T(H)RUST IN ME.

You know how there's that whole stereotype about guys only wanting to boink and honk and touch your ba-donka-donk? That they don't actually mean anything they say because they basically follow their penises into the great unknown hoping for a little of this and a tad of that? That they think, "If I say really pretty words, the words every girl really wants to hear, I'll get lucky tonight?" It's just a man following his biological instincts from ancient histories in the great wild.

Imagine my lack of surprise when I saw that my most viewed blog post of all time was my post titled "Bras, Penis Flaps, and Pinterest! Oh My!" That is what we call strategic blogging and tagging. I've learned over the course of my life that sex sells and sex gets attention. I have no idea if a majority of those views were from male readers or female readers, and that doesn't really matter in this instance. But I bet most writers would see that and say, "Oh, some perverted guy must have come across this on accident because there is nothing sexual about this post." (excuse me, why are men always the perverts? You know, girls get horny too. like seriously. omg put that penis inside me.)

I'm not like most writers (or really people), if you haven't figured that out yet.

Truthfully, I am fascinated by sexuality. I am fascinated by vaginas and penises and boobs and nipples and testicles and sex and how things work and why things work and why things feel good to some people and don't feel good to others. Yet, I am not a sexual person in the way that you'd think I was if I was just to just tell you that I am interested in the mechanics of sex and sexuality. You can ask just

about anyone I know, and they will back up that statement for me. I mean, my sexual encounters with people are private, so I won't be like exploiting my deepest and most intimate moments here on the Internet anytime soon. That'd be weird. C'mon.

But I can say that I have had guys send me dick pics. There I said it. And I have even had a guy try to seduce me by just whipping his willie out and expecting me to be sent into a sex-induced craze and the only cure is for me to do things with his penis (that guy found out that didn't work at all). I've had guys message me on Facebook (friends of mine) to tell me that my chest looks nice in a picture or whatever.

This whole thing seems kind of one sided, am I right?

It is. 

Seems that people have totally ignored the fact that girls can be guilty of wanting the "D" just as much as a guy wants the "V." Honestly, I wish I could have a blog completely dedicated to every single time I have thought about a guy's butt or penis or chest or anything like that because that blog would have a new post like every day. Sure, that might make me sound a little crazy. I know that.

But like, I'm not just interested in a guy's 7 wonders. You know, I like candles. And wine. And Italian food. And chances to put on a dress and go out and eat Italian food and then drink wine illegally because I'm still underage. I like feeling safe. I like bad kissing (on my part) and lots of cuddling. I like going places and having that urge to reach out and hold a guy's hand but not actually making the move because I fear we're not there yet. I like talking. I like sitting
with someone and just knowing that that is the damn best place to be at that moment.

I like trust. 

I like "I won't tell anyone about the porn file on your computer if you don't tell anyone about how I can't kiss to save my life."

But I also like a little thrust with my trust. I'm not asking for too much. It doesn't make me a slut or a pervert or a whore or anything else that might be insulting to someone who likes sexy things or the human body and its functions. I'm just a girl. I'm just willing to wait for what I want to be what's real.

And, just for those who might have found this thinking I was going to post naughty photos and talk about sexcapades, thinking about sex doesn't make you a pervert. It just makes you a person. 

Do You Like Tacos or...?

I am a firm believer that what goes on under the sheets and between the legs is private business for every single person who wants it to be. Whether that is if you lead a very sexually active life or what your sexual preference is at the end of the night, to me, none of that matters. Sometimes people are extremely open about their gender/sexuality/sex life/whatever, and others would really rather keep that to themselves. Either choice is fine.

But I'm not going to lie. I have had some friends over the years that have seriously made me think about what kind of person they are. Some people are just harder to read to find out that kind of information. I'm talking "Great Expectations" hard. I found myself thinking about what my friends' sexual orientations were and whether they were virgins or not. For some unexplainable reason, I was extremely curious about this stuff. I turned to mutual friends and whispered in the shadows, "Hey, do you know if he's gay?" Sometimes I got answers, and other times I just had to go straight to the main source.

As always, my conversations with people are so awkward and so "ugh-I-don't-want-to-have-to-ask-this-right-now-let-me-die"

Me: Hey

Friend: Oh, hey!

Me: So, uh, I have a friend...

Friend: Yeah?

Me: And, uh, they asked me if you were...

Friend: What? A serial killer? HIV positive? The Famous Jett Jackson? Bringing da noise, bringing da funk? Bluffin' with my muffin? Rocky mountain high? Heir to the Genovian throne? Just somebody that you used to know? A Pisces? 

Me: GAY! 

Friend: Oh. No. I'm straight. 

Me: What about those other things? Are you the heir to the Genovian throne?

Friend: Shhhhhh *backs away slowly*

It is truly none of my business if someone likes boys or girls or neither or if they like to have lots of sex or not have any at all. But, like all great people in history, I can be too curious at times. 

At the end of the day, though, knowing or not knowing that information about a friend or classmate or random Subway employee that made me a really good sandwich once really doesn't matter at all. I'm not even just saying that right now. 

Well, it does matter because if I do know I can either A) fall madly in lust with you or B) ship you with another one of my friends. But those are like the only reasons I would ever truly need to know anything about you. Yeah. 

If your pants are full of secrets, though, I'm probably going to do some investigating. Oops. My bad.