That Sound

First things first,* there are two types of people:

1. People who love them the fuck out of having someone sucking and slobbering and licking on their ears. And

2. People who don’t. (Shrug)

And you can plant me solely in camp #2.

Not only do I not love it, I also don’t hate it.

  • Which means I couldn’t care less for it. It does absolutely nothing for me. So, don’t bother. Focus on my neck instead. I don’t want to worry if I lost a diamond earring anyway.
  • But hey, if you LIKE doing it, then go to town. I will neither suffer through or mildly enjoy that total waste of saliva and tongue muscle. All for your jollies. You’re welcome.
  • But…there are #1’s out there. And you gotta find out which one you’re dealing with, right?
  • And in my personal life experiences, I never got the tingles from any ear lobe action. So, I am not really sure what the heck to do, so I generally improvise.
  • But all of those personal life experiences did teach me one thing: That Sound that escapes the mouth of the person who JUST got the serious tingles from whatever just occurred to them, on them, in them, or other. (Please note Oxford Comma. Thank you.)
  • It sort of starts out as an “Oh,” and even an “Oh my God.” But then sort of might be a “Holy shit” where they might have to hold on to a steady surface. But truly not even a word, just a humming sound, mixed with rapid breaths. A little littler death.
  • Hypothetically let’s say, I am riding shotgun and my hot new friend is driving. Strikes hypothetical me as the perfect time to find out if he’s a 1 or a 2.
  • That makes his right ear closest to me. So, hypothetically of course I start with the neck, because that’s a spot for me! Might be a spot for him. If I don’t hear That Sound,
  • (And girls, you know what sound I mean!Cuz you’ve all heard it at least once. And the freaks even more! *high five*)
  • That tells me we might have a 1 on deck.
  • I go straight for the ear lobe. Gimme that fucker. I kiss it, lick it, suck it, then bite it. Straight up up the ear and down again to the pretty perfect earlobe.

  • And that makes my right ear about even with his mouth with those fat lips. And that is when I get an up close and personal concert with That Sound. Coming straight out of that mouth. His mouth. The one I want on me.
  • There is something so satisfying about that sound! So simple but so sexy. Strong signal you are doing something very right. It’s pure instinct. And I did that! Again, *high fives*
  • Without missing a hypothetical beat, I say, in the ear – tell me when we get to a stop sign. Then proceed to bury most of my face is the softest part of his neck, above his collarbone.
  • As he asks why, he also happens to stop. At a actual stop sign. A sign.
  • My nails instinctively dig into his thigh, right above his knee. My ring and pinky fingers the only two touching flesh. The others burning through his shorts.
  • Time to abandon the ear. Thanks, old pal. You did the trick. I will take it from here.
  • Without even glancing out the windshield, I would get all up on him, and kiss him like he deserves to be kissed. Like a man!
  • Say shit like that, oh you’re the big man. Call him Daddy, or whatever. They love that shit. Age difference doesn’t even matter.
  • The last thing I would probably remember would be my tugging on his bottom lip, and once that super tingly kiss had a break, we rest our foreheads together, almost to give our minds time to catch up to what our bodies were clearly already feeling.
  • That is how I personally would find out if bae is a 1 or a 2, as well as how to get him to make That Sound.
  • Who knows what I am talking about?
  • xojmo
  • * First things first, I’m the realest (realest)
    Drop this and let the whole world feel it (let ’em feel it
    And I’m still in the murder business
    I can hold you down, like I’m givin’ lessons in physics (right)
    You should want a bad bitch like this (ha)
    Drop it low and pick it up just like this (yeah)
    Cup of Ace, cup of Goose, cup of Cris
    High heels, somethin’ worth a half a ticket on my wrist (on my wrist)
    Takin’ all the liquor straight, never chase that (never)
    Rooftop like we bringin’ ’88 back (what)
    Bring the hooks in, where the bass at?
    Champagne spillin’, you should taste that
  • – Fancy, Iggy

    P.S. I wrote this on the WordPress App, and I have to idea why those bullets are there. I certainly did not use them on purpose. Once I can get to this on my PC, I will immediately change it. It is distracting! Apologies. jm

    Ghost (v)

    So, I’m going to assume you all read my last post. And yes I had a muse. Maybe I still do. But you also all know that it could not have actually been a good thing.  Because, good things? They don’t happen to JMo. Duh.

    Let’s get down to brass tacks, (I’ve always wanted to say that but have never needed to, until now) JMo has been doing the online dating thing. Or rather, the apps.

    They have apps now. Not even websites like when I was just divorced. But anyway, I already told one of you that I have a Hall of Fame story that I do want to share. But not yet. And believe me, it doesn’t make me look good. It just was a good fucking story. And how could I keep that from all of you?

    EASY. Like I keep everything else from you. But I felt like I needed to discuss said muse and then “forget all about it.” And by “forget all about it,” I mean, “hopefully my broken heart will heal from opening it up to another bonehead, and over time I will never forget but maybe pause before I remember his name.” Brian? No….

    Which I know, but obviously cannot share that here. Let’s just say, he wants to be gangsta but he has a way whiter name than I do…so there’s that. But fuck it though, he was cute as fucking hell (I must’ve told him 17 times too). I fell for it – hook, line and sinker.

    But let me say this about that (my favorite saying) – we chatted quite a bit before we met. Chat, text, snapchat, even phone. I know…cuz God knows guys ain’t calling girls anymore. But there we were, on the phone. Like normal people.

    Anyway, I know I can be a rude, vindictive bitch who sets everything on fire, but deep down, I’m an innocent, naive introvert, who, believe it or not, actually lets everyone be themselves. They don’t have to pay for the sins of JMoMen Past. So, no, I did not go in with low expectations. I still have our texts for crissakes. There was a connection there. Whatever it was. And I did not make it all up. (I swear!)

    Then there we were. On my third ever parking lot date (LONG stories), but it got all fucked up. We had a plan, but it changed. But it was fine. Because, there he was. Right there with me. And I don’t think I stopped smiling. I didn’t care what we were supposed to be looking at, because I was ecstatic to be looking at him. Yes, his lips and face are great. And a cute smile (he lost his retainer though. YES HE IS OLDER THAN 15). But it was the whole package (don’t be pervs). I legit had/still have a huge crush on him like I was 17.

    It was probably about five hours of actual face time. And, look, I know I’m a naive, innocent introvert, but I think I know when someone has a good time. Or when someone doesn’t. And I would’ve bet some serious money on YES, we BOTH had a good time. And this one, this one won’t ghost (more long stories) – I was so sure of it.

    “Text me when you get home.”

    And I did.

    He texted with my briefly the next morning. And again, clueless me. I guess what I didn’t know was, he didn’t have a good time and was just going to stop talking to me. Like, forever.

    No more answering my call. No more texts or chats.

    And, fuck, man. It hurt. I won’t lie. I fucking liked that kid. And I would love to share all the little things that happened that night. But honestly, for the first time ever, I don’t actually want to share it with all of you. I will never get any more moments with him. All of those five hours, and how ever many more conversing before that…those stay with me. And only me. And I guess him, too. I wonder if he even remembers anything good about me at all.

    I wish he would just tell me why. It must be bad. And about me, right? I mean, I have no problem saying “You suck and here are all the reasons why….” in all my other posts. And I know it would hurt the fuck out of me to know WHY I was so wrong about our good time. And why did it even last five hours then.

    Why did we even…

    If he sees this though (doubtful), he has to know this:

    I liked you. And you knew it. My only hope was to see you again. No longer strangers. I really thought we were friends. All the things we talked about, over the LOUD music, I remember. The stuff you taught me. And I still mean what I said that night when I texted you after I got home…I would gladly sit shotgun and watch your gorgeous lips rap whatever you want to me (even the word Pussy haha). And I would stroke the back of your head with my fingers, trace one around your ear and down your neck. Do you remember when I stroked that part of your arm while your drove, and told you that that spot drives me crazy? I told you that because I wanted you to remember for next time. But there was no next time. And I am really sad about it. THAT is what I would want him to know. Yeah, maybe you don’t like me like that, but I thought we were cool. I will never be able to fathom what I did to push you away. Did you not get my shit that said “hey, what’s going on?” How does one just turn off their feelings like that??

    Listen, there are plenty of young guys that want to slide into JMo’s DM’s. And plenty of them have brown locks and trimmed facial hair, but they ain’t you. So, I did the only thing I could do…I changed the alert sound for your texts. So that if ever, you want to say hey, I’ll hear it and know it’s you… and not Anthony, Casey, Devon, Michael, Zach, etc.

    Fuck them. I’d ghost them in a heartbeat. Damn, five hours and I was under your spell. You were a gentleman. Thank you for that. I really do think you are a good kid deep down. I mean, there is the lying. That’s a problem, but I will overlook it. If you overlook some shit I do/did. 😉

    Okay, so I really need to be over him. I feel ridiculous. OH, one other thing…speaking with another one of you, I learned a lot more about what guys are doing to the ladies although the ghosting thing seems to be a lingering problem. At least it’s not just me! Anyway, thought about doing a podcast. But you know I don’t know how to do that and DAVE isn’t around to help me. Maybe I can drunkenly record myself talking about Bumble and Tinder and put it up on Twitter? Sounds more likely.

    Some people get sad and drunk and sit down at the piano. I guess I will just stick to this keyboard. Lucky you. I need more vodka….

    Fuck Netflix and Chill,

    xojmo