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

    Not the Worst

    It should come as no surprise to the few of you who have read my blog in the past that I’m incredibly hard on myself and an expert at overall sucking at life.

    But today, I don’t want this to be about me per se, but rather about someone else. As luck would have it, I was putting together some stuff for charity and I came across one of my old journals. Don’t worry, the charity cases won’t be getting the mindless musings of this basket case!

    A while back, JMo had met someone and we were talking/dating… from start to finish… 3-4 months.  He wasn’t my usual type, but honestly, what type do I even have anymore? A strong pulse is good.

    But you know what? That is bullshit because you know what I did in my journal? I KNOW how I am about things. Once time passes I tend to wax poetic about all the great stuff. But yeah, the old JMo knew to keep a detailed log about all the things I DIDN’T like or appreciate about said man.  So now we can deduce what my type is, I guess.

    “Man” knows about this blog and had commented in the past about how he was surprised I hadn’t written anything about him yet (Ok, ego.) and his only request is not to use his name. No prob. I’ll do him one better: I won’t mention his occupation either.

    Since I cannot use his real name, I’ll be referring to this guy as Reggie.

    Reggie and I met online but it was not through a dating site.  I think that was something else he didn’t want people to know. Whatever, Reg. Now the whole world knows (except it’s more like the two randos that visit my blog on a daily basis).

    So we talked a bit online first and then texting and I have to say, that is when I found myself getting really interested in this guy.  He used grammar and punctuation!  Impressive vocabulary.  Could be funny sometimes. Nice. Nice. Immediately…why is he single? Oh ok, why is he divorced? Hmm, ok… Let’s do this!

    The sweetest thing he ever said to me was on our first date. I refuse to write it here in case he reads this. He probably doesn’t even remember he said it. AFTER our first date I emailed a friend saying “He’s super sweet but the date was pretty forgettable. I’ll see where it goes.” Yikes.

    Needless to say, JMo broke it off with Reggie but it took a few months.

    Let me rewind a little bit. Let me give you some info about him that he GAVE to me before we even met.  I mean, WHY talk about this?

    • He once got oral sex from a woman whose name he did not know in a public bathroom of a bar in a city.
    • How much money he makes a year (happened to be twice as much as my salary and I get paid fairly well), how much money he pays in child support, how much his new house by the water cost (and how much he got the guy to knock off the price since they shared the same profession AND he even worked in the address – probably so I could look it up on Zillow), how much money his father “loaned” him because his family is rich, how much money he has loaned his ex-wife, and the kicker:  Women should pay just as much when it comes to dating. (Yes, thank you for making me feel super awkward about this forever instead of just waiting to find out for yourself what kind of woman I am when it comes to money. And I definitely could pay sometimes, but you make $XXX,XXX a year so you can afford more. Also, basically told me twice in roundabout ways how I can easily look up exactly how much money he makes. So yeah, if one of us had money on the brain, it was not me. But let’s keep a in this because MONEY will come up again.
    • Cheated on his wife with many women, and then fell into a long relationship with one of the mistresses. This of course was not an ideal thing to learn, however I don’t judge people right off the bat for that. He claimed he changed and he’s certainly not my ex-husband. PLUS, the fact that he was a man-whore definitely helped in the bedroom department. Thanks, sluts!

    So yeah, I knew all of those not-at-all-red-flags before we met, but the texting…I was addicted. It was stimulating. Brain stuff, you pervs! So of course I wanted more.

    But the in person thing…where does the vocabulary go? And he has a very strong accent, that makes me sound like a southern belle. And it’s not a sexy French accent or anything.  It’s almost like someone having a very thick Brooklyn accent but they didn’t grow up there.  Is that something?

    So now you might be asking, JMo, what about looks? We know you have a type there. Start with the things you liked:

    • Smooth skin
    • Lovely neck/shoulder area
    • Muscly legs
    • Full head of thick brown hair
    • Luscious lips
    • Taller than me

    Obviously, these things are not deal breakers. I’ve dated all types and sizes;  my ex-husband happens to look like Cher’s transgender son, Chaz Bono. So…there. And believe me, I’m no sexy hot lady person, or anything. As he told me, I’m (me, real life JMo) is a 7 on a scale of 1-10. Which, I guess I should be happy about that? I know I’m not a 9 or 10 but I’m guessing the dude I’m seeing should at least give me an 8 because I’m funny, sweet, sarcastic, thoughtful, oh and I touch his private parts…etc. But remember when I said he said something sweet to me on our first date…that was it. I never got anything after that…only “you smell nice” or “your hair looks nice.”  Thanks? You are so romantic…

    …NOT.  He has ZERO romantic bones in his body. And this was what eventually killed it for me.  During our time together there were occasions where gifts are usually exchanged. And even though it was early in our “relationship” whatever it was, I wanted to give to him and picked thoughtful things. And he picked zero things.  Not even a card.

    And it’s not just about occasions. I don’t want to be labeled a woman who needs an Arbor Day gift, but jesus, how about a high-five just because? One flower? How about a note left in my door while you know I’m at work and would love to find it when I got home? Fuck occasions! Just make me feel special. Listen, my first boyfriend, Tony, real name, not fake like Reg, wrote me letters and poems on his bus rides to his H.S. hockey games, and he would take me to playoff games at the Garden where we would sit in the front row. I was 15. So that set the bar high. 

    Yeah I like being wined and dined, but without the wine and with more of the “hey, dummy, let me show you that I care.”

    Seriously though, Reggie, if you are reading this (still, huh? See, you are self-absorbed): After thinking about it for a long time, I realized why being wooed or romanced was important to me. Because HOW do you differentiate me, the woman you are dating, from your “women friends?” Especially since some of them are exes. So Me and your Exes get treated the exact same way? Oh except you aren’t sleeping with them but then again maybe you are because you already admitted to being a cheater so that’s at 50/50 right now. Yeah, sorry, NOT a big fan of that.

    I love to treat my man special. Give him things to smile about throughout his day. Not every day but you know. But damn, I got nothing. Diddly squat. And I’m not exaggerating. Yes, I would get an occastional meal or coffee but that is it (because you know I had to pay for half of everything!). No cards. No email cards! Nothing.  I want to be special! Is that too much to ask? (the answer is Yes, apparently.)

    Ok, I’m getting bored so I’m going to plow through the remainder of the list I made way back when about Reg, so I wouldn’t forget all the things I disliked about him when I started to remember the things I did like about him: his ability to put words together and the stuff he did in bed (sorry KB).

    Never saw The Godfather, talked about his ex-wife after sex so frequently I think she would be shocked at all the stuff I know about her, drinks a lot, enjoys watching wrestling, was a cheater and a whore, served me tap water when he clearly has a water bubbler*, unsexy car (not looking for a BMW but how about a Jeep from this decade or something), constant multiple dirty litter boxes as well as animal vomit dried up everywhere, furniture from the street, lack of air conditioning in the summer, sang certain songs at the top of his lungs anywhere and everywhere and then criticized all music he did not like, weird sounds during climax, the nipple thing (not mine), had the girth but no length, not a Star Wars fan, cheap, made me cry in front of him, I could tell when he wasn’t listening to me (which was often) & it hurt my feelings the most when I was talking about my niblings), self-absorbed, used his kid as an excuse not to communicate or for his crappy attitude, never heard of Stranger Things, his literal fear in life is being alone yet never thought it a good idea to spoil his women because it wasn’t just me, he was what I coined as “comfortably racist,” we once won at a team event and he did not split the prize with me even though I tried to take part of it and he just took it back – so he literally never gave me anything, aaaaand never shut the fuck up – he is a bona fide “me monster.”

    I actually left off a couple, believe it or not. Part of me feels bad, but to be honest, he needs to know what he’s up against out there if he’s going to venture out into the dating world as a balding, beer gutted divorced dad who isn’t romantic or thoughtful? And you don’t like texting or checking in (could go days without it????) but texting is your best quality.

    You’ll get someone eventually but it won’t be me. After listing all your wonderful qualities, it truly     will be    my loss.


    P.S. I would like to dedicate this horrible piece of blogging/humanity to the few people in my life that helped me through my emotions and got what I was trying to say when I wasn’t being a bitch about it.

    P.P.S. No, I do not read everyone to filth on my blog. In fact, besides shitting on myself and maybe calling out some liars, I don’t think I’ve ever been this harsh. But it’s the truth. And I need to remind myself of that. You weren’t the worst, but you were not worth the time I spent thinking about you. Damn it.

    P.P.S. Actually I was the victim of some hate recently (which will be a future post) and maybe I’m just lashing back from that. Although Reggie wasn’t the hater, but since I’m not using his real name or anything, I feel like it’s okay. Almost like I made it all up?

    * I actually drink tap water. I’m not a water snob.