Amidst three glasses of champagne and three bourbon on the rocks, I somehow managed to have an articulate conversation on NYE – I think. I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in years, and we discussed GATNB. It’s always heartwarming, not to mention hilarious when I discover who actually reads my blog. Especially, when it’s the unsuspecting. The conversation was humbling and inspiring, and I was extremely grateful to have it. Except. It also made me feel fucking terrified.
Although my male friends introduce me to their friends as “Abi the sex blogger,” I’ve never been to keen on the title. Mostly because it implies that I have a lot of it, and am actually good at it. When really, I just like to have and write about sex. Fuck, can I live? I’ve come to the realization that my humpday posts may very well be setting up a false reputation of me. One that I may or may not be able to live up to in real life. Not cool bro.
I never said I was a good fuck. Liking it hard and fast, doesn’t mean I don’t like it slow and soft. And I never, ever said that even though I understand and appreciate honest, no strings attached relationships, that I don’t crave an exclusive, with strings attached and all the bells and whistles relationships above everything else. I guess the countless other posts about love, tears, awkwardness, hearts, and flowers didn’t exhibit that enough. Ya’ll just read what you want to read.
So for the record, if you ever get the opportunity to slap my ass while hitting it from the back, don’t forget to gently kiss it afterwards. I like that soft shit too.