F.ornicating U.nder C.onsent of the K.ing

Everyone who knows me is astutely aware of the hard and fast fact (you'll see the pun in a minute) that I LOVE SEX.

I dream about it. Write about it. Get distracted by the mere thought of it during my busy, busy workday as a high powered entertainment publicist. It keeps me from plowing through stoplights as soon as the light turns green. I'm distracted from staring at the gear shift. Certain foods I can't eat because they remind me and entice me into thoughts of copulation, penetration, etc. I feel dirty even looking at dessert because, well, there's just so many opportunities right there. On my plate. In front of me. In public. Bananas and cucumbers in the produce aisle? No comment.

Oh Lord, I am such the consummate sinner. Consumate, there's another word about glorious, glorious f.u.c.k. See? I can't even concentrate to finish this here bloggity blog. Cause I want to . ..well, you know. I've already spelled it out for you. Literally. Two lines up. Yup, right there.

Given my lustful mindstate and my self-titled moniker as the world's truest Scorpio, you'd think I was a jack rabbit. Prone to random acts of phucklust, wandering around in glazed eye post-coital bliss any and all of the time. Skin constantly glistening and sparkly with the earthy scent of baduss* on my person. A knowing twinkle in my eye and muted aftershocks* as I continue about my day. For Pete's sake I wear my sexuality like a second skin. Mmmm . . .skin.

But I'm not.

For some reason I can't seem to seal the deal. Ever since Voldemort (Chrystina are you reading this? Laugh now.) my lovebox has been locked. And I can't find the key to open it. I want to want it again.

I am insatiable, sex-crazed, tingly, sirenous*, and suffering from nymphomaniac tendencies. Where did I go?

I miss me.*

Footnotes:
Baduss - short for badussy. If I need to tell you what this is you are probably too young to know. Or a virgin.

Aftershocks - Tiny little wonderfully suprising orgasms that occur after sex or a particularly satisfying session of "me time." Like a delightful little sneeze in your happy places. Or lemon drop shots in a crowded bar.

Sirenous - Siren-like, you know those women that lure men in with their good looks, honey phone voices, and witty blogs and then crush them? That's me, only I won't crush you. Just make you really, really sore and short of breath. In a good way.

I miss me. - Okay, really. Somebody just PII. Not UPS though. Plenty of PII, ahhhh PII!!
(These anacronyms I refuse to explain. You'll have to message me to find out.)