Back again. Mary’s back. Tell your [Buffalo] friends.

I’ve decided to restart my blog. Since I’m currently unemployed, I’ve been talking about my sex blog as a party trick, and now it seems like I have fans in Buffalo. So hello, welcome. Sit down, take your pants off, and enjoy. If you pleasure yourself to these stories, you’re a little sick, and I love it.

I’ve been seeing a paid therapist for the last two years, alongside ChatGPT and my friend Nicky from Berlin. A few things that I’ve learned about myself:

1. I have control issues, which, like, WHOA, I didn’t expect that one. I always thought I was a go-with-the-flow type of person.
2. Half my problems are because I have daddy issues.
3. The other half of my problems are because I grew up in a super-conservative Asian Christian household that thought everything was a sin.

I’ve asked my paid therapist and Chat how to manage my anxiety and my anxious attachment issues, and they said I can go for a walk/work out (no thank you), take a shower (already did that), take deep breaths (um, already doing that), or write down my feelings (okay, will consider).

My friend Nicky said to BUY A PLANT AND WATER IT (…I have no words…). So I’m going with writing, since there’s nothing alive in my apartment except me and a fucking baby cockroach I found the other day. (The small ones, so you know there’s a family somewhere.)

I told my therapist that I wanted to restart my sex blog, and she asked what the reason was for wanting to do it—is it to seek validation from other people, and how can we find ways to self-validate so we don’t seek it from external sources?

My response: Yes, and I don’t fucking know. And if I did, I wouldn’t have to see you 1–2 times a week, and you wouldn’t have a job.

And when I ask my therapist for tactical ways to manage this, she says: go for a walk, shower, take deep breaths, write down my feelings, continue to talk it out [so she can stay employed].

My favorite one is to “SIT IN MY FEELINGS.”

Come again?

So, as a Type A wannabe Type B person, I’ve decided to restart my blog because I enjoy seeking external validation to help give me self-validation. But most importantly, I’m an entertainer (and a giver 😉), according to a Myers-Briggs-type online test I took—I’m an ESFP (Extraverted, Sensing, Feeling, Perceiving).

I’ve been living my life for the past 10 years for “the plot,” and it’s a bit serial-killer-vibes if I do the things I do purely for my own entertainment. So I have a few more jaw-dropping stories from my past and current life, and I’ve bucketed them into three series:

· Miss Peggy: I peg men.

· To All the Boys That I’ve Ever Loved: To all the boys that I thought I’ve ever loved.

· Queen Size, Size Queen: I’m a big girl. I love big dicks and I cannot lie, but sometimes I need to lie about who I’ve fucked because…like…yikes.

It will not be AI-generated. Just generated by the sick mind of mine.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl
Born again and again and again and again Virgin Mary

As I reflect back, here are some of my notable events in 2018:

10 friends lost

9 inch dick fucked

8 countries visited

7 years living in Manhattan… more than $150k paid in rent… just realized I could have had a $1m+ property… fuck.

6 fuck boys

5 fingers fisted

4 attempts at anal

30% increase in compensation moving back to financial services from a 15 month stint at a start-up

29 years of life. 30 and thriving in 3 weeks

1 life that is slowly coming out of depression, but grateful for all the struggles and successes

Happy new year!

I tried to ghost him, but felt bad and tried to gently turn him down. But this guy obviously doesn’t get it and is an asshole.

What should I say that’s like virtually punching him in the face and kicking him in the balls?

I don’t know why I put up with this guy. For context:

– He came in me once without my knowing. Scared the shit out of me.

– The condom broke mid-sex and he didn’t tell me until I felt his cum on my pussy.

Both two separate occasions. I can tell you more if you’d like.

It’s quite a boring story, but you asked for it, so here it is. This will reveal a mini psycho in me, but like aren’t all women a little psycho?

I met Kevin through a plus size dating app. His profile said, “if you can make me laugh chances are you are right up my alley.” Well this is going to be easy, I thought; I’ve been practicing humor since I was a child (fat girl defense mechanism).

I messaged him with, “I’d hit that.” He replied. Score. We exchanged a couple of messages and he told me he wanted to take me out for a drink. I gave him my number but did not receive a text, so I messaged him, “my number isn’t going to text itself :).” He texted me. Score. (I like getting real phone numbers because it helps with my detective work and I feel like it legitimizes the date.)

Since I broke my foot, we decided to meet at a bar near my apartment. It was a bit crowded and I kindly yet aggressively asked a wait staff for a table. Mistake #1?

We each ordered a glass of rose. Conversation was a bit of a Q&A session. He was so awkwardly dorky and I loved it. He also plays basketball–so I instantly fell in love. (Something about a man knowing how to dribble a ball really turns me on. I don’t know why. Perhaps the swag and movement of basketball players or that their hands are big enough to handle the ball which is the same size as one of my butt cheeks.)

The waitress hands us the check, but he didn’t grab it so I did. Awkward. It was $20, I awkwardly asked if he wanted to split it, he said sure. He was fumbling to find his credit card in front of the waitress and I was so embarrassed because she was shocked that we were going halfsies. I really wanted to pay the whole thing but I didn’t want to emasculate him. Mistake #2? (I’ve learned to pay my portion so there’s no expectations after a date. I’m a big girl and I make enough money to support myself. I don’t need to date for free meals, I need to date to find love.)

He asked to walk me home. I was smitten–it was like a real date. I pretended that I was having a hard time walk with my boot, so I asked if I could hold onto his arm. SOOO smooth. I realized he was hiding muscles under his shirt! I’m officially wet at this point.

I asked him if he wanted to come up for another glass of wine, and he did. We sat on my couch talking about dating, the app we were using, my terrible choice in music b/c I like Lana Del Rey, etc.

We were talking and I was staring at him lovingly but he would look at me and turned away. I think I made him nervous. He had these big luscious lips that I wanted to kiss. So I asked him for a kiss. He pecked me on my lips. That’s it?! I must have asked for a kiss 5 times and each peck he let out a sigh… a good sigh I think. He said my lips felt nice. Score.

He said that he didn’t want to do anything more because that would ruin a relationship. I said, “Hold on. Wait. What? You want to date me?!” He said yes potentially and told me that I was cool. I came in my pants.

When he left, I gave him one last peck on the lips and a hug, and he told me that I felt nice. He said he wanted to see me again next Monday. I was smitten. A guy I like, likes me back. What a rare occasion. And he seemed like a good guy and just up my alley.

Monday comes and I texted him in the morning to confirm plans. No response.

Wednesday comes and I texted him, “I guess liking Lana Del Rey was a bigger deal breaker than I thought.” No response. At this point, I’ve already stalked his location on the app. Googled his phone number. Found out his last name. Google mapped his home in New Jersey. LinkedIn stalked him.

I texted him 2 weeks later to critique my fantasy football line up. No response.

This was my final text to him. No surprise, no response.

In hindsight I guess it was for the better? My lovely gentlemen followers, please tell me what I did wrong. I let the crazy out too early right? I knew it.

Some men can’t handle assertive women. Your loss!

“Dan” messages me. He is an executive chef and helps open new restaurants. We exchange a few messages and he seems nice, but I am more impressed by his impeccable spelling and grammar and the fact that he loves giving massages. I give him my phone number and it goes downhill from there.

I receive LONG text messages describing his chivalrous ways, his ideal dates, the way he likes to pleasure women, etc. It’s like reading a cringy erotic novel. GAG. (I really want to share the whole exchange, so you can be disgusted too.)

We start talking on Wednesday and Dan immediately plans an elaborate date for Friday. He tells me he is going to give me flowers and an orgasm. He makes a reservation at an upscale Italian restaurant and wants to plan a Broadway show or couples massage after dinner. I tell him that really isn’t necessary because I broke my foot and I don’t want to hobble around town. But truthfully, I want to be able to GTFO and cut the date short if need be.

On Thursday, I go on a date with this incredibly adorable guy, Kevin. We go to a bar a block from my apartment. We get one drink each and go dutch (awkward). He wants to walk me back to my apartment and I ask him if he wants to come up for a drink. WAIT… can I finish this story later… I want to do a play-by-play and get your opinion on why he ghosted me. I think he saw the crazy peek out.

Long story, short–I am a little tipsy and need male attention, so I text Dan to see if he wants to come over. We have a few exchanges and the whole time I am thinking this is a bad idea. Too late, I send him my address. Dammit.

He tells me he is coming from the gym and needs to shower at my apartment. Okay, sure. I open the door to a short, stubby balding man in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, all of which I am OK with, BUT he has crazy eyes. Yes, I am referencing that episode from How I Met Your Mother. I didn’t know that was a real thing until I meet Dan.

He showers and then sprays a whole fucking can of AXE deodorant on himself. GAG. You are not in middle school anymore, buddy.

I am in bed. He joins and then plugs in his charger on the other side of my bed. OH SHIT, I thought. This guy is expecting to stay over. FUCK.

I immediately ask for a massage. I am looking forward to getting the knots out of my neck and shoulders. Dan starts and I know this is not going to go well. I ask him to massage me harder, but he is focused on a sensual massage and I am not having it. I HATE being caressed–either manhandle me or don’t fucking touch me.

I turn onto my back and tell him to finger me, but it’s like a small limp dick. “Faster,” I ask. No change. “More fingers.” Nothing.

I want to get this over with, so I tell him to fuck me. Dan warns me that he hasn’t had sex or touched himself in 6 years. Wtf. Shit. God dammit. I don’t want to be the person taking away his second virginity. I look at his sub-par dick and whip out a magnum condom and say, “sorry this is all I have.” It lasts for 2 minutes. I feel nothing.

We are laying in bed and he keeps caressing me as I am trying to sleep. I finally tell him to stop touching me.

We wake up at 7am and I tell him I need to get ready for work and will see him later for our date. He tells me all the errands he needs to run beforehand–get a haircut, pick up dry cleaning, etc. Oh boy, but I still intend to go on this date.

Then I receive this:

Are you serious, bro? Who the fuck asks to color coordinate for a date? I can’t deal with this shit and I have to cancel on him.

Below is the is the end of our exchange. I try to be cordial, but his big ego and small penis couldn’t handle it.

I am on a dry spell. Personal choice though, but self-love can only get you [off] so far. I just need some kind of human contact.

Today I decided to go to Chinatown and get an one-hour $40 massage. No frills place, covered by a towel half my size and laying on a bed in a make-shift room next to a VERY moany man.

As I was getting beaten by the Chinese man and listening to the man in the next room climaxing during his massage, I just wondered a few things:

1. How will my masseuse react if I just suggestively move his fingers between my legs
2. How much will that cost
3. Is there a happy ending massage parlor for women in NYC

We were unintentionally at second base–his penis was rubbing against my arms and head as he was reaching over, and he was getting deep and personal with my ass-cheeks, spreading them as he was working out the knots.

I must admit, I got a little wet.

No sexual harassment claims from me.

See you next week.

In the spirit of the cold weather.

It’s been awhile. Sorry.

2017 was a rough year for me. Started a new job at the beginning of the year and hated it. It affected me mentally and physically–to the point of depression.

2018 is going to be a turning point b/c 1) it’s the last year in my 20’s and I can’t be 30 and still fucking around 2) it literally cannot be worse than 2017 (I mean it can…but I am trying to be dramatic).

So let’s count down 2017 with the worst fuckboys I’ve ever encountered. How does that sound?

In random order (can’t remember everyone’s name… forgive me, I was a hoe.)

12) The club promoter whom I introduced to butt stuff. Liking a finger in your ass does not make you gay–don’t worry, sweet bottoms.

11) The 22 year old.

10) The Jew who high-fived me after sex.

9) The Jew who I blew for like 15 minutes and got nothing in return. I just walked out on him at full attention.

8) The Jew who wanted to reuse a condom.

7) The Jew who wanted me to peg him.

6) The Russian immigrant who wanted me to peg him. With 2 dildos.

5) The married Jew who lied about his name. Joke’s on you. I know your wife’s name and where she works.

4) The REALLY sweaty Jew. Like sweat dripping in my mouth while he was on top sweaty.

3) The guy who gave me chlamydia but knows how to make girls squirt.

2) The guy who made me FaceTime him to watch me swallow Plan B. Also wanted me to scat and pee on him. Now dating a 30 year old virgin.

1) The guy who always asks me how his cum tastes. My reply out of niceness, “Does cum ever taste good?” But he truthfully has the worst tasting cum EVER. Very metallic-y. Order yourself some pineapple juice, hun.

One minute is being generous.

I lost my virginity two months before my 25th birthday in Fall 2013. Started the game late, but definitely caught up fast. I blame this on growing up super religious and having low self-esteem from being overweight my whole life.

I met “Ethan” online. He was fairly good looking, tall (6’4), and 10 years older. He seemed like a nice guy. At this point, I had never been on a date before. I was living vicariously through my slutty friends and learning dating do’s and don’t from Cosmo and movies/tv shows. I even followed the 3 date rule with Ethan. Okay… I *loosely* followed the 3 date rule with Ethan.

For our first date, we decided to grab coffee (which I awkwardly had to pay for) and take a walk around Central Park. We sat facing the lake and talked for a couple of hours. We hugged, we kissed, we held hands–it could not have been a more perfect date. I was smitten. It felt so nice to know that someone liked me, fat Mary.

For our second date, Ethan and I planned to go to the movies. I waited 30 minutes for him. Tried reaching out, no response. Getting stood up crossed my mind and I was heartbroken. He eventually showed up and made up some lame excuse. I brushed it off because he was the first boy who showed interest in me. He decided he didn’t want to go to the movies, so we drove to Long Island City and parked facing Manhattan. We talked for hours. He opened up to me and told me his mother recently passed and cried, which made me cry because I am a sympathetic crier.

One thing led to another, and he fingered me and I blew him in the car. I learned a couple of things that night: 1) height is not indicative of penis size 2) pre-mature ejaculation is real, but I brushed it off because he was the first boy who showed interest in me.

For our third date, we had made plans to meet, but Ethan said that he was really tired, so I invited him over to my apartment. We laid in bed and kissed and one thing led to another. At this point, Ethan knew I was a virgin. I told him I wanted to have sex but I was a bit embarrassed so I didn’t take off my bra or underwear.

We had sex without a condom, dumb Mary, but I actually didn’t even think about it. As soon as Ethan was in me, definitely no more than 1 minute, he pulled out and came. He apologized and said that he will be able to do it again in a few minutes and that he gets aroused when his nipples are licked. I licked his nipples and he got hard. We fucked again, and again he came within 1 minute. I licked his nipple again, and he got hard, we fucked, he came. It was like a Pavlovian experiment–but unsure who was the dog in this situation. We must have “fucked” 10 times (all under 1 minute) from night to the next morning. Also, I swore I heard him say “I love you” while we were cuddling.

That was the last time I saw Ethan. I would reach out, but he never confirmed plans. We confirmed to meet once and I waited over an hour for him. He finally texted me that he was with a friend and ran over and couldn’t meet. That was the last straw. No more brushing it off. I called him out for being disrespectful and a flake. No surprise, he never responded.

I was so naive to think that this could have been a long term relationship. There were so many red flags but the idea of someone liking me, blinded me from seeing that there was something off with Ethan. Also, I didn’t know how to date, and I still don’t. I am sure I could have handled this differently, but I was just a repressed horny Asian girl that fell hard for the first boy who showed interest.