I did not sleep with G, nor did I marry him.

I had good reason, too. You know, he's said some things - throughout our friendship - that have bothered me. Graphic comments on my blog about how, for example, I'm going to scream his name again and again as he pounds my hole with his huge cock.

Huh.

But, you know, he was a nice guy and I thought oh, he's just clueless, this might be forgiveable.

Anyway we get there and it's the desert so I ask him - just to make sure - if he knows what the signs of dehydration are.

He grins and says, "Well if you don't know that, then you're not gonna get fucked tonight."

So needless to say, he didn't get fucked the entire weekend, and will continue to not get fucked (by me, anyway) for the rest of eternity. Furthermore, I think I'm secretly calling off the wedding.

Other than that, we got along great. I filed that little thorn away and didn't let it break my skin until the end of the trip. On the way home, though, I had lots of time to fester and bubble...

What an asshole. You know? To say something like that and then call me "sweetie" for the rest of the trip, and slap my ass without my permission, and patronize me and assume I don't know how to do things like set up my own fucking tent?

Okay, I'm over it. I promise.

today I read
casual friday