Vickiepedia

Semester over but still feeling very bleh and single as hell, I knew there’s only one thing that could spice up the day: self + trusties + endorphin + dopamine + oxytocin + prolactin + etc. (that’s my euphemism for masturbation to orgasm, guys).

And so, whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (that’s the noise of my vibrator, guys).

And then… instead of sexy thoughts and the Big O, I suddenly remembered this.

I suppose laughing also works…

Note to Self:

Remember to remove all batteries from all toys after using them, especially the ultra quiet ones, even when you’re sure you already switched them off. Stop telling people you’re jealous of the air being vibrated all night. That’s just freaky. Also make sure you always have spare batteries. Don’t bang your head against the wall when you don’t. That doesn’t help.

P.S. You forgot to introduce Trusties #4, 5 and 6 to people, so I shall do it for you:

… Oh my goodness. You brought the camcorder USB cord over here instead of the one for your digital camera. You bloody idiot!

Aside from the grumpiness, and the bloatedness, and the boob-tenderness, and the decreased concentration, and the food-craving, and the muscle aches, and the backaches, and the bad skin, and the general fatigue, and sometimes the diarrhoea, my PMS isn’t actually that bad.

Okay, maybe it is kind of bad; but on the plus side, the dream fairy is generally especially nice to me during those days, too. Guess who just had hardcore sex with her most favourite game character in a dream last night? *snickers*

Although funnily enough, I’ve always been a male in my wet dreams. I’m not sure what it could possibly symbolise. That I secretly crave for straight sex? That I actually want to be a man? That I feel that’s the only way I could satisfy my ladies in the dreams? That there’s an unknown male version of me somewhere in the universe? Heh, maybe not the last one.

Whichever way, can’t argue with the fairy. Am content. *goes back to reminisce dream*

(I think I humped the pillow, but I try not to visualise.)

I just watched a soundless video of the last stages of a woman giving birth found from one of my ex-classmates’ Xanga. My reactions ranged from “oh my gosh that’s amazing”, to the sudden urge to give my mother a big hug, to a weird, weird thought: “Hmm, if I should ever want a baby… I better start loosening things up.” *eyes Trusty #3 who could even be bigger* Damn, I don’t know why everything reminds me of sex.

Now that I got the weird thought out of my head, I have a less weird and completely unrelated confession to make.

I… I have a fetish.

It’s strange. The typically bold and unblushing Vickie who enjoys sharing sex and masturbation stories (in real life alike) would feel uncomfortable confessing to having a fetish. It isn’t even anything remotely like a scat fetish, or blood fetish, or necrophilia, or bestiality, or incest. It isn’t even anything illegal. It’s… just…

I’ve had this fetish ever since I could remember, at as early as the tender age of, what, 6 or 7. Just back then I didn’t know that the word “fetish” existed, didn’t know that was considered a fetish, and wasn’t even bothered about my mixed feelings when I came across that kind of “situation”. It’s funny how things become so much more complicated as you grow older.

You’d think this is exactly the thing to share with your sex buddy… I doubt if my ex-girlfriend knew any of it. I doubt if I’d have the courage to even hint about it to my next partner (if applicable). Yet, with this fetish, I’ll need the help from a partner. Oowrrgh…

But at least I know I’m indeed not alone; bless the Internet for multiple reasons.

No, I’m not telling. Yet.

Oh Em Eff Gee! No, no, I’m indeed not dead. In fact, the lazy arse actually managed to find a decent temporary job while waiting for her next university life to commence (hopefully) in February. You see, there’s so much to write about everything, I simply couldn’t decide on one topic to babble on about. I rolled a dice; now I shall present whoever still visits with yet another embarrassing story in everybody’s favourite category (woohoo?).

As everybody already knows, I do it solo all night every night. Literally. Well, sort of. Aaanyway, since I’m not really as open and selfish as people thought I am, I always keep everything down — especially considering that I still live with my parents, and the brother’s room is just next to mine.

So then there was this weekend that Bro and I decided to play an old and out(?) game called Beat Mania on the PlayStation together. We played through every single song once, until this song called “Do It All Night” popped up. We’ve played the song so many times over the years.

“It’s so your song,” Bro commented suddenly while the song was loading. “You do it all night.”

Speechless, I sat there, not sure whether to laugh or blush or argue or deny. “Caught ya!” I could almost hear my brother say. It’s not that people don’t already know what I do all the time, but to be “confronted” like that after so many nights… Gosh, perhaps he’s been waiting for this chance to tell me that he knew when I’d been doing it all along.

I headed back to my room after supper and took trusty vibrator #2 out. Now that I think about it, Trusty #2 is actually rather loud even when it wasn’t on full power. It must be her that Bro knew. It had to be.

I looked at the vibrator one last time: it’s rather worn out being used so frequently for almost 4 years. See, that little piece was kind of falling out, the other side wouldn’t start sometimes and I almost had to kick it to get it working, and the batteries always choose the best time to die…

I giggled at the thought despite myself; considered chucking the vibrator in the bin for a moment but decided against it. Perhaps. Perhaps she’d be useful again one day.

“It’s been fun, Trusty #2, really,” I told her as I gently placed her back to where she always rested. “Rest in peace, darling. I’ll miss you.”

But oh, this can’t possibly be the end of Vickie’s fun nightlife. What is it you say you see Vickie has in her hands? That’s right! Trusty vibrator #3: bigger, better and much quieter.

Heh heh.