dying. I’m dying.

Me: If a man needs your pussy to sparkle to be into it, he’s gay. Duh.

Gray: Where do you get this shit?

Me: This is my stream of consciousness. Something is fundamentally wrong with me.

Gray: Yeah, but we’ll make BANK on the tee-shirts.

Me: What’s this “we” business?

 

Elf Porn: A Tiny Obsession

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Yesterday was pretty interesting. Here I was, just going about my sexy mom business, tweeting and posting and Facebooking for you crazy people in between doing some work I actually get paid for, when all of a sudden, our very own Mr. Northman texts me that he’s made me a new video. A six-part series, to be exact, this custom-made-for-Cathy epic was porntastic, featured every bit of ink on Northman’s rockin’ body, and was complete with a soundtrack including some vintage 70s metal. I could not download this thing fast enough. I started watching the first segment before the other five were even done uploading on his end. Oh, bless you, Mr. Coffee, for giving us the gift of rapid file-sharing software.

Oh yeah, I'm going straight to hell. But so is Northman, so I don't fucking care.

Northman rang me up on Skype so he could enjoy seeing my response to this, his latest foray into sexematography, in which he repeatedly changes camera angles to suit each phase of the scenario, gives some out-fucking-standing product demos I hope he’s getting royalties for, shares his thoughts on threesomes and some positions I’m going to have to start doing yoga to ever attempt, and finishes off with a grand slam of a finale I simply cannot wait to see recreated in person. After about 5 minutes, I was so damn grateful for: A) choosing to work from home for the day and B) having wifi and a laptop so I could move to the bedroom without any disruption.

I tried so hard to watch this whole thing, y’all. But seriously, I was so distracted watching Northman on Skype and seeing how much he liked seeing my (obvious, excessive, feral) reaction to his videos and watching my reciprocal performance as the videos were playing that when I watched it all again alone last night, I realized I’d missed quite a lot of it. What a flippin’ bonus. Holy fucking mackeroley. Y’all, if Our Dear Sweet Heavenly Mr. Coffee is in any way opposed to any of this, I’m sorry, but I am going to hell in gasoline panties. And it’ll be worth it.

When I recovered my ability to speak and had taken a really, really long shower, I got back to work for the day and was on such an endorphin high that I buzzed through the rest of my afternoon like some kind of Tasmanian Devil if those guys could, you know, type and make phone calls. Once the minions were settled in for the night, I checked in on the COASM Facebook page (which Northman says as “Co-as-um,” so it rhymes with “orgasm,” and now that’s stuck in my head because it’s awesome), and y’all were in rare form talking about the list of search terms I’d posted on the blog yesterday. These were the terms people had used to get to the blog via search engines over the past three months, and one of them, “Elf Porn,” was the clear frontrunner for funniest fucking thing I’ve heard in a damn long time.

This lead to a crazy conversation on a couple of posts’ threads (which you can see on the “co-asm” FB page) about cock rings, yo-yos, and elf porn. It also spawned requests for both a post from Northman himself and for COASM merchandising. Because I don’t have enough to do without designing dirty tee shirts and douche-canoe- and elf-porn-themed coffee mugs, right?

I'll post to Facebook and Twitter when the store's open, so be sure you're following the feeds! Links are in the right-hand menu here!

Well, web dwellers, ask and you shall receive. The Confessions of A Sexy Mom Zazzle.com store, aptly titled “The Pink Moustachery,” will be up and running and fully stocked by Monday. If any of you have design, text, or product ideas, bring ‘em on. If anyone wants to help? Yeah, bring that shit on, too.

But the big news is that, while at least one person will be disappointed that he’s not going to write any elf porn, our very own Mr. Northman will be writing a blog entry for y’all. What will he write about? Any fucking thing he wants. You know why? Because he’s effin’ Northman! According to you crazy people, he’s like MacGuyver or Jack Bauer or fucking Chuck Norris. He’s effin’ Northman, and he can do whatever he wants! And, Sweet Jesus In Birks, last night, after that crazyass day, he showed me that what he really wants to do…is me.

 

 

 

 

 

The Monthly Wrap Up And Some Random Crap

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Greetings, web dwellers! Well, we’ve been together for three months now, and I’ve managed to somehow get people to click on the site over 4,000 times, so I guess the blog doesn’t completely suck, and I’ll stick with it another month. After all, this month we instituted the Pink Moustache Award, and who doesn’t want more of THAT awesomeness?

So, what did I get you on this momentous occasion? Well, I thought today you might like a little sneak peek into the inner workings of Confessions of A Sexy Mom. So, for your viewing (dis)pleasure, here’s a little snapshot of the shit I see every day but you usually don’t: My site stats. More specifically, this is a list of search terms people have used that have landed them here on the Sexy Mom blog. As you would expect, it’s fairly fucked up.

What. The... What??!?

*For those of you wearing reading glasses that still aren’t cutting it, click the image. It’ll open in a second window. Click that, and it should enlarge. If only all things enlarged with a few clicks. *Sigh*

 

Believe it or not, that list goes on for another half a page but it got boring so I cropped it. If I learned anything from this little stat-reviewing experiment, it’s this: Most people who get here via web search get here basically by accident. Which is pretty much how I ended up here. So I guess it makes sense. How did you find the blog?

Thanks for a great month! Please make sure you’re following the blog on Facebook and/or Twitter by clicking the links to the right! 🙂

 

 

Behind The Scenes At COASM

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Hey, web dwellers. I really wanted to give you something special for our 2-month anniversary together, but if you can believe it, there’s no set list of anniversary gifts for site followers by month. Get married and they give you a list for the next 60 fucking years. But look for a blog list and you’re S.O.L. Go figure. Anyway, so I had to come up with something on my own. But I can’t give you all life-sized Eric Northman cutouts (because they’re MINE, ALL MINE!), and I really don’t want to spend more than, oh, anything, so I decided that last month’s “word jumble” image will become a tradition, and I’ll do it each month to see how it changes. Maybe that’s more of a gift to myself than to you, because only dorks like me would want to compare word jumble images from month to month, but you know, if you think about it, when I’m happy, I write more. And when I write more, y’all read more of this dirty, crazy lunacy that I call my life. So, yay. Happy anniversary to us. 

So I used the jumble generator, and here’s what it came up with:

What kind of crap is this? It's like they didn't even try! Not good enough for my web dwellers. Also, kind of weird emphasis on Northman, don't you think?

So I figured it was a fluke and I’d just try again. I mean, what are the odds it would do something similarly sufficient in making me seem creepily obsessed with Northman? The real-life one OR the TV one.

Yeah. So it gave me this. WTF?

Not as bad as the first, but still kind of fucked up if you think about it. Which I’m trying not to do. So I tried again. What can I say? I’m persistent.

Ok, how does this even count? "Northman" isn't even in the shape with everything else.

But I would not give up that easily. No. I would not be outdone and made to feel like some kind of whack-job stalker by an auto-word-generating website thingie. So I did it again.

This one is like an ink blot test that makes me think of sex, so I like it, but it's STILL got Northman ridiculously disproportionate to everything else.

And again….

They fit it all in the shape this time. I'll give 'em that.


And again…

Really?

Aaaand again…

Oh, sweet Jesus in Birks.

Yeah, and again.

How is this different from the last one?

I just would not fucking give up.

Maybe a little better, but also only because I was losing a grip at this point.

And finally, I got this:

My favorite and my gift to you. Or me. Whatever.

Here’s the thing, web dwellers, the jumbles are a hell of a lot like my blog. I generate something, and sometimes it’s awesome, and sometimes it’s a big, fat turd. But, apparently, there’s always some Northman in it, so ultimately, it’s awesome. Happy anniversary.

Douche Canoes: Some paddling necessary

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In honor of the two-month anniversary of Confessions of A Sexy Mom and the phenomenally overwhelming response y’all have shown me via your THREE THOUSAND PLUS site hits in that time, I offer to you a little vocab lesson, Sexy Mom Style.

A Douche Canoe is such an ass-hat as to be eligible for President of the “Summer’s Eve Product Impersonator Club.”

Douche Canoe: Damn near always a man, this term describes someone who far exceeds the range of and capacity for arrogant obnoxiousness common to the far more typical douche bag

  • Known for frequenting overpriced bars with emo bouncers and holding up single fingers to any approaching women so as to Tweet their disinterested followers from their Crackberries®, these exceptionally notable ass-hats are ideal specimens for those researching the very upper limits of douche-baggery in humans. 
  • One who is such a gargantuan douche bag as to necessitate a vehicle no smaller and less unwieldy than a canoe to tote around the figurative amount of douche-baggery he carries in his literally tiny brain.
  • Using the term in a sentence: That douche canoe just cut me off while simultaneously texting and smoking, causing me to slam on my brakes and get stuck behind his smog-spewing ass-hat-mobile. And when the light turned green, he was so busy texting that he took too long to notice, causing me to have to sit through another light cycle. THAT is a douche canoe.
  • Alternate terms include fuckwads, ass-hats, ass-clowns, and anyone who refers to himself as an “agent.” For further definition of “ass-hat” or “ass-clown,” refer back to our friend the pre-first-date barking man.
    • Y’all know I love Jenny Lawson, AKA: The Bloggess, and I first saw this term on her blog, so props to Jenny for improving my vocabulary and giving me a word to describe men who think all women should look like Victoria’s Secret models even though only five men on the planet look like Armani underwear models.

      Even David Beckham doesn’t actually look like this. So why do these douche canoes think women should always be in matching bras and g-string panties (Note: Not always smart for a given outfit) with DDs and less than 4% body fat?

Skype Sex: This activity involves two (or more, I suppose, but that’s just not how I roll, web dwellers) consenting adults engaging in mutual self-gratification via an Internet video connection. During said event, each participant actively facilitates the achievement of orgasm(s) by his or her partner by speaking, moving, behaving, or otherwise performing in a manner the partner finds sexually desirable.

  • Point of interest: All douche canoes are dickheads, but not all dickheads are douche canoes. You know, like, all politicians are liars, but not all liars are politicians.

    Using the term in a sentence: Waving your dick around, jacking off in front of a webcam, and then getting dressed does not constitute Skype Sex, but it does mean you are a dickhead who is also a gigantic douche canoe.

  • Alternate terms include cybersex, video sexting, and Date Night With Northman (But he’s not a douche canoe. Ever.).
  • See Skype Sex 101.

Friends With Benefits: Sometimes abbreviated as FWB, this relationship is defined by the involvement of a sexual component into an otherwise platonic friendship.

  • Without the commitments or obligations inherent in a monogamous relationship, nor the expectation on either friend’s part that such a romantic involvement will result from said encounter(s), two (or, again, more, but not in my book) consenting adults engage in sexual activities up to and including coitus (why are you still not watching The Big Bang Theory?) while maintaining and often enhancing their friendship but having no further expectations or obligations from/to one another.  
  • Paramount in this arrangement is that the two people involved actually be friends before entering such an arrangement. If they are not friends, it’s just casual sex. That is, you can’t be Friends With Benefits if there are no friends involved upon whom to bestow those benefits.
  • Using the term in a sentence: I have an acquaintance who wants to be Friends With Benefits, but I simply cannot have Skype Sex with him because he is a raging douche canoe.

Can you tell I’ve kind of had it with preening, self-important douche canoes this week? Write in and tell me about the ass-hats in your life. And let me know what you want to hear about in the coming month. Thanks for reading, web dwellers.

As usual, please remember to “like” me on Facebook (see link on the right) and “follow” COASM by clicking “follow” where you see “Get Email Updates From The Sexy Mom!” Then you’ll get an email when I post, which is awesome. But I won’t spam you because I hate spam. Also because I don’t know how. And you know, if you read and don’t share this stuff via social media, you’re stealing the blog like people who listen to NPR and watch PBS without ever making donations. Oh, shit. That’s me. Crap. Never mind.

I miss telephone booths.

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Oh, darling web dwellers. It’s the day after Valentine’s Day. The day of, “What did that mean?” and “Look at my ring.” The day of, “Shoulda Woulda Coulda,” and “Let’s take a cab; I’m too sore to walk.” Whichever kind of day it is for y’all, I raise my Diet Coke to you in salute. We made it through another Valentine’s Day, and I sort of got laid. Almost.

You know who I'm talking about.

Wait? What?! No shit. I made you wait almost a whole paragraph before dropping that one on you, didn’t I? Yeah, I’m a bitch like that. I could write a few more lines of drivel before getting to the good stuff, but you know, then it would be all built up and nothing I said would sound awesome enough to merit the long buildup. See what I did there? I did it anyway. That’s what y’all get for overloading social media with pictures of your damn flowers yesterday, bitches.

Anyway, so as I wrote yesterday, my new BFF the FedEx man dropped off a box ‘o dirty sexies on my doorstep yesterday and I had some new toys to try out. Ladies, if you don’t own any sex toys, you are fucking missing out. Vibrators, dildos, and their many, many XXX brethren are not only outstanding for solo relaxation activities, but they also enhance couples’ activities too. Unless your particular brand of guy is needy and easily intimidated, in which case, what the fuck are you doing with him?

Plus, if you’re tormented by occasional insomnia like me but hate taking drugs to sleep and can’t drink enough hard alcohol to make you sleepy without first vomiting at length, I gotta tell ya, masturbation is the best fucking sleep aid out there. If you’re lucky enough to be able to get from A to OOOOooooo without any mechanical assistance, it’s actually free, and I hate you. If you’re like me and can only get from A to GeeeeeeThatCouldBeBetter without some batteries or a partner, then fine, it costs a little money, but damn, y’all. I’ll spend $50 on a new vibrator over the same amount in sleeping pills or liquor any day of the year. Any day.

So last weekend I told Northman my new toys were coming this Tuesday and we made a date to break them in last night. Before we got down to business, we chatted for easily an hour about life, family, minions, work, and friends. We showed one another what our minions made us for Valentine’s Day and discussed the merits of foam-sticker-based art projects with regard to both cuteness and longevity. And yes, we talked about the blog.

Web dwellers, Northman is fascinated by you. He loves being my writing muse (thank goodness) and I’m grateful he doesn’t mind being blog fodder. But he finds it fascinating when I tell him which articles are well received and which aren’t, which ones are shared the most via social media and which are largely ignored. And he is absolutely stunned that what I call “his” posts are by far the most popular. And therein lies exactly what I adore about Northman. He is unassuming with a self-deprecating humor and modesty I adore, all while being so insanely sexy that I am often rendered speechless (or at least incapable of comprehensible speech) at the sight of his naked body, and that’s quite something for me.

I wonder how many vibrators are in the average FedEx truck daily.

So last night, not because it was Valentine’s Day, but because it was FedEx Delivered My Toys Day, I had phenomenal Skype sex with Northman. He wanted me to um … how to put this one … give an oral report on the methods of stimulation I’d use on him if we were within licking distance, and with my recently acquired visual aids, I did. So, I wasn’t speechless, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to speak. Despite my inability to say anything dirty, or anything at all, he liked it. A lot. And he even gave me an extra credit point if I could demonstrate an ability to do different activities with each of my hands at once. This involved some contortion and further rendered me incapable of coherent speech, but damn if it didn’t push him over the edge, which I just fucking love to watch. Of course, he then reciprocated. I’d say his presentation was more of an oral report designed to facilitate a demonstration of how earthquakes can be followed by multiple aftershocks, and that sometimes the aftershocks are as powerful as the originating earthquake itself. In short, I thought my fucking head was going to spin around. And as if that weren’t good enough, the look on his face, watching me endure the last of those aftershocks, well, being satisfied is great. But being smug and satisfied is way better.

If Lego® Jesus had feet, he'd wear Birks.

So, that was my non-Valentine’s-Day “date.” And it was great. But as I type this for you, I’m thinking, not about Quinn, who was in tip top form last nightsweet Jesus in Birks was he in top form — nor about how Northman himself stripped down to nothing but his ridiculously lick-able tattoos and a necklace, but about Northman’s questions regarding the blog. He wanted to know what y’all ask me. What you wonder about. Who you web dwellers are and what you like or think or say about all the craziness that is my life here on the blog. Because that’s him. That’s Northman. He’s inquisitive and involved in my life. And as much as I may occasionally portray him here as little more than a virtual sex toy, he is a man. And despite some web claims to the contrary, yes, a real, not-made-up, not-even-exaggerated-upon, actual man. He’s a truly wonderful man I completely adore and have for ages, and not just because I cannot possibly be within three counties of him without finding the closest semi-private spot to fuck him. No. I adore him because he’s always quick to laughter and listens instead of waiting to speak. I adore him because he’s a devoted father, my dear friend, a wholly decent person, my favorite muse, and because I can’t be within three counties of him without fucking him in any private space larger than a telephone booth. I miss telephone booths. Such potential. But I digress. So this one’s for Northman. He wants to know about you, web dwellers. So have at it, please. Email, Facebook, comment, go nuts. Northman is listening.

Skype Sex 101: A Valentine’s Day Gift From The Sexy Mom

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Yes, I know we could have used Gmail video chat or Facetime if Skype weren’t around. It’s hyperbole. Deal.

I need to send flowers to whomever owns Skype. Mr. Skype, or Ms. Skype, whoever you are, I fucking love you. Without you, I wouldn’t have had absolutely ridiculous Skype sex with Northman the other night, and that, web dwellers, would have been a serious tragedy.

I never really know when a chat with Northman is going to turn from a text conversation in which he uses multiple pop culture references I’m not cool enough, or perhaps adolescent enough, to know offhand (“I’m totally fragged. You grok?”) into one that threatens to fog up my phone screen. My girlfriend, Penny, asks me about this all the time: “How does that even happen?!?! How do you go from saying hi via text to watching him do, you know, THAT, on your laptop? Holy mackeroley.” And honestly, I never really know how to answer her. First, I have to stop laughing, and that takes a while. And second, and more to the point, it’s because it just kind of happens. It’s the old, “One thing led to another….” scenario. So, I avoid the question by telling her she should try it with her husband some time, and then she avoids that conversation by choking on her French fries.

Ooooooh, yeah.

But now a few girlfriends and readers have asked how this whole cyber sex thing works, which makes me think it’s time for a Public Service Announcement, Sexy Mom Style: Watching your partner get off while online is hot. Lava hot. Green salsa and those little red things in Chinese food hot.

If you haven’t tried it, well, here’s your Valentine’s Day gift from me, web dwellers: A lesson in Skype sex. Give this a shot. Your partner will love it (or at least really appreciate the effort, which is still highly likely to get you laid)…unless you pop up on his (or her!) computer screen when his/her/their boss (or, possibly worse, assistant) is in the room. Then s/he may get fired and/or sued for sexual harassment, so, you know, don’t just jump in with both tits. Balls. Feet. Whatever.

Step 1: Sexting

As for Northman and me, these convos all start out the same way: we’re texting to catch up and see what the other has going on, which I love, because, unfuckingbelievable sexual tension aside, we are really good friends, and we actually give a shit about one another. Sometimes, we just text for a while and go on with our separate evenings. True, we might just be catching up, but there’s always some flirting there because, after all, this is Northman we’re talking about, and I’ve never, in my entire life, met a man with a more active sex drive (Taking a moment to praise Mr. Coffee for Northman. Seriously). Other times, we’re sexting, which is fantabulous, but again, that doesn’t mean we’ll end up doing the dance with no pants via Skype. It might just be a sexy little text-a-text for a few minutes and that’s it.

Thank you thank you thank you for Northman and the crazy dirty shit that comes out of his mouth.

If you haven’t sexted with your partner, think of it as passing really naughty notes. My favorite sexts with Northman aren’t necessarily the lengthiest. Although his sext stories are typically pretty damn awesome. No, sometimes the best sexting just happens out of the blue when you actually say (type) the dirty thoughts that pop into your head.

Northman: Whatcha up to?

Me: Just got out of the shower. Love the feeling of silky smooth legs rubbed down with strawberry lotion.

Northman: Me too. Esp. if they’re wrapped around my neck.

Me: That can be arranged.

See, that’s a little mini sexting. And it’s awesome. But sometimes it progresses into a sexting story, as was the case that day:

Not sure what to say? Text an image with a little, "Maybe tonight?" It'll get the point across just fine.

Northman: I untwine your legs from my neck and replace my tongue with my fingers while I kiss my way up your body to your neck, your lips. Our tongues tangle in a deep kiss as I slide into you slowly. Inch by inch. You wrap your legs around my waist and I pick you up, press your back to the wall as I thrust into you, kissing you all the while.

If I’m home alone, at this point, I can’t usually type much. Sometimes I’ll just let him run with it, and other times we’ll tell the story to one another, back and forth, which I really like. Personally, I dig the dirty talk, so there’s usually a lot of cock, pussy, ass, cum, and fuck in our sexts. If you haven’t tried that, you really, really should. Unless you’re my girlfriend, Penny, because I think she’d say something like, “I want your cock. Holy mackeroley, it’s so awesome,” and that really doesn’t work.

So, side tip: Don’t do shit you’re really uncomfortable with because it’ll kill the mood. But do step outside your comfort zone a bit, because that will get your partner’s attention. Fast.

Step 2: Skyping

When our textversations get lengthy though, Northman and I sometimes end up switching to Skype because we both hate typing long conversations on our phones. Or maybe because we both know there’s a greater chance of nakedness if we get on Skype. Anyway, at that point, we upgrade to iPads or laptops and talk face-to-face-ish instead. This is my favorite outcome: seeing Northman. And no, it’s not because he may take his pants off at any moment (not just because, anyway), although seeing Quinn standing at attention is a definite high point in my week. I like the switch from text to video because I genuinely enjoy seeing Northman smile instead of reading an “LOL.” I like watching him react to my laughter and inept flirting, and I love having more of a “real” conversation with him. At the moment, it’s the closest I get to having a man I care about in my bed (I guess I could have one in there I don’t care about, but that’s just not how I roll, web dwellers) because I don’t have time for a normal relationship between constantly working, taking care of my minions, having some semblance of a social life with the gals, keeping up with my family and my laundry, and occasionally sleeping.

So that’s where I was the other night: In bed, Skyping with Northman at 2 a.m. in my panties (and then not in my panties). What can I say? I was hanging out in my underwear because I sleep like that sometimes (you learn something new about me all the time, don’tcha?) and he wanted to Skype. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked, so I didn’t bother getting dressed. He sure as hell didn’t mind. Plus, it moved the conversation in a direction I wanted. Another side note: In my experience, subtlety and men do not mix, so when I want to see Northman naked, I just get naked.

Northman and I were pretending to talk about our days, our kids, our typical goings-on. But I was watching him get increasingly distracted as I bit my lip and pinched my nipples, which were, just coincidentally, juuuust visible in the video frame.

Me, smirking: “You seem distracted.”

Northman: “You think?”

Me, tweaking nipples a bit. Hey, I know what the man likes: “It’s not my fault you can’t pay attention to our conversation. It’s actually quite rude.”

Northman: *Long groan* accompanied by insanely sexy lip biting. “Two can play at that game.”

Me: “I seriously doubt that.”

Northman takes off his pants.

Me: “You win.”

Make sure you have one of these handy. And extra batteries. Seriously.

See, here’s the great part. Yes, he wins in that he was right, he could play hardball, too. But really, we both win because I don’t mind pretending to be wrong if it means I get to watch Quinn and listen to Northman talk about how much he wants to fuck me while I take care of some business on my side of the screen.

This is another important thing to remember when you try this with your partner: Be willing to say or show your partner what you want to do, and be willing to go first. Speaking of saying what you want … Northman is fucking fabulous at this, and that’s really, really important. Because saying, “I want to have cybersex with you,” is really not sexy. But saying, “I want to take you from behind with one hand tangled in your hair and the other on your hip….” well, that’s most definitely sexy. Maybe it comes across as graphic to some people, but that’s fairly tame for Northman and me. The point is, be specific and let your partner know what you have in mind.

                                                                     

A Valentine from me to you. Enjoy, web dwellers!

Step 3: Have Fun

The happiest couples have fun with one another whether they’re doing the dishes or doing each other. So inject a little humor into your sexty convos and Skypes, and be playful. This is one of my favorite things about Northman. He never takes himself too seriously, and it’s not remotely unusual for one of us to crack a joke in the midst of our sexy scenarios. It makes me eager to see him and touch him and try all the many, many, many…many positions, locations, and scenarios we’ve imagined together. For those of you who’ll be heading home to your sexting buddy within a few hours, the tension and anticipation should be enough to have you falling over the back of the couch naked before your briefcases hit the floor. At least that’s my Valentine’s Day wish for you.

Go get laid, web dwellers. Don’t say I never did anything nice for ya.

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