Dear Mr. X,
I want you! I want you! I want you! I feel like one of those dolls with a string you pull, those dolls that say something every time. Me I just say “I want you!”, and then the string probably gets me stripping and makes my legs fly wide open. I am that kind of doll, which I guess you could call a sex doll.
So thanks to you I had a big adventure. Last Thursday night I went out to my favorite bar with a gay friend of mine. You can probably guess where, but every Thursday night is ladies’ night there, and shots are free. We go most Thursday nights, sometimes with a bigger group. We dance and get a little intoxicated, and sometimes somebody picks me up, or I pick up somebody, and either we rent a room in the hotel upstairs or we go back to my place or his. I have had some crazy encounters in there. One time a man took me up to a room where his wife was naked in bed watching television and waiting for us. They kept calling me “Cristal” even though the man knew my name was Mona. Anyway, that is another story and if you ever meet me in a bar do NOT call me Cristal (not that it was boring, but twice is boring, and I would never want you to bore me).
I don’t usually have to use a pickup line on these Thursday nights (I dress and they drool, baby!), but when I see a really yummy man I will sometimes go over and ask if he is gay. It is the perfect pickup line. Either he wants to prove to you that he is not gay, or he is actually gay (my friend went home with a man one night after I asked him this and he said Yes!). Also, if he does not laugh right away, or at least smile, you know he is an asshole.
Continue reading Mathematical Stripping: Mona’s response to her Pick-up Experiment
Dear Fearless Flirter,
One of the interesting effects of anonymously giving your hot wife sexual dares (over which you both privately obsess), is that the thrill often sends your libidos off the charts, and then neither of us officially has any clue as to why the other is so hot to strip. We’re living private adventures, which is thrilling, but they’re really the same adventure. And the hotter those private adventures get, the more extravagant we are in the bedroom. All of which seems to be leading us towards some cataclysmic fuck as apocalyptic as the Bomb in a science fiction movie.
Dear Mr. X,
Dear Sultry Shaven Seductress,
A few days after 
Dear Mr. X,
Party Girl,
Daring Mona is unlike daring my wife. It is unlike daring other women on this site, who take their cues from my wife’s e-mails, perhaps, and invariably respond with paragraph after paragraph of elegant prose. I hoped that that this blog would give me hope for human sexuality in the year 2011. Surprisingly, it has also given me hope for English grammar.
I have admittedly been spending a good portion of time fondly recalling images of