The Weirdos Come Out With The Rain

Instead of earthworms, the thunderclouds exhume the jerks and the freaks are summoned from the dirt and the pits of despair. Avert your eyes… It’s going to get ugly.

Kay and I went out last night on our weekly ritual of hottie-hunting. We were especially geeked for this particular outing because I’m heading out of the country for three weeks. I was feeling pretty naughty so I wore sexier makeup than usual. However, what we failed to notice was that the cards were clearly stacked against us: (1) the weather wasn’t cooperative; and (2) I had forgotten my driver’s license at home. Fortunately I had another form of ID, but that wasn’t enough to negate what should have been big, red, flashing, neon, warning signs.

After eating dinner and waiting for the dreary rain to stop, we checked out the nearby basement club. The two other nights we had been there had seen little success. I thought it’d be the charmed third time, but no. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Most of the people there were already coupled up and then Kay and I saw, at the same time, Creepy Hat Guy (CHG).

Quick history: We had met CHG another night when he was out with friends. We got late night food with them, but he ended up pushing his legs against Kay’s under the table and generally being an all-around Olympic-level drunk and asshole. We have since spotted him at almost every place we have frequented in that city. Hence, his given title and the reason we (try so very badly to) avoid him like the plague.

Upon spotting him, Kay and I decided that we needed to leave immediately and we headed down the street to another local bar. Not ten minutes later, we see Creepy Hat Guy. He had followed us!!! Slightly unnerving.

We made attempts to shrug him off by going to the back bar, but he followed us AGAIN. It almost got to the point where I suggested we go to the ladies room, but in spite of the trouble, we started our rounds to see if there were any guys worthy of our attention. Not really. There was this immensely tall guy (at least 6′4″), but his face was nothing to write home about. He leaned against me while I was walking by as if to start talking, and I just smiled, put my hand up, and said, no. Never broke my stride.

[I always know what type of mood I'm in based on my reactions to people. I knew then that it'd be an interesting night. You might think that I would just be in one particular mood some day or evening, but I’m just not that simple.]

We took a spot at the bar rail and people-watched, one of our favorite pastimes. Lately, I’ve realized lately that one of the best parts about being leggy with a C-cup (but more so, confident) is that you can pick and choose who you hang out with and talk to… This, again, may seem basic, but trust me, I was a slow learner for whatever reason (could be that I was a late bloomer). I’m sure making up for that!

At some point, Ian (a.k.a. Hairguy) approaches. He’s cute (though, as his namesake indicates, in need of a serious haircut) and built. He’s in! He’s chatting up both of us and trying to get a vibe as to which of us he wants to try and get. Again, let me repeat, he’s in. And then…

BAM!

He ruins it – completely fucks it up. The man cock-blocked himself. Out of the blue, after some innocuous questions about what we do for a living, my answer of “attorney for small companies” crashes us headfirst, with no seatbelts, through the windshield, into an onslaught of a godforsaken political and constitutional law conversation. Did I mention we were in a bar? At 12:30 in the morning?? I may be a lawyer who loves to argue, but I was definitely NOT drinking enough for this particular conversation.

[Note to men: This is a huge no-no. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT talk hard-core politics to complete strangers! Come to think of it, don’t even attempt it with the soft-core politics. You’re just not good enough and we don’t want to hear it.]

Poor Kay was barraged with questions about the definitions of “liberal” and “conservative,” and looked like she had encountered her own personal hell of a intelligence pop quiz. Personally, I’m not entirely sure what the hell happened except that Hairguy went from ‘in like Flynn’ to OUT in the time it takes for an airbag to deploy. The silver lining? While Hairguy was jabbering about health care, CHG came our way and (thank goodness) kept walking. Oh, the small miracles…

In the midst of our “conversation,” Hairguy reached behind us, grabbed his beer and took a sip. Only it wasn’t his beer. He stopped and apologized for drinking our beer; that’s when Kay and I realized… It wasn’t ours either. You should have seen his face when we both said, “That’s not our beer.”

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my entire life.

Eventually Hairguy took a breath, saw the damage, and went his own way (but not until after a random sweaty guy got awfully close to dripping on Hairguy and me). Mentally exhausted, Kay and I took seats at an open table and another small miracle occurred: a chance at redemption for the evening in the form of two new guys. Again, CHG passed by behind them (cue Twilight Zone music)…

We decided to dance with the boys but even that didn’t last long because Hairguy came back and starting dancing. Surprisingly, he wasn’t that that bad. But as people tend to get tired when drunk, he soon went home. But the night gets better – wait for it…

Less than five minutes later, some freak started literally rubbing against Kay’s ass, and if that wasn’t enough, he legitimately started freaking on her (Urban Dictionary defines “freaking” as “obscene dancing which simulates sex by the grinding the of the genitalia with suggestive sounds/movements, often done to pop or hip hop or rap music.”). There is NO amount of alcohol in the world that makes that okay.

I’d had enough. These lunatics had crossed the line. I had been rained on, my night out ruined, left my license at home, I wasn’t even buzzed, we’d been followed all night by a creep, we were forced to listen to someone harangue us with politics for thirty minutes (a challenge even when they share similar beliefs), and now this ASSHOLE was freaking my friend. Just as Kay was trying to inch away, I turned to glare at him and shoved him hard. Seriously, there must have been a look of danger on my face because he immediately and repeatedly started apologizing.

There are times when you need to know to admit defeat and call it a night. Nightmare was more like it. I am sad to say that there was almost nothing of redeeming value (shy of the random beer gulp), which is quite depressing – what a waste of a cute outfit and hot makeup. Maybe when I return in three weeks, Kay and I will have just a little more luck. Cross your fingers. In the meantime, I guess I’m having a ménage-a-trois with Jill, Miss Michigan, and myself.

-Amalie Paris

Follow me over on Twitter @AmalieParis

The Best Game You Can Name…

I’m a girl who loves to cook and I happen to be very good at it. However, like many of my gifts, I don’t share that information with just anyone because I just don’t like doing it all the time. It’s what you’d call a hidden talent. Anyway, just recently, I got into a small fender bender (which might have been partially Hockey Guy’s fault since we were fooling around in my car)… Regardless, Hockey Guy has been a real sweetheart, calling and texting me to see how I’m doing, how’s my car, and generally being a good guy. I know the reason for that could be him wanting to stay on my good side (since I put out and he likes my very naughty side), but in reality, he’s a really sweet guy who genuinely likes me as a person. So, because I am a sucker for sweeties (who happen to be cute and in great shape), yesterday I went grocery shopping to purchase all the ingredients to cook my famous manicotti.

I was planning on baking it for Guy as thanks for trying to help with the situation… I know how men feel about their food and am familiar with that old (yet true) cliché about the way to a man’s heart, but hell, I also just wanted an excuse to spend more time with him. My manicotti takes at least an hour to cook so I picked up a variety of cheeses and crackers, strawberries and blueberries for an appetizer. I ended up preparing the entire dish at home (excluding the baking) and bringing it to his place. Unfortunately, I had forgotten the crackers at home so we went out, very casually, and bought more. I mention this because that simple action was TORTURE for me – it gets very difficult to control yourself, your hands, and your mouth when your body temperature goes up and you have certain thoughts racing through your head before you even arrive at his place.
Upon finally returning to his place, we watched a bit of television and ate the manicotti – delicious as usual (though more torture). In fact, Guy is such a gentleman that he didn’t initiate anything for the first half of the evening. He told me that I’d have to be in charge of that…

No problem!

The man is smoking hot. Tall (6′1″), blond, and still in a-mazing shape from his NHL days. I may have mentioned before that he was a hockey player… What I meant was National. Hockey. League. Professional hockey. Hello! And let’s just say he’s most definitely not lacking anywhere else either. Long, firm, broad and solid. Like a brick wall – or a good right winger. The epitome of oh-my-goodness. Maybe not as big as Irish (who is?), but a very very close second.

Most of the time was spent closely examining his (ehem) muscles, yea.. muscles…, and heating up his leather couch. Despite being a sweetheart (on the outside), the man has an extremely wicked and wide naughty streak – enough to match me, which I found both intriguing and impressive. And worthy of thorough testing and re-testing. Needless to say, we didn’t quite make it back into his bedroom until it was time to sleep, where we promptly passed out from lack of energy (a good night).

It must have been the spent energy, because I slept pretty well with him. He even warmed up a banana nut muffin in the morning for me (literally). In exchange, I left him some of my delicious manicotti to eat later. I’m hoping I’ll get to see him again soon since he is quite delicious and enjoyable, in more ways than one. Food, sex, and breakfast… does it get better than that?

-Amalie Paris

And don’t forget to follow me @AmalieParis on Twitter so we can chat it up

I Knew I Wore A Dress For A Reason!

Kay has persuaded me that I need to wear dresses more often. It is pretty warm outside and I do have nice legs, so it didn’t take much convincing. However, she has entirely too many dresses and I have too few, so we were forced (twist my arm) to go shopping. I won’t bore you with the details, but later that night, I got to wear one of those fabulous new dresses, and holy crap, the attention it got! Kay was right!

Our original plans were to find a sugar daddy. I had decided Kay deserved one just as much as I did, so we hit a more upscale bar in a neighboring city. But first things first – we were hungry, and no one gets between my food and me. At some point, a few super cute friends of mine meandered into the bar, so they got some hugs, some conversation, and an introduction to Kay, my cohort in crime. As they headed out, they invited us to meet them later at a club.

As it tends to do, my attention wandered and I noticed a foursome across the bar from us (it was pretty empty otherwise). They were older guys, ranging from 40-something to mid-50s, but the one on my left caught my eye. He was cute with a European face, but never smiled. I had my mark. I finished my soup and wandered over there; by that time, my short skirt, long legs, and high heels had already gotten his attention.

I opened with, “You look pretty European, and I was wondering if you had an accent.” Well, confident girls get away with awful opening lines like that, so it actually worked. He responded, and yes, he had an accent, but it was a strong Canadian one (!)… I told him I had been watching him and wanted to know why he didn’t ever smile. He had noticed me watching someone in his direction, but hadn’t actually thought I was looking at HIM (he apparently did not realize there was a brick wall behind him). He also hadn’t realized he hadn’t smiled all night. That soon changed.

We chatted more (partially because he was a good conversationalist; partially because I love Canadians and their accents; and partially because he was pretty darn cute). I noticed his buddy had a mullet and a big, flashy Stanley Cup ring on his pinky. My suspicions were aroused. That could only mean one thing. Intrigued, I asked about it. Ah ha! The European face with the Canadian accent now makes perfect sense… Hockey Guy and I ended up swapping digits before we both headed out, and he promised he’d call. The night was already exceeding expectations!

Kay and I ended up heading over to the exclusive club to meet my friends. We got drinks, hung out with the guys, danced up a storm, showed off our dresses and our legs — it was entirely too much fun. Kay and I conversed with different men, swapped, and talked more. Toward the end of the evening, I made my selection: Charlie Brown. He was tall, cute, and had that really short brush-cut that makes you want to run your hands, back and forth, over his scruffy hair.

Sitting in our shadowed corner booth, Charlie and I stopped talking and started making out. It heated up very quickly and his hands started to wander south. I didn’t stop him – I couldn’t… He whispered suggestions softly into my ear and we took off, practically running and laughing into the parking lot, where I was given the opportunity to cross off, not just one, but two requirements from my Bucket List (in one swell foop): (1) A one-night stand — my first ever; and (2) sex in a car.

I’ve never had sex in a car. I’ve given head in a car… while the guy was driving. I’ve been fingered and licked and gifted several ‘cookies’ in a car. But I’ve never had official sexual intercourse in a vehicle. It is an experience, but one I advise should be done in a Jeep (do a commercial for that!).

With regards to logistics: Charlie and I were in the back seat of one of the larger-model Jeeps. He had moved the front seats forward to give us more space (very thoughtful) and came back for me. The back seats are pretty deep, and he might’ve put the back of the seat down, though admittedly, I had other things on my mind and I don’t remember. All I know is that I was on the bottom, he was on the top, and dresses provide easy access for both parties’ enjoyment.

Delight and gratification ensued.

It was that hot, frenzied type of sex that follows those long, smoky looks and wandering hands; the immediate attraction that excites and boils your blood until you’re grateful for the cooler night weather and wind to cool you off and slow down your motor afterwards; when you look back at the windows after being physically satiated and they are fogged up by the temperature, intensity, and passion just shared that can only be produced by the basest of sheer animal attractions…  I am getting wet just remembering it.

I felt very satisfied and very naughty pulling my dress back down when we were finished, but also very content with that little Cheshire grin on my face. Then again, feeling naughty is one of the best feelings ever.

-Amalie Paris

Got a question for me?  Wanna chat?  Find me over on Twitter at @AmalieParis

G-d Bless The Irish

I keep adding to my Excel spreadsheet (it ended up being a really good idea)… Everyone likes variety!

Guy #5: Irish. Irish has been a friend of mine for quite a few months now. He is extremely easy to speak to, smart, sweet, and funny. I’ve always thought he was really cute, and to top it off (for me), he’s got short, spiky blond hair and these gorgeous green eyes. At the beginning, we would flirt lightly with each other and have serious conversations at coffeehouses, but one night I got bold (after thinking about him in some very particularly wicked ways). When he asked me if we were going to hang out soon and what I wanted to do, I responded…

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My Weekend at the Splay-ground (cont.)

So far my crazy fuckblur of a weekend (or lack thereof) was a disenchanting mess, but tonight was an opportunity to save it – my night with my good friend Joe. We had quite the schedule set for the evening: quiet and funny conversation over some delicious thai food for dinner (where we argued about politics and the legal system), appreciating and admiring really nifty old cars at a show, and promptly returning to his house and fucking on his couch.

Like me, he takes pleasure very sincerely, and takes even greater pride in his listening, relaxing, and cunning lingual abilities. He knows where I carry my stress and addresses it. I can, and will, vouch for his talents – they are well-placed and earned. Read more

My Weekend at the Splay-ground (cont.)

Part II (Sunday)

The frustrating and disappointing evening with JE slowly led to his demise and relegation to ‘friend’ status – if that. I am well aware that he only stayed in touch with me the year prior because of the opportunity to get in my pants, so I really don’t expect to hear from him much now (which is fine with me since I actually want a connection with my partner). But after that evening, I needed a little pick-me-up and a lot of satisfaction. So last night, I went out with Israeli Daniel. I had met Daniel through some friends, and while I had not been immediately attracted to him, certain things he said with sincerity, had turned the tide in his favor. That, and he was one of the few white guys I had ever met who could dance. Read more

My Weekend at the Splay-ground

Part I (Saturday)

After spending Saturday night with James Earl watching boxing, drinking good wine, and fucking, I slept at his place until 6:00am. At that time I insisted I had to go home. I’m pretty glad that he wasn’t at my place – it would have been a bit more challenging kicking him out. A benefit of sleeping at a guy’s place is that you can leave whenever you want, and I couldn’t leave fast enough. I wasn’t sleeping well there (I sleep poorly to begin with, but this was ridiculous), and there was just something off about the whole thing (red flag).

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My Men… For Now

My social experiment should prove to be very interesting, provided I can keep it up! I am starting to realize just how much energy this will take (5-hour EnergyÔ drinks are now my friend), but I feel I am confident and emotionally prepared.

Each of the men with whom I am spending time is aware that I am not looking for a relationship (up-front conversations about that are mandatory). In ‘manspeak,’ that means I am looking only for a good lay, and in all honesty, they are right. However, it’s not quite that simple. I am not simply looking for a “one-night” stand… I am looking for a maintainable one (should they meet my standards). I will NOT waste my time with someone if he is not a physical match for me. I will NOT waste my time if I cannot have an intelligent conversation with him either (I’m not a dentist – I refuse to pull teeth). I’m a smart girl – if I feel like I’m killing my brain cells communicating with you, it’s over. Additionally, I want to learn from these relationships – the icing is important, but the cake is too.

Thus far, each of my men is fulfilling a different substantive need for me. To help distinguish them, I will give them each a pseudonym (that, and it’s simply unfair to the men to use their real names).

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In continuation from last week…

Amalie’s Rules

1. You get what you demand….

A.     I am a taller woman (5’9”) and I want to feel lady-like, so I need a taller man. 6’0” and up (unless you really impress me and then you can get away with being only slightly taller than me). I want to be able to wear my heels and still be shorter than my man.

B.     I am a runner. I have completed numerous races including 5Ks, 10Ks, and a marathon. I need a man who takes care of himself physically, who knows how to eat properly and healthily, and who can keep up with me.

C.     I am a professional. A man who wants to be with me has to earn his own money and must not rely on me to bring in the proverbial bacon.

D.    For the most part, I am incredibly sweet and giving. But in general, I am intelligent, confident, sassy, and a handful. The man MUST be able to keep up with me, both verbally and physically.

E.     The interested man must never unfairly judge my friends or me. That is the quickest way to have me stop associating or talking to you.

F.      I need a man who is hot and confident, but not an asshole or a pretty boy. You can know you’re a good-looking guy; don’t let it go to your head and act like you’re G-d’s gift to the planet. There is always someone prettier, funnier, and better than you.

G.    Honesty goes a long way.

H.    I am an intelligent girl. I like having intelligent conversations. Physical attraction and performance is very important, but I can’t feel like I’m losing brain cells speaking with you.

I.       At heart, I am a traditionalist. That means, gentlemen, that you:

1.       Open doors for me and help me put my coat on;

2.      Do not swear excessively around me (unless we’re attending or watching a sports event);

3.       Pay for meals and movie tickets;

4.      Do not allow me to see the bill when you pay it (or ask me what the 20% tip should be; I can do math); and

5.       Must have decent grammar so that I am not correcting you (in my head, or aloud if you piss me off);

6.        I can change the rules whenever it suits me, but in general, the above will stick.

Note: Do not assume anything about me based on the above. I will still bend and/or break any or all the rules when necessary, and will enjoy doing so… Making assumptions will end the night. Very quickly. And not in a good way.

-Amalie Paris

Follow me on Twitter and lets discuss love, dating, and my journey as a recovering serial monogamist – @AmalieParis

Introduction to the “Social Experiment”

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Amalie Paris, and I am a licensed attorney (full-time), and part-time model, actress, writer, and all around artist. I am also a former serial monogamist (with admittedly poor choices). They say that once you identify a problem, you can solve it – so here goes:

Until recently, I have gone from one serious, committed, long-term relationship to another. My first started at the age of sixteen and went for over eight years. My second lasted over five years. These relationships truly should not have dragged out –half-dead- for as long as they did, but in my youth and serious naiveté, I thought things would change – that people (ehem, the boys) could change and that, most importantly, they wanted to change (also, I must now admit, the sex was pretty fucking good).

What I have finally learned, through a serious of unfortunate circumstances, is that I simply cannot transform the person I am dating into what I think I want, nor should I change whom I am in order to make the relationship work.

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