Wednesday, February 27, 2008

The Legend of Sleepy Whore Hollow

woman sleeping so pretty

It no secret, Sally Sunshine has been severely impoverished in the casual sex department lately. Friends are, understandably, confused. Miffed in the extreme, Sally’s girls are wondering, is Sally the same slut we knew months ago? Did our wayward diva completely fall of the Fucking Map? Or has she been slowly withering away in the midst of a Sahara desert dry spell?

Well, rest assured, dear ones, I've not. However, I have found, being "out of the closet" (i.e. identified) as a woman with a loose moral compass has not helped score any new ass. Old ass, conversely, has been very adamant in expressing their desire for second helpings. Ex-boyfriends/girlfriends, prior fuck buddies, and one-night oopsies have besieged Sally with requests for more, which is, naturally, flattering. At the same time, it's very difficult to conquer new territory while the same smelly old diaper of the past is wafting in the wind.

Still, there has been a few mounting prospects. Captain T of the United States Air Force and Mr. M&M, who is twenty some years older than yours truly, are currently in hot pursuit. Yet, I find myself oddly engrossed in the past. Killer K calls and I immediately drop the new one for the old one. The old one fits like a comfortable leather shoe, supportive and predictable. I know if KK drops by, the next morning bruises will form because my poor perineum will be slammed with incredible force. Sure, I'll have trouble walking the next day and possibly a little rectal bleeding, but hell, at least I know where we stand and there is no need to play the "pretend I'm a virgin game".

The problem is, over the last year or so, I've developed zero tolerance for the traditional mating tap dance. Instead, I am prone to hitting others hard & fast with my truth. For example, last weekend, a friend introduced me as, "Sally Sunshine, sex writer", while fascinated blubbering fool collected his thoughts. After composing himself, we continued on to "talk shop" as I launched into a rousing theatrical performance called "Cocks of the Zodiac." Thrilling as it was, Mr. B.F. was not impressed.

Or, in the words of a sweet-pie Libra boy I know, after I spit a mouthful of ice at an unruly buffoon, "You're kind of tough, aren't you?"


Perhaps I have become, over the years, a hardened she-monster ravaging slut bitch seven-headed Medusa. I have been told the way I pin the hair on the top of my head resembles horns and my eyes spew forth a destructive wish. Put succinctly, rage coats my aura and produces the unmistakable scent of "not one to fuck with."

Just call me Hillary Clinton.

Or not.

I can't stand her attitude. Although she carries herself with an air of absolute authority, if you look down far enough in her moldy Scorpio hole, she sees herself as a victim who's entitled. And, because of her suffering, she is entitled to the throne and the steam roller she uses to flatten opposition. This warrior stance, although a necessary evil in battle, is not entirely conducive to maintaining relationships in the civilized world.

Even so, admittedly, I am a big fan of breaking out the beast. Let's get primitive and plunge a sharpened claw into some virgin skin, now. It is at this point, I strongly identify with the plight of the caveman, or, just your average beastly upright man. Unsurprisingly, women and young female children/adolescents are strictly socialized and monitored to weed out any traces of a base animal behavior. We are taught to feel shame about our basic bodily functions, and, during puberty, our sexual proclivities. Young women are forced to enter the world of social niceties, manicures, and Pampered Chef Parties. Young men, on the other hand, at least get to wrestle around in mud for a few more years before they become "respectable" citizens.

Thus, when Sally Sunshine, mud-dwelling monster, is confronted with fake perfumed hypocritical shit- in female OR male form, it's nearly impossible to wipe the sneer from my contorted Medusa face. The fact is, although it's becoming increasingly difficult to find men who are open to truth and a deep willingness to explore, I haven't given up faith. I know there are some brave souls out there who get it. And, I know there are some standing at the cliff who are ready to jump off and get it.

In the meantime, please hurry. My bed is oh-so very lonely.

Yours in total whoriffic commitment,

Sally Sun