Tag Archives: Bitch Goddess’ Thoughts

Wanted: BF

Okay. So I'm officially single. I think.

And I am unashamedly posting this blog, err, notice that there's a new spot open waiting to be filled! So, if you meet any of my requirements below, by all means, email me at wanted.bf@gmail.com, as I would like to know you. If you hit a snag as you go on, email me, as I just might consider you.

If you fall short on my requirements, don't be disappointed or be bitter. These are my preferences and there's nothing you can do about it.

DESCRIPTION

You have to be at least 5'6" tall and above, 170 lbs and over (I have a thing for big guys). You have to be anywhere between 23 and 38 years old.  Now, 38 is a stretch for me, but hey, you must have a kid inside you somehow. Must have a good stance and bearing. You must look and smell clean, even if you've got 'em dreads. Confident stride. No sloopers, please. I have no particular feature in mind, but I am definitely sure that I am not fond of Chinese-looking, or Chinese guys at all.

EDUCATIONAL BACKGROUND

You must have a Bachelor's degree, better yet, a Master's or PhD. I find geeks more interesting than regular guys. So, if you have a Superior IQ, I'd be more than glad to have an intellectual intercourse with you.

You must have graduated from a respectable school such as: UP (highly preferred, of course), the Ateneo, La Salle, UST, UERM, Don Bosco (not really fond of their graduates), San Beda (these law students/graduates have a particular streak which I can easily identify), Silliman, and USC. If you haven't graduated but you're engaged in a thriving business/career, that's fine. I've got nothing against undergraduates. If you're not from any of the schools I mentioned above, I'm sorry, it's non-negotiable. I'd prefer an undergrad who went there than someone who didn't.

If you're from abroad, email me. I'd have to do some research first.


CAREER

I think I've dated every single stereotype there is: the artiste, the intellectual, the smooth talker, the jock, the playboy, and every professional: the doctor, the lawyer, the accountant, engineer, manager, blah blah. Playboys are definitely assholes, but good in bed. Doctors make up for their absence by treating you to a nice dinner and quick, rough sex, if not, bland.  Lawyers, oooh,  they're only good with talk. Lousy fuck. The artiste, he takes his time. Full of surprises, though. The intellectual? Nice introduction, bad ending. So what guy should I date?

I'm not even sure if it is remotely possible, but if it is, I'd like to have a combination of the intellectual, the artiste, and the doctor. I would like an intellectual because I get tickled pink and high just with endless conversation. He's gotta be a talker because I simply wither without conversation. The artiste, on the other hand, offers soul, creativity and passion to the relationship. Spontaneity, as well. Then, there's the MD. I'm not so sure why I included it in there, but I could only think of pleasing my parents. We come from a family of medical practitioners, and I think I'd be comfortable with the situation if he is an MD. Not to mention the financial security he can offer. It was bad enough that I didn't take up Medicine; the most I can do is marry one who practices it. I know a life living with their kind, so I think I'd be a most succesful wife if I marry one. If you're not one, that's okay. It's pretty negotiable anyway. As long as I have my intellectual + artiste combination, I'm a happy girl.

EXPERIENCE

Sorry, blokes. I'm not into divorced, previously-married, separated guys. With kids. Or any guy who's got a kid. Not that I don't like kids, hell, I do. I'd even make a damn good mother. I just don't like other women's kids, that's all.

If you're utterly young but full of potential, you're most welcome. I like fresh meat.

I'd like a guy who's been around, but not promiscuous. Being around would mean having dated and been with a woman for quite some time before jumping ship. One who's been on a long-term relationship. I'm not impressed at all with guys who brag that their shortest relationship was 3 days. I don't like serial daters. Or serial fuckers. I'm sorry, but I don't do one-night-stands anymore, so if you were thinking to hook up with me precisely just for that, I could link you instead to some semen-starved bloggers I know.

You simply must go out of your way to prove yourself worthy. If you think you're the one, yet you're waiting for me to become my full potential, you're an asshole. What makes you think you can have me then and not now? Being together during the entire process is what's important to me, not the end result. *If this doesn't make sense to you right now, email me. I'll explain.

I like grand gestures of love. You simply must be grand and full of surprises.

PET PEEVES
(If you you're guilty of one or more, STOP reading and open another blog.)

* Big, wide noses. Ugly noses. Wide nostrils. Ugh. Need I say more? It totally ruins a face.
* Buck teeth. Ugly teeth = ugly mouth = ugly face.
* Kinky. Hair, I mean.
* Receding hairline. Oh please. It's enough that I'm depressed because I'm turning 26 already!
* Misers. Cheap. Kuripot. Ugh. Man, you gotta know how to please your woman!
* Bad english and diction. I simply cannot stand talking to you. It would irritate the hell out of me.
* Losers. Does not know one's self. No career. Bum. No backbone. Weakling.
* Poor fashion sense. Okay, this one right here can be helped, that is, if you have the moolah for a makeover. I could do it myself! If you don't, don't bother.
* Sleazeball. Having a fetish or two is fine, but I hope that wouldn't totally gross me out. But if you have a huge collection of porn and downloading them daily, man, you need a pornstar, not a girlfriend.
* Poor manners. Or none at all. Now, see, I'm a stickler for good manners and breeding (although I totally lose them sometimes). You gotta have good breeding! It cannot be acquired overnight. It is learned over time.
* Momma's boy. Now, now, this one's a winner. You SIMPLY must not be another guy who'd say to me after I asked you why we broke up, "Mom happened."

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT ME

I am stubborn, strong-willed, dominant, high-maintenance, obsessive-compulsive, prissy, sassy, a total bitch. Attitude-wise. It takes a strong man to be my match.

I don't commute, nor should you expect me to. I don't drive either. I'm lazy, but when I'm so worked up about something, I get totally high and forget all about you.

I am passionate but I get easily bored. You have to amuse me at all times.

Sure, I have my issues, my shortcomings, my flaws. Who doesn't? The only thing that's so preposterous about this whole thing is that I am writing and posting this. Women are more known to be "quiet" about their preferences, whereas men, when asked what kind of woman they want, reply without much thought, "oh, you know, sexy, beautiful, long legs, big boobs, nice ass."

I mean, have you seen yourself in front of the mirror?! Most guys who say that are butt ugly, with an attitude problem. Okay, so not all of them, but most.  Having a huge nine-to-five pay and a kickass car or a huge dick (what is huge, anyway?) does not merit you a good woman. But then, to dream is free, so I will not take that away from you.

Nor should you take that from me.

Now, you must be thinking (especially if you fell short), "Who does this bitch think she is?!" You ask, am I beautiful? Am I succesful? Am I someone important that I require such a particular guy?

I shouldn't even begin to think of answering those questions. Because the point is, I know who I am, I know what I'm made of, and I deserve the kind of guy I want.


FAQs

Q: Does size matter?
A: Lengthwise? No. As long as you're pretty thick and you've got a good tongue, you're good.

Q: What kind of men am I attracted to?
A: I'm attracted to aggressive, strong, superior men. I lust for power.

Q: Am I good in bed?
A: I'd like to think so. Not for me to tell, but for you to find out.

Q: What are my interests?
A: Literature, music (various genres), Italian food, road trips, travel, eBay, shopping.

Q: What's the worst thing a guy has said/done to me?
A: Said: "You're a full time job."
    Done: Leaving me at a bus terminal at midnight. Didn't drive me home.

Q: What's the best thing a guy has said/done to me?
A: Said: "You are so enchanting. I am constantly at my feet."
    Done: None yet. Now's your chance.

I, The Bitch Goddess

I was once a whore. I was Succubus to those men whom I have snared with such passion, lulling them in their tantric sleep before I devoured them many epochs ago. They were so gullible, so dim-witted in believing that I have finally fulfilled their twisted dreams of love. I laughed at such conquests; these minions would give all what they have, even their souls, to get a glimpse of me, to touch me, to bow and kiss my feet, thanking me that I, the Bitch Goddess have chosen them for my feast for the night.

It was ten years ago that my father, upon chastising me for having cavorted with an older victim, exclaimed that I have the devil’s eyes. I smiled. I realized I could seduce a saint had I wanted to. I held the key to men’s innermost desires. And I was more than willing, in fact, to give it to them. But I was a whore who remained in the shadows. I did not lurk the streets clad scantily. I was the subtlest of all whores. I commanded the labyrinth of unceasing deception, luring nameless, faceless men to their soul’s death.

Everything I felt and did, I never told anyone; the parchment was my best friend, the quill the extension of my hand. Only the pages of my diary knew how I have wandered from heart to heart, knocking on men’s hearts’ doors, holding what remained of my shattered heart, offering them like a vagabond, asking them to take it, begging them to love it. But they shunned me, laughed and mocked at me even. I have loved relentlessly, carelessly, tirelessly, hoping, they would love me too. Oh, cried I in buckets, wetting my pillows until I fell asleep, only to wake up again in the middle of the night, my big shadow staring back at me. I was silly, foolish and young.

These little demons called men possessed once my entire being; only for a moment they held me captive. I was enamored; my soul longed for them for they unforetold pain, seducing me with their hot fingers, their smooth voices upon my ears. But why did I continue to sleep with them? I was like a pendulum that cannot be put to a cease. I have done what they have asked me: poured wine in their wooden goblets, ate their rotten food, swallowed their words of pain. But I loved the pain they beheld me. Only then I knew I was truly alive.

I hunted when sheer loneliness overwhelmed me. And when this emotion assaulted my senses, I became relentless, cruel to these men. Poor creatures, they were-spent and used after a whole night’s coital encounter. I have held them captive upon my thorn grown walls, keeping them alive by my devilish gaze, feeding them their fantasies, prompting them to breathe as I was about to give myself as I promised.

I allowed myself to fall into the devil’s snare, into this realm of the darkness: a state of confusion where the damned longed for sanctity, the profane for serenity. I was too weak to object, letting them cradle me in their arms, soothing me with their deceitful words. Day by day, I listened, but my dark imagination was already sparked with raging plans of sweet, sweet revenge. For ire took me over, my anger became my life, my own strength led me to my own weakness.

Bliss, for once, released me, neglecting the moments when I climaxed. I turned to the past’s painful shadow only to find that all is lost. All is meaningless.

I saw her sometimes, her beguiled face haunting me. In my desolate state I turned to synthetic suspenders of time. Clouds of smoke would plummet in front of me, and heady as I was, I saw her small face beyond the haze. She still have her eyes closed, her fingers still clamped in that tiny fist. Befuddled, I would see her open her eyes and fix her gaze on me, and for a few precious illusive moments, I held the gaze of who could have been my own daughter, vainly attempting to apologize for what I have done to her. I robbed her of her own life and it wasn’t even mine to give. I was young, stupidly young.

I know I will burn in hell, the hounds would bury thousand gnaws upon my thick flesh. I would feel unspeakable pain, oh but would I cry? Tears would mean nothing to these dementors. I would still emerge triumphant, for it is I who fed upon these men, I, the Bitch Goddess.

Sometimes, I would indulge these men, yes, but not my entire being. It is just the body, I do not feel anything. They cannot have my mind. They cannot have my heart.