I Am Not A Duck

One of the habits that I’ve noticed I have is to get into intimate sexual conversations with people. Not the kind that sound like, “Stick it here,” and “How big is it?” More along the lines of “You were how old when you lost your virginity?” and “So, does you wife/ girlfriend enjoy administering blow jobs?”

I believe this stems from the fact that when I was growing up, sex was a taboo subject that was not to be discussed, unless it was whispered about behind hands after the Baptists of my church had lost another virgin to the throes of exstasy. I have since unintentionally made it my business to get people’s opinions on the subject.

While I am in no way embarrassed by my choices in conversation, I have never really considered how those choices have swayed people’s opinions of me. That is, not until the other night after the Anal Conversation I had with Buddha.

I refer to my coworker as Buddha simply because his shapely figure resembles that of the religious guru every time I look at him. Buddha is happily (he says) married, and loves his wife immensely, has a preference for large women with big jugs, and is intuitive enough to notice by my change in demeanor when I’m on the rag.

Buddha refers to himself as Asshole and Douche, however, unless he is in a pissy mood, I find working with his completely delightful. He knows   how    to  do his job, he will bs with me, and he has deemed me worthy of a nickname- Twinkie. While our topics of conversation have ranged from Magic the Gathering (this is where he makes his real money) to gossip about work, he has finally found the topic of sex to be as interesting as I find it. (Ok, that’s a stretch)

The other night, Buddha was going about his work and  grabbed the breadstick sauce while  stating, “I’m going to stick this in the back.” Being the easily-amused person that I am, I giggle and said, “Buddha, I’ve already done that. You are going to have to find some other girl’s ass to deflower.” (This is a typical sexually-explicit statement from me.)

Buddha rolled his eyes and said, “Ya know, Twinkie, I think you’re a duck.”

Of all the harsh and bitter terms I’ve been called in my life, a “duck” isn’t one of them. I asked him to explain.

“If it walks like a duck,” he said, “and it talks like a duck, then it must be a duck. You talk like a hoe, and from what you tell me, you act like a hoe, so you must be one.”

Coming from Buddha, this was not a surprising statement, and so I could not take umbridge at his observation. Instead, I laughed and tried to set the record straight.

“So, Buddha. You think because I talk about sex and have experienced many different things in the bedroom, that I am a hoe? To be clear, my ex-husband was the first man I had sex with, and I was with him for twelve years. It was not until the last year of my marriage that I experienced a cock other than his, which I suppose to some people makes me sound like I AM a hoe, since I was still married. There have been a few, but the only person I would have a problem telling exactly how many to would be my parents, since according to them, I should have been a virgin until I died.”

Buddha simply shrugged and said, “Ok, you’re not a duck. But you act like one.”

Perhaps. I thought about it and considered the collective army of creepies that have tried to pursue me and realized that there must be SOME reason they all thought they had a chance to get in my pants. (Ha. That rhymed.) Too, the fact that I type openly about sex on my blog may give some people, (or the entire world) the wrong idea. So be it. All I have to say is- it makes for good reading, doesn’t it?

As for the experience I have, I will be the first to admit that there are many MANY things I haven’t tried. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t if I had the chance. Maybe that’s what makes me a duck…