Thursday, 25 March 2010

I'm a bitch

I'm a bitch, I'm a lover
I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way

So take me as I am
This may mean
You'll have to be a stronger man
Rest assured that
When I start to make you nervous
And I'm going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change
And today won't mean a thing

© Meredith Brooks

Who am I?

Why can't I be everything I am to everyone?  Why do some get a lighter Thirty and some have a truer version? 

Although the nymphomaniac in me is bursting to get out, I quite like the coyness she is contained within my, albeit not always, shy exterior, or do I?


  1. Why can't the nymphomaniac just be the inside personality and the coyness is the outside of the same person?

    You (we all) are different people every day. We're hundreds of people each year but we're not usually one person.

    I'd say that both your people are the same person.

  2. Hello 30-F –
    I came across your blog after looking at dozens of other boring, droll or dim-witted musings of others and wanted to drop you a note of appreciation for yours.

    Who I am: World-traveling American male old enough to be your Dad.

    Some observations, based on your words:
    On being thirty+.
    Thirty was the worst year of my life. I set myself up for it to be that way because I wasn’t twenty anymore and therefore now officially headed for the junk heap. By the time I got over it I was thirty-five, which subsequently turned out to be the best year of my life, thereby proving that age is irrelevant; what goes on in your head is not.
    On being a “tart”.
    Without going into a lot of psychosexual hooha, If you are hanging with guys who cannot make a distinction between whom you are as a person and who you are as a sexual being, get rid of ‘em.
    There are those of us who love “bad girls”. Personally, I cherish and adore them. I define a bad girl as a woman who has no professional connection with sex, but who loves it and craves it with intensity.
    Having had a lifetime of glorious debauchery (well, mostly glorious, anyway), I have learned a few things. Among them are two stand out flags for defining a truly bad girl:
    1) Bad girls are born, not made. I never met one, who when I had gained her trust, did not fail to relate a similar history of early prepubescent sexual desire. They revealed tales of enticing men and boys in all sorts of ways. Many pursued long term strategies against family members, others actively sought out strangers.
    2) A bad girl has a built-in radar. She has the uncanny ability to zero in on men such as myself. Thankfully, I can almost always recognize her, although sometimes I’m caught by surprise.
    Case in point: I travel the world installing complex computer systems in high security settings. After installing, or upgrading systems I then train the users in the applications.
    I just returned from Saigon. Okay, Ho Chi Minh City, but to my generation it is forever Saigon. You need to know that sex in Southeast Asia is not the big deal that it is in the West and the woman in the below tale and I were not strangers. We had been exchanging teasing words for the better part of a week.
    But I digress, sorry. I had upgraded a cashier system in Saigon and came into the cashier’s booth to begin training her. The booth was a locked, secure room. As I started to explain the system the woman casually reached down and started playing with me as I spoke to her. Not being shy I unzipped my trousers and pulled out my cock to give her better access. All this while we continued with the training without missing a beat and with the public in full view on the other side of the window. When I was ready to ejaculate she kneeled down, took me in her mouth and swallowed all my semen.
    Being a gentleman, it was only fair that I return the favor, so while she resumed her duties I was on my knees licking her like a kitten with a bowl full of milk. She had two orgasms and never missed a beat with the customers.

    Now I ask you, is she a tart? I think not. She is a precious treasure to be adored.
    My point being that women need to be allowed to be themselves and men need to stop being arseholes about it and bless their lucky stars that “bad girls” exist.