(no subject)

I'm back from my weekend debauchery.

My eyes are burning. I'm tired, and achy, and unnaturally cold. I drank about half a bottle of Parrot Bay Rum which was fucking delicious, and didn't even leave me with a headache this morning.

I missed my computer.

I looked great. My date was a very confused drunken man. I hope the big bad she-wolf ate him.

I had awesome sex that was most likely a pity fuck. I'm not sure I care. Cuz it was awesome.

I learned some things about myself, so the night wasn't a total bust.

These Are The Things I Learned: 

I am not willing to assume another personality in order to be more like other people, be what someone thinks I should be, or in order to get sex. I am not a wild party person. I am not aggressively flirtatious in social settings, and I am a quiet drunk. Don't ask me "what's wrong" if I'm sitting there with a drink in my hand and my head against the back of a sofa. Either kiss me or move on.

These things do not make me a party pooper, or depressed, nor do they mean that I need to change. They do mean I might not do that whole party business again.

I am a one-on-one girl, plain and simple.

I am a sub. PERIOD. If you want me, you have to show me. That isn't wrong either, goddammit. Just because every other woman in the place is throwing themselves at your neck and shoving their tongue down your throat doesn't mean I'm gonna do it. Get over it.  

If I want you, and I give you unmistakeable hints - and YES, nibbling your ear and suggesting that we go to your room IS AN UNMISTAKABLE HINT - and you do nothing, you are a fuckup. Not me. And you DESERVE to be eaten up by an ugly old ho.

I will continue to have meaningless sex. Possibly with some of the people who were at that party. But more likely with others. Others who are close by, who can drop by on a day's notice and make me beg while they pound me senseless for an hour or two, and stagger as they walk out my door.

Because I'm THAT GOOD.