You’ve Got Mail…I Mean a Facebook Notification

I have always been extremely adamant about not meeting people on the Internet, at least not on Facebook, Myspace, or AIM. I have no experience with the dating sites, because as we all know, I don’t date. On a random night this past summer, obviously after I blazed, I did, however, make a trial account for JDate as a joke to stalk people I knew and then make fun of them for being on JDate. But all JDate did was make my blackberry vibrate 80 times per day with a new secret admirer until I cancelled the trial account. And disappointingly, nobody I knew was secretly on JDate.

Facebook started in the United States. And excuse my political incorrectness, but international people falsely use Facebook like Myspace and friend everybody everywhere. For the past few months, I’ve been getting a daily friend request by somebody with a name like Abdul Kabarrajuaga. No mutual friends. How the fuck did this person find me? I actually get really excited for every couple of hours I get a friend request. Who will it be? But when I see it’s a motherfucking international person it really Debbie Downs the moment.

If I get a friend request from somebody with whom I have mutual friends but am not directly acquainted, which happens a lot these days, I’ll usually just accept. Which brings us to today’s story. As much as I would like to continue thinking Facebook is just a stalking method, it has seriously crossed that line. There is no emailing strangers and going on blind dates anymore. Today, we know the physique of whom we’re about to meet. And because we know what we’ll be looking at, it becomes more a question of sex than date.

On an off night I’m shmoozing in my room with my roommate, Dolly Partenberg, and we’re discussing the Recession 09. And no, this Recession 09 is not referring to the lack of money in our wallets, but rather the lack of dicks up our vaginas. Any female upperclassman at the University of Michigan knows exactly what I’m talking about. But then as we’re sitting across from each other on our beds, I get a facebook comment from this dude named Eldorato Barton, with whom it appears I have several mutual friends, which explains why we were Facebook friends in the first place. He tells me to let him know when I get to East Lansing for the Michigan/Michigan State game this weekend. I’m pondering several things. Firstly, did I make plans to go to Michigan State? I don’t think I did. Secondly, who would name their kid Eldorato? I am very confused and about to dismiss the comment. Then, I accidentally click his name. I’m at his page now; I guess I’ll stalk it. Wait, this guy’s kinda cute. My mind starts ticking.

I tell him my “plans” fell through and that I did not have a way of getting to East Lansing anymore. He immediately replies back and tells me he works in Ann Arbor on Fridays and could easily take me with him back to State; I can stay at his apartment. He has no idea I’m about to make him put his money where his mouth is and agree to the ridiculous proposal.

Friday afternoon I get into the car with Eldorato outside my sorority house. I like what I see. Talk is easy. We’re about to get onto rt. 23 when he pulls out a one-hitter and asks me if I want to blaze. He very well could have just unzipped his pants right then and there.

We arrive at his apartment and I just want to fuck him fuck him fuck him now. He does not have roommates so this is going to be easy. But his friends arrive to pregame so I realize I need to step out of my over-sexually aroused head and return to being one with society. It was going to be another six hours before I was going to get penetrated. If I had balls they would have been colored royal blue with a hint of indigo.

Aside from being a little powdered out around 2 am that night, we fucked like rabbits. Really, there’s no other way to put it. He kept grabbing the pressure point in the back of my neck, and when this happens to coincide with pressure on your G-spot, the stimulation is overwhelmingly euphoric. Yes, pulling on the back of my neck had a slight numbing effect, but it only numbed everything in my brain that wasn’t focused on my bodily sensations. I also realized that I much prefer being on the bottom during sex. (And do not worry, it is still quite easy to be an active game player on the bottom). You see, when I masturbate, I solely tend to orgasming my clitoris with my two hands and some cushioning. But when I have sex, it is only logical to tend to orgasming the G-spot simply because the penis does not at all stumble upon my clit when going into me. Yes, going on the top enables me to graze my clit on the top of the dick. However, the angles are extremely limiting and cannot come close to what I am able to do while masturbating. Don’t get me wrong, being on top is still fun.

When it comes to sex, I am an inevitable screamer. Verbalizing what I am feeling is liberating. Yet, screaming “Eldorato”… it doesn’t feel too right, now does it? Everybody had been calling him by his last name, but that didn’t feel right either. So the next morning I am fidgeting around in the bathroom and find a medicine bottle labeled Elliot. Oh. Eldorato is his funny nickname. His name is Elliot. Let’s just say I screamed ELLIOT at the top of my lungs for the next 10 times we sexxed that weekend.

Elliot was not an Isabella Bardou reader. He was unaware of the Recipent’s Manual of Etiquette. However, when I got down on my knees after the dreadful football game, he knew to put a pillow on the floor for me. It was common sense for him. I was astonished. I was jizzing myself silly. For those of you who are not as noble as Elliot, pillows are common courtesy. And girls, in case I have never mentioned this: when needing to catch a breath while sucking on your partner’s dick, definitely take a moment or two to look up at him and fling his dick against your open lips. It keeps him aroused and allows you to reboot.

Yesterday evening, my good friend Srena was telling me about a terrible Thursday night hook up. We came to realize that so many women do not know what they want or know what to expect regarding an orgasm. And the reason for this is that society makes women feel less inclined than men to talk about sex! Sex and the City has definitely given our generation more lead-way into openly talking about it from the feminine perspective. Still, there is hesitation for a 20-year old to put herself on the same page as 40-year old Carrie Bradshaw. Let’s do away with the notion that beauty is wasted on the youth. This is why I am writing my blog: to start the trend for young women to explicitly discuss it. I am so done with women having the handicap of not being able to have a sexual upper hand side-by-side with men whom have been shamelessly taught to know how to be pleased. Women, let’s get into the game, here. I encourage anybody, male or female, via comment, to submit questions about their sexual uncertainties, and I’ll pick some to address. Ignorance is no longer bliss, and it’s a burden on all of us.