MILF HUNTRESS

Sometimes one just does not know in advance what to title their blog.  As in today for instance.  I certainly will be touching upon (ooh but not touching) The Hairbrush man.  But I will also be dilly dallying into a young girl’s world of beastiality temptation. So one apt title might be, “Oh Where Is My Hairbrush?”, while another perfectly good title could turn out to be, “Kittie’s On My Foot & I Want To Touch It”. 

But I digress. 

I was 11 when I met Frankie.  Frankie introduced me to many things.  Things like french kissing.  Things like flashing drivers our pointed little breasts.  Things like, “Let’s act out what I saw in the movies”.  Thank you HBO!  Frankie was a naughty little girl.  Frankie…was awesome. 

However, the very most important thing little Miss Frankie B. introduced me to was,

The Hairbrush Man. 

Years later I was to find that Frankie and I were not the only pubescents who knew of The Hairbrush Man.  Yes, many girls who attended Penvale Elementary and/or lived in the area were also familiar with this swell ol’ chap.  He was the secretive, furtive, fearful pleasure of many a school aged female.  Sort-of like watching Freddie Krueger in the dark.

It began with a phone call…

A friend came into the library tonight. Keep in mind I haven’t seen her since my infamous sitting on the rock incident.  We are planning on going out again in a few weeks.  Whiskey bar is definitely out…….they may not even let me back in there.  hehehe  Let’s give em a few more months to forget.  I can do without the yee-haw, country music, line dancing, b-shit for a while anyhow.  Do miss those strapping young cowboys though.  Such a look of innocence!  Instead we will be headed down to “The Electric Light District”.  In which I will be paying for a room, and we will be getting our little MILFY groove on.  No sense worrying about the driving.  Good times. 

Something I have realized lately.  That group of girls I was best friends in high school with?  That was pretty special!  I have yet to find ANY other girls in this world with the wild hair up their asses that we once had.  I have yet to find anyone that can hang with me.  But those girls?  They remind me how much fun it is to be alive.

Today’s workout was delts.  Still fakin’ till I’m makin’.  What can I expect without some decent caffeine based supplements to edge me on?  Thinking about splurging on some Hydroxycut Hardcore.  Sure for the energy.  But more because I heard these pills make you horny.  I like that feeling.

Hubbie is bringing me home a large thin crust Pizza Hut Pizza with jalapeno rings. (What’s the good of being in love if they don’t bring you things??) 

Left my book at the library, so may just watch Love in A Time Of Cholera tonight…though I hate to sit in front of a  screen.  Either that or some songs with my daughters from Cabaret.  It’s my middle daughter’s latest obsession.

Screw Maximillion!  I do.

The fact that I went way back four years in the past shows to me I must still be working through some things.  How does it feel to be taken advantage of, taken for granted?  Well you can certainly come ask Miss Maddi.  I remember at one point him saying, (me staring worshipfully up into his face),…."I’m an a**hole like any other man".  He tried to tell me time and time again but I wasn’t interested in what he had to say.  His words said one thing.  His eyes and hands told me something else.   I may as well have just put my hand over his mouth, or duct taped it shut.  Because he kept being sexual with me.  Connect the dots.   I mean, when he was with me, he SEEMED to love me.  Seemed to really be into me.  Ahhhhhhhhhh, wise, ancient, not so Chinese secret ladies.  (This trancends all borders.)  When men are getting that piece of ass, they really do love you.  At least for those 5 minutes.  Don’t settle for five minutes of love with any man.  Masturbation is much more fruitful, and I can go for hours.  As Woody Allen would say, masturbation is at least having sex with someone who loves you back.

 DRESS $20.

SCARF $40.

SHOES $19.99

HOT BODY PRICELESS 

The reunion was interesting though a bit surreal.  20 years is long enough not to recognize a good many people.  The people you do recognize, you still can’t place their name.  Funny how it was all once  so important.  A bit depressing actually that my peers have grown so old.  This is a reflection on me and I know it.  Several women looked damned hot.  I was proud of them.  Even prouder perhaps of the women who were once the golden trophy girls and now 30, 50, 60 pounds or more overweight.  It takes something to be able to walk into your class reunion that way.  I don’t gloat in my accomplishment.  I know how hard it is to maintain a figure.  I know how increasingly difficult it becomes to remain attractive past the age of 35.  Pretty much a doggone work of art.   All in all, people were very real.  High school was never very important to me.  My life was much more about what happened after school hours.  But it was nice in a sense to brush up against the past.  The whole thing was just dinner, drinks, and mingling.  Past a certain point my feet began to get itchy.  I wanted away from the rotten stench of oldness….of people my own age.  Dragged husband to Whiskey Bar, where I am fairly certain at this point I have well established my name as extremely drunken dancing girl.  Ahhhh, but they love me.  Yes, I am a train wreck, but I am a HOT ONE.   I drank and danced as if my very life depended upon it.  Then I drank and danced some more.  And then more.  Good looking, frisky, fun time is almost over.  I know this.  Certainly making the very best of the time I have left.  Of course I spent the better part of the morning with a hangover.  It is 3:36  PM and my headache is just beginning to fade.  Decided to give my body a day of rest.  Here’s to exceptionally drunken dancing.  Here’s to the man who sits not so patiently on the sidelines and loves me.

Took my daughters to open house tonight.  Do you know how uncomfortable I am in these situations?  High school.  I walk in the door and I feel the weight of yesterday’s sins upon my shoulders.  All that class skipping.  I once skipped an entire semester of Math.  Only entering the classroom for 10 seconds each day to write in my own grade when the teacher wasn’t looking.  This is how disfunctional Fort Osage High School was.  Ok.  This is how disfunctional I was.  Pretty smart in my own getting out of class kind of way.  Used to steal books of hall passes and forge the principal and vice principal’s name.  When I figured out nobody was really looking, I started writing in names like Vince Neal and Nikki Sixx.  Surely someone is about to yell at me.  Certainly I am about to get busted.  Oh wait.  That was 20+ years ago?  Well damn.  It’s still left it’s repurcussions.  SO I am walking the hallways with my up and coming senior.  She is taking classes like, yeah,…"Math Analysis", "Geology & Anatomy".  She’s the girl who says "Pile on the science classes!" because she just can’t get enough of that sheep head dissection.  Smart, smart, girl.  I know it’s all that breast milk I fed her.  I didn’t do it because I liked it.  I did it so I would have healthy, brainy kids.  Still it was kind of nice. 

SO I am laying in bed with amnesia.  Wait, that’s not right….insomnia.  I am laying in bed, and a weird flashback/memory comes to mind.

I am 17, at a drunken teenage party.  My best friend and I are seniors and on Weight Watchers.   We have been dieting.  Trying to work off a year of 1 AM Taco Bell, which has caused us both to gain 20 lbs.

Instead of eating for 2 days, I have been storing up calories for the keg I know I will be drinking out of.  I have been slamming beers all night.  It is a strange party, with a strange crowd, in an even stranger town, in which I know noone.  (With the exception of my best friend.)  It’s not my typical long haired rock and roll band crowd either.  Instead it is a large group of preppie teenager/football players.  Not exactly my cup of tea, but I’m game.  There’s beer.  …And supposedly about a billion hot guys in this town of 5000.

The last thing I knew I had been dancing.  Some sort of bizarre line style dance which is not my thing either.  Worse yet, in the entire crowd there is only one cute guy and he is tied to the hip with a girlfriend.  This party…is a dud.  I decide to clear on out.  I am going downstairs to pass out.  Not only am I wasted, but it’s been a wasted night.  It’s been an entire waste of precious Weight Watcher calories.

The next thing I know, I am sitting up in a chair, in the basement, under a bright light.  I am surrounded by a crowd of wide eyed, accusational Barbies, with one particularly Pekinese faced preppy girl in my face yelling, "You PEED on my coat!" 

I’m like, crazy bitch!  I don’t pee on coats!  This girl is whacked.  So what else to do but become obstinate with denial.  "I did not pee on your coat!  I have been sleeping!" 

"Yes you did!  You peed on my downy fur coat and now you are going to pay for it!  "This coat cost $300!, she said fuming….the world about to end.   "And my boyfriend bought it for me so it has sentimental value!" 

Then I realize.  This is cute boy’s girlfriend. 

I am shaking my head at crazy preppy bitch no.  I am totally bewildered at the stray accusations. 

I look over at my best friend for support.   She is smiling and laughing quietly behind this girls head.  She is nodding towards me, a silent, affirmative, "yes". 

Then I know. 

And now I realize that my stockings are wet.