Mad Atoms

Dear Diary,

Why do I keep thinking about that guy Claude? I mean the sex was terrible, he lived in Malibu (gag,) and he looked like a faggy hairless alien. I don’t even remember if he made me cum when we were in the same room, so how is it that he’s been responsible for my last thirteen orgasms?

Honestly, I’m not even sure how he got me in the sack in the first place. Boy, I must have really hated myself that week. I mean the guy had a whole collection of Michael Bolton cds and dvds. And not just one or two, but enough so that browsing through his stuff before he fucked me, I noticed, wow, that’s a lot of Michael Bolton.

So why does it get me off to imagine him spoon dicking me and calling me his “little fuck toy”? 

When he said it to me in real life, it more than kind of disturbed me and I’ve never been a big fan of the spoon position (post-coitus, fine, but during, it makes your dick feel like 3 inches shorter, which is hardly ever a positive.)

Then when I woke up in his bed the next morning, he gave me a brand new toothbrush to brush my teeth before I did the drive of shame back to the east side. I’ve always been a little weirded out by guys who keep extra toothbrushes ready for overnight guests. I mean, hi, we just played tonsil hockey and then you stuck your tongue in my asshole, I don’t think you’re going to die from letting me use your toothbrush. But maybe the gesture was more benevolent than that and he was just trying to save me from swapping spit with all the other girls with low self-esteem who somehow found themselves getting fucked in the fetal position that week. 

In which case, thank you Michael Bolton man, this one’s for you.

Yours truly,

Amanda