Masochist looking for her Sadist.

I can't advertise that on my Friendster profile. I'm afraid of the predators I might attract. I'm bold enough to write that my interests include, "light bondage, erotica, porn," sandwiched between all my other more banal hobbies.

This is frustrating, that I can't say what I really want. I'm not going to settle for anything less when it comes to sexual compatibility. I've had enough of "decent" lovers. I want someone unafraid, of both my libido and his own. There has to be a free, trusting symbiotic relationship if we are going to hurt each other.

I was HOT as a blonde:

Rough sex.

I can't stop thinking about it. Ever since I saw The Stendahl Syndrome, I've been on edge for it. Strike that, even before that. Uncannily, the movie illustrated my fantasy — to have this gorgeous, intelligent man get on top of me and hold me down. To be fascinated with me: the silk of my hair, the fold of my eyelid, the tip of my nose, the curl of my lip, the slope of my neck, the hollow of my collarbone, the solidity of my shoulders, the tenderness of my breasts, the softness of my belly, the curve of my hip, the roundness of my bottom, the wetness... everywhere in between. Bestowing this awful reverence to my body. To have him violate me on my own terms.

I know what he was thinking:

This is so funny. For lack of any casual clean clothes, I decided to "dress up" for my "retirement" dinner. I've been feeling kind of punk ever since Ash Wednesday. So I resurrected all my regalia. I never had a daily punk or goth "uniform" because that requires a heavy commitment, both in money and lack of personal comfort. But for special occasions, I can go hardcore.

I must have reminded him of one of his SuicideGirls on his hard drive. My jet black hair, violet-lined eyes, spikes and other metal on my skin, the printed skirt, the fishnet stockings, the black boots — I was a complete package. He lingered for a while at my house, even though I didn't need him to watch our son anymore. I was perplexed at first, while I tried to get comfortable, getting ready to retire to bed. I took off my stockings in the half-bathroom, and went back out to the living room, and when he was still there and silently watching me go through my motions — I figured it out. (Another contributing factor must have been the pictures of me when I was blonde which he never seen before, left out near the computer, waiting to be scanned.)

I don't remember ever dressing up like this for him, during our short relationship. He never requested it. I would have obliged.

But it's too late now, honey. I would never sleep with you again.

Another reason I don't like IMing:

I cannot type with one hand.

A guy's a keeper if:

More than one of the following applies:

• He knows how to finger-fuck.
• He likes to fuck from behind. (Extra credit if knows more than one position.)
• He is sturdy and long enough for me to be on top. (One of my favorite positions is for him to be sitting.)
• He shares my appreciation of girl-on-girl porn (no bull-dykes though, please; I'm willing to expand my horizons on hetero porn, but I'm not a big fan of its penetration "money" shots either).
• He enjoys a good round of pin-me-down rough sex as much as slow, candle-lit lovemaking (and can transition seamlessly between the two, if the mood necessitates).

Bonus points if:

• His dirty talk has some originality in it.
• He is attuned with the timing of my body's "aftershocks" and can make this multi-orgasmic girl come more than once during one fuck session.
  
• He will engage in mutual exploratory licking and biting.
  

Today was my first time:

Getting a Brazilian bikini wax. It didn't hurt as much as people say (after being induced with pitocin and giving birth vaginally, this was nothing). Actually, I started looking forward to the pain of ripping off the strips. The more sensitive the place, the more I enjoyed it. And I love how cute my little arrow-tip of hair looks now. Masturbation is much better with less hair too.

Oh and I can't wait to have a clean-shaven guy go down on me. I love that sensation, that slightest trace of his stubble against my skin. Now with less hair on me, the more I can feel him.

The next guy I fuck:

Must have a sexy expression when he comes. I come like a porn star.

The next guy I date:

Will not be:

• an artist
• a vegetarian
• a Republican
• bisexual
• bipolar
• an atheist or agnostic
• a pot smoker (I'm trying to give it up)

He also will not have a goatee (facial hair desensitizes my clit during oral sex) or a pot belly (it's so disgusting to have one slapping against you).

I actually would like to find an uncircumcised guy, to see what that's like. But that may be hard to ask for...

My breasts aren't sexy.

I continue to breastfeed my son, who is almost 2-years-old. So why does my son's father, who was gung-ho about me nursing and not formula-feeding in the beginning, think it's so weird now?

We broke up a long time ago, before I found out I was pregnant. We have not fooled around since. He has seen me at my most wrecked: right after giving birth, all sunken-eyed and sweaty; the weeks after I gave birth and couldn't take a shower or comb my hair. When I look at him, red-haired and fair, with shoulders more narrow than mine, and though I don't think he's particularly unattractive, he definitely is not my ideal of sexiness.

(Our relationship was a one-night-stand that happened to last 5 months. He did know how to hit it at first; that's why it even lasted that long. But he did have the most ridiculously laughable and unsexy face when he came that I ever witnessed up close. Later on, he got lazy and declined to finish me off if he came first. That was the last straw.)

I do have small tits, which I know he fetishes. Maybe it's weird for him as a father seeing his son know where his mother's breasts are and that his son has no shame in exposing them. I called him on his discomfort, but he claims breastfeeding is not a turn-on. But there is something going in his head, I know it...

I get a kick from making him feel uneasy regardless. Serves him right for being a lousy lay.