I needed to share that last post (Ovulation Week) before I published this blog post (Rimmer,) to explain my behaviour a little bit. Not that it needs explaining, of course; I’m a single, red-blooded woman and can do whatever the fuck I like. But my inner slut came out to play (as the title would suggest,) so consider this a warning. Ex-slut returns to slutness and does slut stuff. Sorta.
Let’s start with an introduction.
Rimmer
A little while back, a man sent me a message. Let’s call him Rimmer, for reasons that will soon become apparent. I’d had an inappropriate little crush on Rimmer for a while, so I did that thing that women do when they’re trying to flirt on the socials: throwing a few likes and comments in his direction. Hi, I’ve liked your content, slide into my DMs now.
It worked! It almost always does. Rimmer did, indeed, slide into my DMs. I was ovulating and he’s a man, so the flirty chat soon got much flirtier… and filthier. I checked that he was single first; don’t worry. Once bitten and twice shy, and all that. (Or like, ten times bitten at this point.) Once that was all nicely out of the way, my hormones took over. I indulged his filthy chat about rimming and such, even though I’m not really much of a rimmer myself. I have just one rimming tale to tell.
Little digression, but I saw a social media post lately, talking about how Charlotte from Sex and the City was actually the sluttiest person in the show, because she would’ve done pretty much anything for a man sexually as long as he put a ring on her finger. That’s me, I suppose. I’m not a rimmer… but I’d do it occasionally for the person I love.
The point? It was just long-distance fun between Rimmer and I. Filthy, flirty, not-in-person fun. And it continued until the early hours of the morning.
Just like before, though, with Mister Five AM, I didn’t hear from Rimmer in the morning. There was no morning message. We’d had a night of heavy (and spicy) flirting… and he didn’t even bother to send me a good morning message.
Are you fucking kidding me?
WHERE HAVE ALL THE REAL MEN GONE?!
Hello?
Four days later (yes: four days after we’d essentially had a one-night stand of the textual variety) he finally sent me a message.
Ooooh, finally, I thought to myself, grabbing my phone as soon as I saw his name on the screen.
There was no hello, no how are you, no nothing.
Rimmer went straight to rimming. Straight to the point. Right in there. Literally.
Seriously?
Listen, I’m not stupid. I acted slutty, so of course he’s going to treat me like a massive rimming slut. But, like, I’m more than just my tongue. Or my asshole. You know? I’m pretty sure that you can just pay someone for that kind of thing… and I don’t do that (apart from that one time, by accident.)
In my pitiful defence, I did have a little crush on him… and I was ovulating. I’m not really me when I’m ovulating.
But I wasn’t ovulating anymore, so his message just made me mad. I responded as such.
“You don’t like the teasing?” he replied.
There was no teasing, though.
“It looks like you’re just looking for sex, and that’s not all I’m looking for,” I told him, lying like a pro. I did just want him for sex, but I also wanted a man that was capable of at least saying hello before his asshole entered the chat.
“I want to have great sex with my great person,” he said.
I mean, that’s great and all, but you’re not going to find out if I’m your “great person” via my anus, are you? What are you planning on doing, asking about my life achievements while your tongue tickles my asshole? Discussing our dreams and goals tuckus anusly? Or are the big conversations and topics reserved for post-rimming pillow talk? I know about your kinks now, but do you want kids, as I’m wiping essence of your anus from my mouth? How about marriage? Do you like eggs for breakfast? Did you douche before our date? Did I?
I’m not a dog. You can’t just sniff around my asshole for a few minutes and figure out my age, sex, and location. Taking a big whiff of my piss stain on your morning walk won’t divulge anything apart from the fact, I’m a little dehydrated.
How am I? Did I have a good day? How’s my asshole feeling? What have I been up to? How’s your asshole feeling? Am I in the mood for rimming? Don’t you want to know about my kinks?! Where was my good morning message?
What the fuck is my life? How am I even writing these words?
Where did the romance go?
(Up his ass, apparently.)
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Hey, How Are You?
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
You can read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here:
