In my every day life, I am not much of a Dude Magnet. I am tall and sort of skinny, a bit awkward still at 43. Some people find me shy although I am not shy at all. I am easily startled, shaky, jumpy and more or less not all that sure of myself. I have a huge need to be liked by any passer-by. Everyone. It’s tiring sometimes. I can’t understand when people don’t like me and I guess I’m lucky in the fact that usually everyone does. If I was a dog, I would probably be an over-eager, friendly Basset Hound. Like Bassets, I have shortish legs and a very long torso. And a very long neck. I’ve always felt that I am a variety of beautiful that women recognize, covet sometimes. I’m less sure if men find me attractive or not, but then again I’ve never not had a man for any extended period of time since I was of age for all of that. Dude Magnets dress trashy, have really big tits that they manage to slip into every conversation. I have a half-empty (half-full, let’s be optimistic!) push-up bra. I fear appearing masculine to men because I’m taller than loads of them. I never, NEVER pee in a restroom reserved for men, even if there is a State Fair mazing line to get into the lady’s room. I’m afraid someone might think I am a transvestite. Sometimes in the bus, if the driver doesn’t look directly at me, he might say, “Monsieur” which totally ruins my day. I feel devastated for hours after this kind of slip-up.
I do have several redeeming qualities though. (phew!) I have a lot of ass. Not Jennifer Lopez but kind of like that. A winning smile. Flat stomach. I work out a lot when I’m not smoking compulsively or drinking. I am strong. I can do several push-ups but not as many as Mrs. Obama. I find her totally horsish. I guess I have the type of body that looks good in clothes, better than out of them. People find me surprisingly nice. I don’t take myself too seriously. Which leads me, finally, to what I really want to write about. I’ve already explained in earlier posts how much I like going to clubs. I have always loved the lights, the dark, the loud music, the throbbing beat. It is exhilarating to me. I love how people’s sexuality just starts to ooze out from under their everyday costumes. Mine does as well.
Men in everyday situations don’t hit on me much. When I’m waiting for the bus (I don’t have a French Drivers License. I’m terrified at the thought of driving here.) anyway, at the bus stop, I’d say a good 90% of men check me out, even ones that are with their wife. I hate those guys because my own husband can never make it past a bus stop with a girl waiting without giving himself fucking whiplash. I can always see it coming from miles away. Otherwise, I’ve never met a man in a grocery store or even a café. I wish I could say I have met men at the library because I spend a lot of time there and would be relieved to know that my prospect was literate, hélas non. When I think about it, alcohol has always been present when I meet someone who is gonna do me. Regardless of weather or not he knows. That he is gonna do me I mean. I usually know. In night clubs with loud music, darkness and lust, I am a Dude Magnet. I’m not bragging, it’s a fact like many others I’ve stated here. This is where this post should get seriously arousing but unfortunately my Real Life is beckoning although I prefer fiction. I’ll be back. After yoga. I LOVE yoga.