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—- Dirty Deeds Entry Like three hours. We call that a rally. Three hours. Four? Does sleeping in between count? The exhausted-sleep-where-you-land, post-sex slumber, interrupted solely for the animal-instinct lust that persuades you awake to shred the sheets once again. Four and a half? — Girl, you gone found
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—- Dirty Deeds Entry Don’t be fooled by shoe size. Hand size. Thumb to pinky length. They’re all myths. Sometimes you can’t judge the package from the parcel. — I once dated a person whose value system and priorities were far different than mine. At the core, we were two
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—- Dirty Deeds Entry Don’t underestimate the power of a she-bop. Scented candles. A great book. And a detachable shower head. — Unless ‘he was 38 years old, never kissed a girl,’ odds are, your current partner, or flame, or interest, is well-versed in relationships. Even if that means they
Read more —- Dirty Deeds Entry I can’t remember a time when he didn’t have the music so low it was barely audible. But was that because the volume was kept quiet, or the beating of my own heart prevented me from actually hearing it? Even now, that song – that
Read more —- Dirty Deeds Entry What is it about karaoke bars? Neon lights. Neon signs. A song here, a duet there. Magnetic energy. We didn’t just share a microphone that night. — In a recent poll, women in their 30s were asked to give dating advice to women in their 20s.
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—- Dirty Deeds Entry “What’s this,” he asked, with a rhetorical smirk about him. Coyly, I turned down the sheets and slipped into bed. The pamphlet-on-the-bedside-table trick never gets old. I’m confident we could hear Christian Grey blushing. — Can we talk about the honeymoon phase for a second? That
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—- Dirty Deeds Entry What is it about being caught that riles us up to the point where we can’t help but tear one another’s clothes off in any location available? When the backseat didn’t work, the trampoline sufficed. — I distinctly remember the first time I was called down
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—- Dirty Deeds Entry I’d been invited. So had he. Was it a birthday party? A housewarming? I don’t remember. But it doesn’t matter. Because I saw him. And he saw me. It was a smile. A dance. And a spare room, out of ear shot from
Read more —- Dirty Deeds Entry The roof isn’t the only thing that’s down. The sun glares; the highway speckled with beach goers, and cars, and trucks and minivans of happy tourists. Whatever song might have been playing is a shimmery glance in the rearview of my memories. Because what seared the
Read more —- Dirty Deeds Entry I probably could have had his things shipped to him. Hell, he even offered to pay. But then, where would I have been? Certainly not flat on my back, screaming his name. That’s for sure. — There’s comfort in consistency. At least, that has to be
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—- Dirty Deeds Entry Outside, the weather had snapped. The sound of snow crunching beneath our footsteps was all but muted as we rushed to a waiting cab. Laughter, giggles, making out like teenagers as we instructed the driver to my address. Unlock the door. Unhook his belt. A tangle
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— Dirty Deeds Entry The day is unremarkable. It’s a day of cooking, and cleaning, and creating calm of the chaos from the week prior. But then… a song. And suddenly, the kitchen becomes my car on the highway at dawn during summer mornings that might as well be a
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