Gracie over at Sex Kitten, where I have my quasi-regular column, recently interviewed Chloe Joe Berman, the woman behind The Girlie Girl Newsletter, which currently has 13,000–give or take a few–readers. While I’d never heard of either the woman or the newsletter, it wasn’t long before I fell head over heels.

Balancing a variety of “careers” while promoting animal rights and other personal passions, Ms. Berman is not only smart as a whip and easy on the eyes, but is supremely likable. And her poetry (a few samples are included in the interview) is simply divine.

You can read part I and part II of the interview here and here. (Part II is the most fun, because that is when Chloe kicks ass and takes names. What a fireball!)

And she has the most adorable website which you can visit here.

Like I said: I like her. I like her a lot.

Valling in love again. Never vanted to. Vat am I to do? Can’t help it.

(I’m not trying to be elliptical, just think Marlene and you’ll catch on.)

Ok, yes I own fuck-me pumps, stilettos, and assorted other dress-up heels which would drive a certain demographic absolutely insane.

But, in some ways at least, my shoe fetish tops their shoe fetsh (na na…nanana) in that I covet every type of shoe: strappy heels, cork heels, cutesey sandals, sneakers (mostly Skechers, but I can be convinced), penny loafers, boots.

This zazzle extends to socks of all sorts, tights, pantyhose, and stockings. I really should marry a foot/shoe fetishist someday.

Quite frankly, after shopping for a pair of white sneakers and walking out of the shoe store with eight new pairs of shoes, I’ve really been making an effort to be a good girl. Honest Injun!

But what is a girl, a good girl like me, to do when God permits evil forces to create websites like shoes.com, with free shipping, free return and guaranteed lowest price?

All I did was click a link somewhere, somehow. That’s all! I swear! You know how it goes: you click, then click again, then click a few more times. Kinda-sorta becomes a Zen power-surfing thing. You don’t even really know you’re doing it. I didn’t even really know I was doing it.

And then I saw the above shoes.

Falling in love again….

And now I have to have them. In my defense, I would like to mention that I have the cutest pink and brown plaid skirt that would just look adorable with them.

So I get this email from a previous love interest, Daniel:

I would like to blindfold you, and then rub a very ripe strawberry lightly under your nose and across your lips. I would then drag it down the side of your neck and to circle it lightly across your stiff nipples before brushing it across your stomach, tenderly brushing across your clit as I move it down the inside of one thigh, across your calf then back up the inside of your thigh.

I would then hold the bruised and ripe berry and squeeze it slightly over one of your very erect nipples…the sensation of the juice dripping causing you to you to moan with the unexpected sensation of pleasure. I would then hold the berry over you and mash it between my fingers and let it drip into your full cunt lips as I spread them slightly apart and begin to lightly lick your quickly swelling clit.

You would grab a fist full of bed sheet in both hands as you arched your back and pressed your clit hard against my mouth. I would reach underneath you with both hands and grip your ass firmly as I lift you against my mouth and begin to lick faster, your body beginning to tense as you concentrate completely on the powerful orgasm that is building and gaining quickly in intensity.

When I sensed you were on the very edge, I would press your throbbing clit between my lips–allowing me to suckle it while at the same time increasing the speed and intensity of my tongue racing up and down, up and down, up and down.

Until suddenly you would lose control—grabbing the back of my head, moaning loudly, fucking my mouth with your whole body. My lips would maintain a firm grip on you as you arched your back and lifted your ass off the bed, your orgasm consuming you. I would continue until you could no longer stand it, and then take what’s left of the bruised and mangled strawberry and let you eat it from my fingers.

Or maybe you could remove your blindfold and rub the crushed strawberry all over my painfully erect cock and then take me passionately into your warm hungry mouth with the intention of releasing my pent-up desire?

Now, mind you, I know Daniel well. He is a romantic kinkmeister with a bark that is much more ferocious than his bite. And you can bet he was three sheets to the wind (forgive him…he’s Irish) when he wrote this.

In reality, although we were in serious, glorious heat for each other for a brief period of time, I never did consummate those desire with him, due to a variety of reasons. In fact when I send him the occasional email I usually sign off: from the hottest piece of ass you never had.

So how do you think I answered that email:

Dearest Daniel:

I’m afraid I would not reciprocate and perform fellatio on what I am sure must be a gorgeous appendage.

Because, as I recall, you really don’t like blow jobs very much.

Rather, I would fuck you up the ass with my big, fat strap-on, while making you repeat–over and over again–”I’m your Strawberry Bitch. Fuck my strawberry ass hard with your big girl-dick.”

Sincerely, Angela

Oh me, oh my. What was I thinking?

Where’s the division between fantasy and reality for which I so valiantly crusade?

Needless to say, Daniel was shocked and called me within the half hour. He was impressed that I even remembered his dislike for blow jobs, particularly since we’d never been physically intimate. He also told me that he thought my “work” just might be bleeding into my everyday life.

He also thought it was very funny.

I promised him I would take a vacation soon. I think I need one, don’t you?

….and will be taking no calls this p.m.

Cramps, running around all day doing a variety of tasks from a few of my infamous (and currently despised) lists in the sweltering heat (up to 98 degrees), not being able to reach my brother (busy signal going on five hours now–I think he is dead or hurt and am losing my mind), allergy symptoms from hell and my not-so-beloved-anymore convertible breaking down at a major intersection…

Not one of my better days.

Not even in the top one thousand.

The sinus headache that accompanies these sniffles and watery eyes has taken over the left side of my head. Which means I am going to have to take an allergy pill, which I don’t like doing, because it makes me so drowsy. And I am already tuckered from the day’s trials and tribulations.

The convertible had to be towed. Tomorrow or Monday I will have to hire a mechanic. And they scare me. Because they can tell me anything and charge me anything. Because I don’t know any better. The one blessing with the car was that Triple A had a tow truck there within ten minutes. The bonus suprise was that the tow truck driver looked liked Matthew McConaughey. Very handsome, very sexy. I was too ill-humored to appreciate his flirtatious insinuations but will savor them later in repose.

Oh…I also got a manicure and pedicure. (And yes, David, my nails look fucking awesome.) Which was the highlight of my day, although my regular manicurist was not available and the new girl wasn’t so bright or talented. But adequate. And adequate is good enough.

And I got a tad sunburned so now my nose is going to peel. Arggghhhh.

***

So while I’m sleeping, check out this website, because I will be writing an entire entry around it in the very near future: Poly-Fetishist

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Just remembered that I had my brother’s new cell phone number on my caller ID. Called it and he answered and is alive and well and little bit drunk. Asshole. Apparently the phone in the bedroom was not on the cradle properly. I love him.

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Fantasy Assignment: This will keep you occupied until I get it together here. Imagine you have a live-in Mistress who is bisexual. She dominates you with tease and denial. She also happens to have a live-in female lover. And makes you watch them get each other off. But you’re in a cock harness with your hands tied behind your back. Not much you can do but watch and ache. Maybe they give you a stroke every now and then.

Ok…that’s all, folks. xo

My sister sent me this joke, of which I am rather fond. I’ll tell you why in a second.

Subject: Medical Condition

A man and a woman were sitting beside each other in the first class section of an airplane. The woman sneezed, took out a tissue, gently wiped her nose, then visibly shuddered for ten to fifteen seconds.

The man went back to his reading. A few minutes later, the woman sneezed again, took a tissue, wiped her nose, then shuddered violently once more. Assuming that the woman might have a cold, the man was still curious about the shuddering. A few more minutes passed when the woman sneezed yet again. As before she took a tissue, wiped her nose, her body shaking even more than before.

Unable to restrain his curiosity, the man turned to the woman and said, “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve sneezed three times, wiped your
nose and then shuddered violently. Are you ok?”

“I am sorry if I disturbed you, I have a very rare medical condition; whenever I sneeze I have an orgasm.”

The man, more than a bit embarrassed, was still curious. “I have never heard of that condition before” he said. “Are you taking anything for it?”

The woman nodded, “Pepper.”

So why do I like this joke? I’m going to let you in on a little secret about me. Maybe a secret and half, because there’s kinda-sorta two parts to it. Regardless, you know I don’t do that very often. So tuck this away in your Angela scrapbook for later reference…just in case.

I happen to have extremely sensitive flesh, which–as one might expect–extends to my nipples. Now I’m rather fond of my nipples, as they are the eraser-type and downright perky. I wouldn’t trade them for any other nipples in the world. But in collusion with my flesh they often get me into some embarrasing situations.

Someone can come up behind me and touch my arm or my hair or my back (these body parts in particular–but others too) and immediately those damn nipples go boing. And I do mean boing! Because those little strawberries will just stick right out there for everybody to see, especially when I’m wearing a sheer or lacy bra.

One of the most embarrasing moments was when I was getting a breast exam from an elderly female gynecologist (grey hair in a bun, orthopedic man-shoes, called me honey). I could feel myself turning ten shades of crimson as I stared off into the corner pretending it wasn’t happening, when we both knew it was. Despite the occasional very hot medical fantasy in which I participate, this was not the time nor the place. But those nekid’ little titties just didn’t care.

So when a guy boasts to me–and I’ve heard this more times than I can even count–that “I will “suck your nipples until they get hard,” I always think to myself: Well, mister man, if you’re doing anything even remotely right, they should be erect long before your get that braggart mouth around them. Like I said, I think it, but don’t say it. Let the poor guy have his Lothario illusions. ‘Cuz it’s pretty much a sure bet that he’s not going to be getting anywhere near my nipples anyway.

The other thing is that my nipples always go completely rigid when I sneeze. Which has been interesting as of late, since developing some major allergy issues. I love sneezing! Wouldn’t you?

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• FYI: Starting tonight and for the next three Wednesdays, TNT is presenting eight one-hour episodes featuring stories from Stephen King’s Nightmares and Dreamscapes. And I am going to be watching. Care to join me?
• I’ve decided to boycott Radio Shack. They have the worst sales personel. Can’t they even pretend to want to sell you stuff? It’s hard to believe they get a commission…more about this later.
• A special hello to Andrew, Paul and Thomas. (you know who you are)
• It seems Yankee ingenuity is not just an American thing!