Archive for the sex Category

Post # 157 -Our Valentine’s Day Shooting of the Non-Murdering Kind…:) A.K.A. An Upcycled Valentine’s

Posted in art, blogging, BOOKS, Family, friends, humor, life, marriage, memoir, movies, nonfiction, people, relationships, sex, true stories, uncategoried with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 16, 2016 by tenaciousbitch

Below is a photo of the beautiful bouquet that my husband, Charlie, gave me for Valentine’s. We’ve been married 16, almost 17 years (and together for 19). Yet, he never ceases to surprise me. If you’d ask me ten years ago if I’d still be getting flowers for Valentine’s at this point in our relationship, I would’ve said – probably not. However, I’m happy to say, I was wrong…:)


He also got me a much-needed item, this gigantic paper cutter for my art projects and furniture upcycling and whatnot! 🙂


I know, right? Such an odd gift, but I was thrilled! I was trying to cut some wallpaper the other day to decoupage the table below, and never did get it straight.


I wrestled with the paper for over an hour. It just kept rolling and slipping no matter what I did. It still managed to wriggle/spring out of my grip after I taped it down with shipping tape. So, I gave up. I finally just cut it the best I could, which was still a little crooked and then sanded it until it appeared relatively straight.

That said, my Valentine’s Day gift to Charlie was as nontraditional as the paper cutter. You see, he requested that we exercise our constitutional right to bear arms on President’s Day, LOL (which was yesterday for those who live outside the U.S.).

We went to a local gun range with a couple of our friends and their 17-year-old daughter, Tiffany. I was surprised that Tiffany was interested. I wouldn’t have been at that age. Are you kidding? I would’ve been at the mall, the movies or at home nursing a hanngover, LOL.

As  far as our day shooting paper people and the like, Tiffany seemed a little embarrassed by her lackluster aim with Charlie’s pistol. But I reminded her that it was her FIRST time handling a gun, after all. And she did hit the target 3 or 4 times (better than my stats the first time out, but we’ll get to that in a sec…:)).

We burned through 100 rounds of ammo with Charlie’s new Hi Point pistol, and check out my quasi successful results on my last attempt to nail the bullseye.


Not too shabby for an old lady who hasn’t touched a gun in over a decade, n’est-ce pas? Unfortunately, I forgot to snap a pic of my best efforts where I hit the ring closest to the bullseye three times. I had put all the targets in the trash, and another gun enthusiast, whom I will refer to as Mr. Special Forces who had the build and swagger of a soldier. He spilled a bottle of coffee on it 20 seconds before I thought about photographing my target.

I didn’t do as well on very last round because the grip had kind of bruised the side of my hand, from the action of the pistol – because I wasn’t holding the gun tight enough initially. But anyway….

You’re not supposed to have food or drink at the range. But Mr. Special Forces plucked his Starbucks out of his backpack and dumped it as he was leaving. An employee reprimanded him for it. He apologized, but it was too late to immortalize my most-shredded paper perp, so to speak. Ah, well, lesson learned…:)

While I didn’t hit the bullseye, I did much better than my last venture at the outdoor range when I barely hit the target ONCE out of 20 rounds or so. The best I did was barely striking the top edge, lol. In fact, the best shot merely grazed the head of the target and made a moon-shaped gouge in the top of the target’s noggin.

However, my expertise was definitely NOT as good as Mr. Special Forces…check out the photo below…


He pretty much decimated his poster proxy of a man’s torso (EEK)i.e. the target to the right of mine. Remind me to never snag his parking space.

Anywho…t’was big fun, and now I’m thinking I might want this lovely Ruger for Mother’s Day.

So appropro, is it not since purple is my favorite color?

Though it might seem like an odd Valentine’s Day gift, one romantic caveat occurred while at the range…Charlie said I looked very sexy blasting away with his weapon.

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

“You got the target.”

I replied with a shrug, not feeling particularly proud. 

Typical Charlie though. Does he get all hot and bothered when I’m wearing a little black dress? No, he gets all randy when I’m trying to bust a cap into a cardboard criminal in a noisy room full of strangers! 🙂

I guess we’re kind of like an 80s band in the romance department, LOL.

Get it?




Okay, so maybe that was funnier in my head. If you knew my husband, however, you’d know that was definitely a joke of the Charlie persuasion. He’s always spouting dumb zingers like that with a dorky play on words.

All righty then…time for something completely different…

Hope you all had a wonderful Valentine’s and are experiencing a fantastic Tuesday…or at least not a horrible one.


Tenacious Bitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies.




Post #142 – Jim was just hanging out of what?

Posted in college, dating, Family, family drama, friends, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, true stories, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 11, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

The night I met Jim (Thompson – see my previous post –,

I was waiting tables at the Monarch Cafe in Huntington, West Virginia, when I was going to Marshall University in 1985. I was carrying a tray full of cocktails and a pitcher of beer when a man behind me called out, “Yo, babe with the legs, would you bring me a beer?”

I turned around to see Jim sitting along a row of benches in the pool room with a couple of his friends (who exactly, I don’t remember). He had this big, goofy grin widening across his face, and he was waving at me as if he knew me. Not the quote I would’ve volunteered to my grandchildren about my first encounter with my future husband…:), but I was only 19 years old! He kinda had me at YO BABE (ugh my feminist alter ego YELLS).

I went over and took their order. Later, I caught sight of a couple 8 x 10 black and white photographs on the table. As I walked over to see if he and his friends wanted another round of beer, I noticed one of the photos was of a quarry from a rather high altitude. I recognized it, but I wasn’t sure why.

“You like the photo?” Jim asked, those bedroom blue eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, and it looks really familiar,” I replied. “Where is that?”

“It’s in Ashland by the refinery,” he answered. “Ever been there?”

“Many times,” I said, smiling. “My Dad works at Ashland Oil.”

“Really? So do I. What’s your Dad’s name?”

I told him, and then I asked, “Do you work in the plant?”

“No, I’m a photographer. My Dad was a photographer there too, and he got me the job.”

“Oh, cool. So, how’d you get that picture? Did you go up in one of the towers?” I asked, meaning one of the cooling towers in Ashland’s refinery (where they make gasoline and other petroleum products).

“No, I didn’t like the angle from the cooling towers, so I went up in the company helicopter.”

“That sounds like fun. And it must’ve been challenging to get the photo since the only window surrounds the pilot.”

“The propellers obstructed my view from the co-pilot’s seat, so I laid down on the floor and had Troy hold my ankles as I hung out of the helicopter for a minute or two while I snapped away.”

“Oh, my God!” I shrieked laughing. “Who’s Troy?”

“An intern in the PR department. Should’ve seen his face when I was done, white as a damned sheet,” Jim said laughing.

“No safety harness of any kind?” I asked.

“Now, that would’ve been a good idea, but I didn’t think to ask for one,” Jim said, laughing. “And they probably didn’t have one anyway. I doubt the executives at Ashland Oil would wanna hang out of the helicopter.”

“Probably not. Well, I need to get back to work. You guys need anything else?”

“Just your phone number,” Jim said smiling.

“I’m dating someone,” I said.

“I don’t care,” Jim replied boldly with his most auspicious fuck the world attitude.

I laughed and later I gave him my phone number, and we started going out. Frankie, my boyfriend at the time, was out of town at a music festival with a couple of his friends, and things weren’t going well between us before he left anyway.

On our third date, Jim told me loved me, and we were inseparable for the next 3 years…except for the night Frankie returned.

With tears in my eyes, I broke up with Frankie, who said. “I don’t blame you” because we had a lot of serious issues in our relationship (like the fact we’d been dating for 6 months and had never had sex, but that’s another post itself). Frankie’s lack of anger and such made me feel all the worse. And he moved out that night.

That said, for those who knew James David Thompson, Jr, I’m sure you’re not surprised to learn that I fell for a guy who seemed absolutely fearless, and the hanging out of the helicopter incident kinda put him in the realm of Indiana Jones or Tony Stark on a small town scale…

But we were very young, and things didn’t work out. We divorced in 1988, and I’ve been happily remarried to Charlie since 2000. While Charlie hasn’t hung out of any helicopters, he’s been known to impersonate a Tesla Coil on occasion (hence his nickname – SPARKY), and he’s an Olympic cutter, who could cut himself in a room full of cotton! 🙂  And he’s always there when I need him…:)

~Tenacious Bitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies


Tenacious Bitch © 2014

Post #130 – The Sterling Stalker

Posted in dating, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, thrillers, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 2, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

A friend of mine calls me a psycho magnet because I often found myself in peculiar circumstances/relationships with men before I met my husband, Charlie, and this event with Sterling is no exception.

In fall of 1989, I decided to move from Brooklyn, New York, to Los Angeles with my then boyfriend, Ashe (now deceased ex-husband mentioned in ). Shortly after Ashe graduated from sound engineering school, he got a job on the Rolling Stones tour.

Unfortunately, four months later, Ashe brought home a new BFF, her majestycocaine. Our relationship imploded, and I was a single Mom again with a 3-year-old Tim in tow. Sigh…

I got a job working as an admin assistant at a computer sales company. While attending a trade show in Santa Monica, a handsome man swaggered over to my table at lunch. “I’ll trade you a bit for your byte?” He asked with a beguiling grin.

I stared at him, confused. Then, I noticed the trade show badge pinned to his shirtand it hit me — a joke about the PC biz…how charming. However, since he was a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed babe, I laughed…while admiring his thick-muscled arms…

“Hi, I’m Sterling,” Mr. Hottie said, extending his hand. “I’m at IBM.”

With a polite handshake and cool smile, I replied, “Kennedy, Kennedy Smith.”

After an awkward pause, the usual pleasantries evolved into a conversation cultivated via common ground. We both liked cooking ethnic meals from scratch, sci-fi books and movies, and both of us wanted to own motorcycles.  But neither of us had the cash to satisfy that yearning at the time.

A dozen dates later, I started to feel that flutter preceding those three little words that will kill or cement any liaison, but quick. However, since Sterling was likely a rebound beau, I refrained from verbalizing said “L” word. Thank God because…

Five minutes after our first blissful romp between the sheets, Sterling had a lengthy discourse with someone named Clair on the phone. I was half asleep, and even though his timing was odd, I assumed by his verbiage, he was chatting with his assistant…or maybe, his sister until…

“Love you, too.” And the cooing timbre of that phrase was definitely not the way one speaks to a sibling…

“Who was that?” I snapped.

“My wife,” he said.

“What? I’m sorry. Did you say wife?”

“Yes, Clair, my wife of six years.”

“You goddamned piece of shit!” I yelled, wanting to kick the short and curlies right off his fucking balls. “You’re  married, you filthy bag of dick?”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“Oh, right, so that makes it okay. How could you call your wife, five seconds after you fucked another woman?”

A wide grin slithered across his face, “Cuz, it turns me on,” he said, rolling over on me and planting a succulent kiss on my neck.

“Get off me!” I hollered, shoving him sideways. I leapt out of bed and slipped into my robe. “And get the fuck out of my house!”

“Come on, you knew.”

“How could I know? You never mentioned a wife, you lame-assed cock, and you’re not wearing a ring!!”

“A guy like me, single at 30? C’mon?? What’re the odds?” he scoffed.

“GET OUT!” I screamed, so relieved that Tim (my son) was asleep at the neighbor’s next door – because he’d taken a liking to Sterling, the wanking prick.

But Sterling didn’t move. “C’mon, this is 1989. Monogamy’s dead, especially in Hollywood.”

“We live in the Valley, and we’re not celebrities, you arrogant bastard-” I shouted while dialing the phone.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Only 911,” I snickered.

Finally, that prompted his departure, but not without trying to kiss me goodbye. Instead, I gave him a sweet caress of very sharp, red nails…even drew a little blood.

The next day, Sterling called me at work. I immediately hung up on him, but that didn’t deter the cheating lout. Not two hours later, Kiki, the receptionist, strutted over with a dozen roses in a crystal vase.

“Wow, someone’s got a sweetie,” said the dull-eyed Kiki, setting the flowers on my desk.

FUCK! I glanced at the card:

 I miss you, beautiful. 
Please forgive me. 
Just say the word and I’ll file 
Love, Sterling

I dumped the roses in my trashcan, and I wanted to throw the vase at the wall, but I couldn’t exactly afford to lose my job.

And just when I started to relax a few days later, my hands turned cold, and my heart dashed about painfully in my chest…when a bottle of Dom Perignon appeared on my kitchen counter. A card bearing my name beside it.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Tim asked, tugging at my quivering hand.

“Nothing, honey,” I said with a weak smile, trying desperately to shield him from the terror evoked by this seemingly innocent bottle of bubbly. “You go on and watch cartoons while I, uh, make dinner. Okay?”


My beautiful blue-eyed boy toddled into the living room as I tried to collect myself. I glared at the card for a second. Then, like an idiot, I opened it:

I love you. I can’t 
stand being apart.
Please call me.
Love, Always

“Shit…” I mumbled, leaning on the counter to steady myself. I raced to the front door and dropped to my knees. I didn’t see any marks on the door or the doorknob, and that was the only entrance to my tiny one-bedroom apartment. I checked all the windows, which were still locked.

I called the police, and two patrolmen showed up an hour later. Tim, of course, was fascinated by their badges and their guns.

“Please, can I see it, Officer, your -?” Tim pleaded from the doorway, pointing to the shorter Officer’s pistol.

“No, Tim,” I scolded. “Go watch TV in the bedroom, please.”

Frowning, he slumped away.

“I’m sorry, but,” said Officer Denton, the older of the two lawmen, “There’s really nothing we can do.”

“But he broke in!”

“There’s no sign of forced entry, and that card isn’t…it doesn’t constitute a threat-”

“I don’t understand! He doesn’t have a key!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I suggest you move.”

“But my lease isn’t up for seven months.”

With that, the nightmare with the STERLING STALKER was just beginning…

And what made me think of this creep after all these years? Yep…you got it? Another…do you know –

Sterling XXXXXXX

On Facebook. And Sterling, apparently, has 3 friends in common with me who still live in L.A.  Holy Shitballs, Batman…and these are not folks I knew when I lived in Cali…they’re folks I’ve met at seminars and such…

If you’d like to read the conclusion to this story, it will be one of the chapters in my upcoming book, Tales from the Lunatic Lounge, which I hope to finish in the next month or so! 🙂


Post #109 – How Karma Bitch-Slapped the Philanderer…without kiting any CHECKS…:)

Posted in courtroom drama, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, true crime, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 21, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

So, AFTER the initial batch of checks that Eli bounced, mentioned previously, I received a seemingly endless slew of notices announcing more ATM withdrawals/checks against our now HOLLOW joint account from him using the WRONG ATM card. The final total was $984.

However, my lawyer, Blaine Lexington, drew up a very reasonable settlement agreement requiring Eli PAY for his additional bounced checks/charges, and in exchange, I wouldn’t ask for alimony. Since he’d cheated on me, and he had no children to support, I had an excellent chance of getting alimony.

Apparently, Eli laughed at this proposal, to his detriment, I might add. You see, Eli, being the cheap bastard that he is, hired Lily Murano, who represented his employer in business matters. And Lily had NEVER handled a divorce before, LOL.

On the other hand, Blaine is the BEST divorce attorney in the state of Ohio, who charged $1500 for an uncontested divorce but I only paid $1100. Why? Well, Blaine’s wife, Felicia, is a friend of mine. We met at a paralegal seminar back in the late 80s.  And Blaine allowed me to do a lot of the legwork on the divorce to help defray the cost as well. In fact, I drafted part of the settlement agreement…:)

And, truth be known, Eli actually owed me a lot more than $984. About a month before we moved to Ohio, he asked if he could use my Visa to open an Internet account with America Online, just to use the free 800 hours.

He didn’t have a Visa because he SAID his ex-wife went uber psycho during the divorce (wonder why :)?) and opened a Mastercard in HIS name and ran up more than $5,000 in purchases, a scant $2,000 over the limit within A WEEK, allegedly ruining his credit, and his Visa got cancelled because of his plummeting credit score. And now all he had was a Sears card.

“If it’s free, why do you need my Visa?” I asked.

“To validate my identity.  You know, people would take advantage otherwise, and then AOL wouldn’t be able to collect any money or even know who to bill without a credit card. After all, I could make up any name as my email address.”

I nodded. “As long as you cancel it the SECOND the trial is over.”


He was my husband. Why wouldn’t I trust him?

Two months later, he’d added $449 on my Visa bill from using AOL!! Back then, in 1995, AOL charged $3.99 per HALF hour for Internet service after the free trial ended.

However, Eli didn’t bother to cancel after the free trial because he was too busy chatting with other WOMEN and downloading PORN all day long on weekends and such on my FUCKING DIME.

I wondered why he so-loved AOL. I knew he was playing vampire role-playing games sometimes because he would talk about the plot lines sometimes.  But since he worked nights, and I worked days, I had no idea just HOW MUCH time he’d spent online until it was too late.

However, after I found out he’d cheated on me (re: ), I SNOOPED on his PC, and not only did I find a cyber-sex conversation with Wolfbitch296, he’d saved on a Word file, but there were HUNDREDS of photos of naked women in leather masks who were shackled to a wall or, perhaps, secured with rope. Some were in elaborate costumes, save their large breasts tumbling out of what looked like PORT HOLES in body armor.

Some were on leashes on all fours. It was all rather disturbing, and I had NO CLUE that he would prematurely go WET, if you will, if I had slipped on some leather and assumed the position as the family pet. I would’ve laughed my ass off at the mere hint of anything like that because I’m not the least bit submissive. A lot of people are into that sort of thing, but it’s just not for me.

Though I cancelled his AOL account immediately, the bills just kept pouring in. And I destroyed half a dozen dishes/glasses and an ugly lamp lobbing one or the other at Eli’s head every time I exploded on him after opening yet another BLOATED Visa bill for 3/4 months. All tolled, the balance crested at $1100 over the limit because of the interest, late fees, and over-the-limit fees. He paid the MINIMUM payments until we split up, but after that, he paid ZIPPO because I allegedly charged more than that on his Sears card.

That was such bullshit. First of all, I, MYSELF, never charged one fucking cent on his Sears card, much less anything without permission. He offered to pay for new tile and new paint for my kitchen because my tile was 20 years old. He OFFERED to buy a new water heater on his Sears card when mine went kaput, so we could use my tax refund for our honeymoon. All of which was HIS idea. But the total on his Sears card was less than $1,000, so he didn’t even bother with that in court.

“It would cause an undue burden on your wife to pay the taxes on her home in West Virginia plus all the debut incurred during the marriage,” said Judge Bickely, a very attractive black woman in her 40s. “Therefore, I’m granting the Plaintiff’s Motion for Support, requiring that you pay the $1122 requested by the apartment community in unpaid rent after you relocated as well as-”

“Your honor, this will cause my client undue financial stress as well,” Ms. Murano objected.

“But your client broke the marriage vows twice, once by cheating, once by abandoning his wife in an apartment she couldn’t afford. Therefore, Mr. Costanza, you can agree to your wife’s terms, or pay $1,000 per month in alimony until she remarries. Your choice,” Judge Bickel said.

Eli glared sideways at me, then at his attorney. With a sigh, he accepted defeat and finally agreed to my demands.

In the end, because Eli refused to cover his $984 in bounced checks, he paid more than $5,000 over 28 months. DUMB ASS…should’ve taken the offer behind Door #1. If he hadn’t accepted the settlement, however, alimony would’ve cost around $40,000 by the time Charlie and I got married in 2000.  I just love when the justice system actually WORKS, don’t you?

T’was all she wrote, ladies n gents, cuz the fat lady’s singing! And singing pretty. And I hadn’t thought about Eli for a decade until seeing his SURLY self on Facebook (mentioned in my last post).

Over and out from fracked up central,

Tenacious BITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies…:)

© Tenacious Bitch 2013

Post #97 – A shocking poem about a bad time in my life…

Posted in dating, humor, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, poetry, relationships, sex, true crime, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 21, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

Okay, so some of my favorite bloggers have begun posting poems. I haven’t written any poetry in awhile, but here’s one that is INTENSE…to say the least…:)


Came home and found your fat ass
surrounded by dirty diapers and trash
What did you say, you didn’t have time?
And you’re doing nothin’ on my dime?
the rage boiled black and hot like tree sap
on a blistering summer’s day…until…
I chucked a knife right at your head
pummeling into our thick paneling
With a viciously loud thud and dread
missed you, dear man, by less than a thread
And you laughed like some love-damaged calf
tossed you to the curb, and who is it that laughs …now?
back again 2 weeks later sniffing around
With your tired yet romantic verbiage
I should be beaten for slipping back into your GARBAGE?
But lonely and brainless, I let you in like some stray dog
burying my sensibilities in a quagmire of mental smog
Percolating my rancor again with your same bag of tricks
Why was I such a sucker for all of your mix?
While you yak long-distance, a brain-dead pumpkin
ready to toss you thrice like some disease-laden Lumpkin
when you came up with your best chicanery thus far
By spicing up our love life of sorts
with cocaine on your private parts
what a ride that was, a sexual demon drop
God help me I didn’t ever wanna stop
You were John Holmes, Dirk Digler and Brad Pitt
all spliced into some bizarro, unthinkable reverie
mucking up my solidarity of mind, body and soul
I was high on an impossible addiction
And totally high on your affliction
woke up itching with a brutal contact rash
Bestowing upon you a black case of disgrace
never happened again, of course
but I was very leery of intercourse
for nigh on 12 months or so
Without fourteen condoms wrapped in plastic
just thinking about it makes me spastic
so go to hell you and your cocaine dick
You’re the plot of a bad chick flick
Without Brad Pitt or John Holmes
nothing just a simple set of stones
luckily, that was many MOONS ago
I was merely reminded by a hapless photo of you
dropping out of book unexpectedly
While cleaning out a shelf near the loo
Another dimension framed in ink so deadly
Another time I’m glad to blink away
All that chaos gone astray
Shoving that photo into a drawer
All the while glad we are no more

NOTE: this is a poem about my dearly departed ex-hubby named Ashe, who was a GOOD man, just a little bit insane, shall we say :)? I wrote about him previously in this post:

Original copyright –

© 7/23/94 by my alter ego who shall remain nameless for now…

Renewed by:

© Tenacious Bitch 2013