Hello gentle Americans.  Waiting for a lover to arrive is like waiting for a subway-it never can get there fast enough.

Today I sit and wait for a gentleman caller.  He is someone I have seen on multiple occasions and I have grown very fond of him.  How can you not be fond of man who is 6’4, black, built like a brick shit-house, kisses that send shivers down to your painted toenails and a very large surprise underneath his pants.  I always find it disturbing when a tall, strapping man, comes over only to find out he is not tall and strapping in the other department.  It is like seeing someone in a fun house mirror, various body parts enlarged while others are shrunk down to the size of a pea.  On those rare occasions I feel it necessary to make up some sort of excuse to remove my self from the awkward situation. Don’t judge me because I am a size queen just judge me period.  I have told a man that I think I smelt smoke and worried that the building was in flames and asked him to evacuate.  Out my second floor window.  He was tall; it was not much of a reach.  I even told one man that my jealous ex boyfriend (who also happens to be an ex convict) texted me and was coming over to check on my chastity (not Cher’s daughter you idiots).  He bolted out faster than a meth addict being chased by the cops.

Luckily, today, I don’t have to come up with any excuses and I can enjoy the company of a fine gentleman without having to tell him, “I think one of my wigs is on fire.  Can we reschedule?”

Stay fresh,

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