Hello gentle Americans.  This past week I had an encounter with one of my favorite gentleman callers.  For the past 2 years I have seen him almost a dozen times, and this big black stud knows how to deliver the goods, and I gladly sign for the package.  There is one problem-I seemed to have forgotten his name.  It is a very awkward situation, when we are in throws of passion and I want to call out his name, and instead say, “Oh baby you are so good,” or “Hey you, why don’t you work on my left nut now.”   Meanwhile he calls out my name, left and right, leaving me feeling rather disappointed with myself.  How could I be so self centered to forget his name?  I do have many lovers, so it is impossible to keep track of them all.  Perhaps I should make them wear nametags? Or maybe when the come over I should force them to say their name the moment they get out of the elevator?  “Hi my name is Jim, Hedda.”  Perhaps this is a sigh for early Alzheimer’s? Though I feel if they start wearing name tags they will feel less than special, as if they are on conveyor belt, just mere objects with the sole purpose of providing pleasure.  And what the hell is wrong with that?

Some of the hottest sex I have ever had I did not know the guys name, and frankly it was better because of that.  The more you know about a person they less sexy they become; once you know their name than all those other little bits of information pop up-what they do for a living, where they live, what is their favorite food, that have a sick mother and so on.  Nothing is less sexy than finding out a hot trick has a mother on life support.  An instant erection killer.

Now back to my big, black stud-I did think of going through his wallet while he took a shower, but he does not like to shower after sex, which frankly grosses me out.  Who wants to get back on a train with a pile of dry sploodge on their chest?  Better him than me.  At this point it would be to awkward to ask him his name, we’ve been hanging for to long he would just be insulted, and I don’t want to ruin what we have.  So I will keep crying out, “Oh boo, only you know how to make me feel good,” until some clue emerges, revealing his secret identity.

Stay fresh,
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