Maya Jordan
Image 2014 Maya Jordan

Another Famous Whore...

Image 2014 Maya Jordan
Avatar placeholder Article by Maya Jordan Blog Slixa Late Night

The thoughtful advice and opinions of the author of this article are meant to be informative and entertaining and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Slixa.

“Oh, shit.” I had just met a perfect guy on Match that I already knew from the sex club. What was becoming of my life. Worlds collided. The last month was a whirlwind. I went through a super slutty phase (sluttier than usual) and attribute a lot of that to the break-up of a 7 year marriage.

Yes, I’m married.

I realize that may surprise some of you but it’s true.

And in the course of being married discovered that I wasn’t in love with my husband anymore and hadn’t been for quite some time.

That being said, it was time for it to end.

And end it did with a fabulous ka-boom. So much so that I literally transformed into a slut supernova before your very eyes. Was dazzling to behold ;)

In the course of the slut-positive experience, I happened to have quite a few adventures.

One was with a very normal guy who took me out to dinner and kissed me on the cheek afterward rather than reaching into my pants to determine if I was a genetic female. I wrote a post about him so he was good material.

Another was with a suburban dad who could fuck like a maniac and we ended up having sex like six times in one night. As in, he literally came 6 times. I lost track of the number of times I did. I think that’s my world record to date, in terms of making a guy cum. I still need to write a post about that one.

And the final adventure was with the Colombian Master’s in Finance and her unfortunate looking lawyer husband at my favorite sex club in town, Club Princeton.

I wrote a piece about the Colombian called The Unicorn – check it out if you want a good laugh.

Anyway. So I’m on Tinder for a few days a getting a bit bored with it. Lots of predictable sex and predictable hook-ups. But I’m a next-level kind of girl. Give me what’s on the next step of Jacob’s Ladder (which reminds me of a good Jacob’s ladder story – this one guy I was with literally had a Jacob’s ladder on the underside of his penis in piercings. The first time we were together, I came with the novelty of it. Later on, I just had to laugh. Was so silly).

Anyway, I digress again.

Get me back on track, people!

I’m getting bored with Tinder so I decide to go on Match and encounter several of the same Tinder guys on there so it’s already established as Tinder-esque in its hook-up potential but there seems to be an air of promise abounding… As in, there might be some next-level shit present.

And I’m lurking, seeing what I can find…

When one day I get a message from this cute guy with an amazing profile – all of the things we females look for in a guy:

1. Good looking
2. Successful
3. Well-put-together
4. Funny
5. Built
6. My age (I have a profound history of dating older dudes and it hasn’t worked out for me)
7. Intelligent

And he’s rockin’ all of the aforementioned qualities.

So I’m intrigued and we start talking and he says, “Yeah, I’ve met you.”

And I was like, “No shit. When was that?” Cuz I totally don’t remember the guy. I would remember this guy.
“About a month ago, Saturday night. You were otherwise engaged.”

And I shuddered. Visibly. Cuz I have a pretty good idea that he’s referring to the night at Princeton with the Colombian.

“Princeton?”

“Bingo.”

“Oh, shit.” I had just met a perfect guy on Match that I already knew from the sex club. What was becoming of my life. Worlds collided.

So I started to shut down a bit, honestly. Started looking for ways to push him away. Found just a way a day later when I told him about traveling to see a fuck buddy and he was somewhat offended.

“Good luck with that.” He said.

Then I got the “you’re obviously vivacious and amazing” text followed by the “you’re not what I’m looking for” text.
So I had succeeded in pushing him away by just being myself… Unbridled… Just another famous whore with an equally famous big mouth.

But the truth was that I was looking for some next-level experiences. This one might be the ticket. There was something about him that I just couldn’t put my finger on.

So I went ahead and made myself vulnerable and confessed that the night with the Colombian was a drunken, albeit, fun mistake and that I had rededicated myself to sobriety (yes, I’m also an alcoholic).

We’re just getting it on today with the truth-telling. Shut me up already. Jesus.

And I told him that my fuck buddy wasn’t random. That we had known each other for years because we have and that things are quite supportive but not destined for long-term bliss.

That I was, in all honesty, looking for something real. That I hadn’t had something real for a very long time. Not since I was married the first time (Yes, I’ve been married twice. I told you I was really bad at monogamy).

And that must have affected him because he came over shortly thereafter and didn’t cum, instead we talked. And then he half-fucked me on my ex’s couch which was delightful. I call it a half-fuck cuz it was mostly just play, not real intent behind it. Neither one of us came.

But we did the next day.

And we went to lunch and talked some more.

And I think I smiled a lot cuz my eyes were especially crinkly that day. And I must have talked a lot cuz I barely touched my food.

I think I had genuine fun.

Not half-cocked (literally), outlandish, fiendish, lunatic fun. That fun is overrated, truth be told. I’m a little burned out on it.

But a genuine exchange on a lot of levels.

And then he got on a plane and went abroad for two weeks. So here I am, in Ohio, with my vibrator, minus a perfectly wonderful boyfriend.

So it looks like there’s a trip to the sex shop in my future to get a new rabbit and quite possibly some other implements as I wear down the last week of his trip and mend my errant ways.

There have been plenty of famous whores, most of whom have names we can’t remember cuz the world isn’t very kind to them. I don’t want to be one of those long-term. I’m looking for meaning just like the rest of you. Even the trolls are looking for meaning as they poke and prod at my page, trying to evoke something that can get them through the day, even if it’s negative.

I’m a perfectly fucked-up psychotherapist and sex coach who doesn’t have this deal figured out but I’ll tell you what. I’m balls-out honest. I will tell you how it is.

I’ll tell you about the ways in which I’ve fucked up and the things I’m trying to amend. I’ll tell you how you’re fucking up and what you can do about it. I’ll help you see in stark relief the things that you really don’t want to see and learn to appreciate them, just the same. Cuz our ugliness lends us grace. Or something close to it.

That being said, I love each and every one of you fruit cakes and thank you so much for coming to my page and making the world a better place, one genuine fuck at a time.

With Love & Squalor,
M.


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