Sunday, February 26, 2012

The Singer

One night my girlfriend and I decided to treat ourselves to a night out on the town. We hired a personal chauffeur and booked dinner at the Chateau Marmont with bottle service at Voyeur. We were all set to pick up my latest condom flavor of the month, Matt, who dressed and sang just like Frank Sinatra but looked much hotter. Before we picked him up, I felt a strong obligation to forewarn my driver and my friend about him. His vocal chords (like his dick) had a mind of their own, and I needed to tell them that my date would more than likely be bursting into song at some point in the night. He’s an amazing singer, don’t get me wrong, but there’s a time and a place for singing and that’s the stage. I don’t care if you’re a professional singer. I’m a “professional” too but you don’t see me taking my clothes off whenever I go out (that part doesn’t come till later).

We picked the guys up and headed to dinner. Two milliseconds later, Matt broke into song. Singing is one of the most annoying things you can possibly do (when not on stage) – especially when you’re in a car with little space because your voice projects louder. My ears were literally bleeding.

My friend nudged me, as soon as he started singing, trying not to burst out laughing. My driver kept staring at me in the rear-view mirror and I know he was dying to make a smart-ass comment. I did everything I could to keep it together so as not to start laughing. You could cut the awkwardness with a tampon. I mean, who the hell did this guy think he was? It was almost as if Matt expected my vagina to instantly go weak in the clitoris by his voice. Up to that point, I had definitely been turned on by him singing on stage but not in the car.

Finally, his ballad ended and we made it to the restaurant. I silently prayed that he wouldn’t break out into song again while at the Chateau Marmont. After an uncomfortable dinner of trying to keep him talking instead of singing we got back in the car and head to the nightclub. The club didn’t open until eleven, which meant we were gonna have to do some serious drinking in order to get buzzed before last call at two.

We got to the club a little bit before eleven, so my driver suggested driving around the block to kill a few minutes. Matt, of course, had other ideas.

“Why don’t I sing a song?” he offered, as though we were all dying to hear him sing for the millionth time. Before I could intervene he broke out into another song, and we all sat there awkwardly. I stared at the floor, cursing my vadge for being so attracted to this douche bag. I wanted to chop his balls off and stuff them in his mouth. How could he not see that we were obviously NOT interested in listening to him? I thought.

“Encore!” my driver said in his British accent after Matt finished. (There’s a gay joke in that last sentence somewhere.) His voice was obviously dripping with sarcasm.

Before Matt could open his mouth and blurt out another song, I immediately leapt over the armrest. “Let’s turn on the radio!” I yelled, reaching for the dial. The only thing I wanted Matt to open up was my vagina, and I wasn’t even sure about that anymore.

Pretty soon, we got into the club. I half expected Matt to harmonize with the DJ’s music. Last call couldn’t come soon enough.

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

Thursday, February 23, 2012

What Could Go Wrong?

If you don’t already know by now, I’m a wanted lady. My vagina keeps the men coming (in more ways than one). So I shouldn’t have been surprised when two men wanted to take me out…on the same night.

Ty and I had already scheduled our first date around 8:30 pm, which I was excited for. Not long after that Brian asked if I could meet him at 7 pm for drinks for about an hour. He said he had a bowling game later that night. (God, do I love a man who can handle balls.)

Why not knock out two cocks in one night? I thought. My schedule is always insane, and I was already going to be looking hot. One drink with Brian, leave by eight, and no one would ever know. Easy enough! What could possibly go wrong?

I met Brian for our first date at the bar of one of my favorite restaurants in Santa Monica. I was all dressed up, and he was definitely looking like he’s about to go knock down some wood at the bowling alley. He must’ve thought he was hot shit, since I got all dolled up for him. Little did he know, I had big plans hidden up my short skirt that night.

The date was going really well. Brian was full of charm and entertainment that night. (I would learn later that apparently he only puts out his personality for the first dates. Then he leaves it up to his dates to do the rest of the entertaining after that. I didn’t really care, just as long as his dick always brought its A game. This was, after all, coming from a guy whose online profile said, “If I’m not laughing, it’s your fault.”)

Eight o’clock rolled around, and I knew I needed to start wrapping this up so I could get to Ty.

“Don’t you have a bowling game to get to?” I asked.

Brian looked at his watch. “But we’re having such a good time. How do you feel about grabbing some dinner with me?”

“You’re not gonna go to your game?”

He winked. “I canceled it. I want to spend more time with you.”

Fuck! I thought. Normally, my lady parts and I would’ve been flattered. But Brian was ruining my fantasy of double dating. His giant penis was actually (in a way) cock-blocking me.

I decided to stay with Brian that night. I liked this guy, and we were having a really good time. What if Ty had a tiny weiner and was terrible at conversation? Not a risk I was willing to make.

I excused myself to the girls’ room; I had to tell Ty that I wasn’t going to make our date. Goddamn the one moral bone in my body: I’m a terrible liar. I texted him that a last minute photo shoot had come up for tomorrow, and I needed to prepare for it. Ty totally bought it and agreed to meet another night. God I’m good!

When I sat back down with Brian, he confessed that his bowling game was just a story he always had ready… an exit strategy just incase the date went sour. It was easier than having to make up some excuse as to why he needed to suddenly leave, he said.
That’s pure genius, I thought. I sure as hell needed to get me one of those exit plans but then again if I don’t like someone I just leave. Seems to work every time.

In the spirit of confessing, I told him about my other date with Ty. He laughed. “Next time, I want to be date number two,” he said. For once he made a funny, but that was the only time.

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Is There a Condom Shortage?

February is National Condom Month. You know what that means. If you’re single then safety should be your first priority, followed closely by getting off.

I’m not an idiot. I know men are thinking about my pussy more often than they’re paying attention to what I’m actually saying on a date. That’s fine. I want to get off just as much as they do. But even with all those thoughts about sex, most men still never manage to bring a rubber to a potential fuck session. Which makes me wonder if there’s a condom shortage?

Men can be cheap asses but come on condoms don’t cost that much and they even sell them individually. But a lot of men would rather not splurge on a piece of latex in the high (but stupid) hope that a woman won’t mind that his cock is foot loose and fancy free. Luckily, I always have my own personal stash of condoms in all sizes. So if a guy doesn't bring one, then I’ll donate one. But my bedroom is not a Planned Parenthood even though I’m sure I have more condoms on hand than they do. Men need to strap on a pair of balls and start carrying around some trusty Trojans.

One of my bedroom pet peeves is when a guy asks me if he can just stick the tip of his cock inside of me without a condom on. Get some sex education, for Christ’s sake. STD’s don’t care if your penis goes in all the way or not. When I tell them no and to put on a condom my favorite line that I hear a lot from men is, “But you look clean.” I usually laugh at them then jokingly list about five STD’s I have while keeping a straight face. Just because fun zones aren’t covered in blisters, doesn’t mean protection should become optional.

I know men complain a lot about not liking how condoms feel. But cry me a fuckin’ river and go jump in it. I don’t exactly like a dry trash bag rubbing up inside me either. But who wants eighteen years of hell or a short life with AIDS. So think with the right head for once. Don’t be the idiot who chooses to not use protection. Condoms are the least you can do. So do me (and yourself) a favor and go stock up on them because I'm about to run out.

- Flavored condoms for blow jobs

- Thin condoms for more sensation

- Mint condoms for a tingly feeling

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

Sunday, February 19, 2012

The Back Door

Brian and I have been in an open relationship for about a month. We have great chemistry, and we don’t have to mess with the whole commitment thing. He’s a charmer on the streets, but a freak in the sheets. The ideal man for me, well almost.

One night, his giant cock started knocking on my back door. I’m no stranger to a good butt fuck, but I was a little nervous since Brian’s dick was so monstrous. I literally couldn’t fit the tip of his penis in my mouth, so how in the world was anal sex going to feel? I was afraid the girth of his dick would stretch me out. I wasn’t sure yet if I was ready to wear Depends the rest of my life.

Always up for a challenge, I decided to open the back door. Slowly, I started working my ass up and down on his giant cock. I let him in a little at a time, until I finally decided to let him in all the way. It was (surprisingly) the best and easiest anal sex I’ve ever had. His cock and my ass fit together like a weiner in a corndog.

So the next night I went out with a different guy to a popular bar in Santa Monica. We sat down and ordered drinks. All of a sudden, I see Brian waving at me like a giant idiot across the bar. Can’t he see I’m with someone? I thought. It must’ve been embarrassing for him, since his friends were with him and they all know who I was. Apparently, he was like a dog taking a piss on a tree... he wanted to mark his territory. Well, I’ll be damned to let that happen. My vagina (and my ass) only have loyalties to me.

I tried to ignore him, but it was a little hard with Brian staring at me from across the room (not that I could blame him, my tits looked amazing in my tight, black dress).

My date definitely noticed Brian, but we didn’t talk about it. I didn’t exactly tell him that the goober waving at me across the bar gave me the best anal of my life last night and that’s the reason why I’ve been walking funny all night.

When Brian finally left, he texted me and said, “You looked beautiful tonight.” A good sign, I thought. He apparently wasn’t too bothered that he’d seen me out with another guy. Normally the man is the one in the open-relationship to take advantage of the “open” end of the deal, but not me. I was always going out, fishing for other cocks in the sea.

I decided not to take my date home that night. Not that I didn’t want to, I just needed to fully recover from the damage Brian’s meat popsicle had done to me.

The next morning, I woke to a text from Brian. “So did you tell your date about me?”

Shit, I thought. So much for dodging the jealousy bullet. “No, Brian. I didn’t,” I responded.

Brian: “He kept looking at me.”

Me: “That’s probably because you were staring at us the whole night and waving like a moron.”

Brian: “Not really.”

Me: “Besides my date had better things to look at.”

Brian: “Did you tell him that I was in your ass last night? Did you let him butt fuck you?”

Since when does Brian get a say in what I do with my ass? I had a feeling that if I told him that we’d had a normal fucking session he wouldn’t have cared, but he didn’t want anyone else slipping through my back door. Brian needed to learn that my asshole wasn’t his and who was in control here.

“What I do with my asshole is really none of your business.” I responded back. My butt hole doesn’t fuck and tell to my lovers, only to my blog readers.

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

Saturday, February 18, 2012

The Kill Shirt

My first date with Patrick started off frustrating. We were meeting at a trendy bar in Santa Monica that I’ve never heard of before. It was small and hard to find (kinda like the dick of the first guy I ever fucked). I ended up circling the block about four times: trying to find the damn place, discovering the parking lot was closed for renovations, and looking for the valet. Apparently this was the only place in all of L.A. without a valet.

Eventually I parked in a garage two blocks away, which meant I had to walk. I was in heels, and looking hot (as always) and wasn’t in the mood to make such a long trek…I didn’t want to break a sweat for my date (though I would later) before he even had a chance to see my hair looking good. I made a promise to my aching feet and to my gorgeous new Jimmy Choo shoes to always make sure the place has valet.

On the walk over, my phone buzzed. Patrick asked if he could order me a drink. What a nice guy, I thought. I finished reading the text, however, and realized there was only five minutes left for happy hour. What a cheap ass. Guess it makes sense now why Patrick changed our meeting from 8 pm to 7:30 pm. I’m definitely not a happy hour kind of girl, unless you’re talking about exciting my beaver for an hour… then I’m on board. I like knowing my date spent some money on me, makes me feel better about giving it up so easily.

I finally get to my date forty minutes later, surprised he was even still there. But was glad he decided to wait it out because not only was he very good looking but a great conversationalist which has been hard to find with some of the dates I’ve been on lately. The more I looked at him the more I realized he looked exactly like Dexter from the TV show, except hotter.

He was even wearing Dexter’s Kill Shirt but in grey. The color complemented his BEAUTIFUL dark hair. I began to fanaticize about Patrick whipping his knife out to kill me. The thought of fucking the look alike of a serial killer gave me serious lady wood. I was ready to take this killer back to my place so he could slay me with his penis.

Once I had made the decision that I was going to fuck my Dexter, I asked him back to my place for “drinks.” We soon got down to business. I ripped his kill shirt off, and waited for him to stick me good.

I was having a great time fucking this guy until his sweat glands suddenly kicked it into overdrive. Nothing is worse than a guy who drips buckets all over you. I had to move my face to avoid being dripped on. “God, my hair is gonna look like shit tomorrow,” I thought. “He might as well jizz in my hair. It’d basically have the same effect.”

Thinking fast, I put a pillow in between us to act as the sweat catcher. Drowning by sweat wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I fanaticized about getting killed by the gorgeous Dexter look alike.

I quickly decided to doggie style it up. It was the perfect position, the only thing that he needed to touch were the body parts that counted. My solution worked great, until he wanted to get back on top of me. I don’t really blame him for wanting a better view of my boobs, but Christ was he sweaty! I began to pray to the vagina gods in the sky that they would end this wet (and not in a good way) business, and let him come.

Poor kid, he tried to experiment. He tried using his arms to lift off of me, but that just made his sweat drip even more. Then he tried lying on top of my body. I was pressed up against his moist body, slipping and sliding against him.

I definitely took one for the team that night. I’ve never been so happy to have someone come. Cuddling was out of the question and so was morning sex unless it was in the shower.

That night I made a major mental note. Next time, I need to gauge my date’s liquids so his glands won’t have as much ammo to attack me with. And I obviously need to make my room freezing cold to prevent this guy from getting as sweaty as Tim Gunn watching Brokeback Mountain.

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

The Noogie

My first date with Chad was a memorable one.

When we had agreed to go on a date the week before, I got daily text messages from him; sexual updates, pleas for naked pictures and much more. This guy wasn’t shy about his libido or letting me know exactly what he wanted to do with me.

Normally, my lady parts and I are flattered. We like a man who has a healthy sexual appetite but prefer to actually go out before the guy starts begging me for nudies.

Most people would take this as a sign to cancel, but not me. I looked at this as an opportunity for a great (awful), but freaky dating story. I’m always up to see what a penis will do to get some quality fucking time in, so I didn’t call the date off.

During the week, a radio show asked if I could come in to do a show. They said I had my pick of days but my schedule was already booked with different dates each night. Someone was going to have to get pushed back but who? Just then I thought about Chad and our date for Friday night. Bingo! Since this guy was so desperate to see me, my natural reaction was to make him wait. I had to keep this overzealous horndog on a tight leash. He had to know who wore the pants.

We were supposed to meet at nine, but I showed up a quarter to ten. Chad had texted me during his wait, saying he looked like a loser waiting for an online date. I laughed thinking that even eHarmony had standards that this certifiable sex-addict probably wouldn’t meet. I responded and told him he just looked like who’d been stood up for a date.

He waited forty-five minutes for me. I had a feeling he was doing some heavy penis thinking. He would’ve waited four hours if it meant he was going to get the chance to bump nasties with me.

When I got there, I knew I looked good. I was wearing a super sexy red number. It was tight and short, perfectly accentuating my lovely lady lumps. I could practically see the boner in his pants leap out to greet me.

We started talking, and it was clear this guy thought he was God’s gift. He laughed at his own pathetic jokes (of which there were plenty). He snorted through the gap in his front teeth. And he stared at my breasts like a deer caught in the headlights. God, he was annoying.

I started talking just to get him to shut up. I said something joking about Santa Monica, which was apparently the wrong thing to do. Chad was born and raised in the town (which explained a lot). He was visibly agitated by my comments, and his reaction only made me want to egg him on. (When I first meet people, I like to test the waters out. Especially if the date isn’t going well, I spice things up by lashing out with my smart-ass personality. I enjoy making jerks squirm in their discomfort.)

After a few more Santa Monica–related quips, I finally stopped talking. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. I stared him down like Larry David just to add to the awkwardness.

I decided it was time to leave. I reached for my purse and pulled out my credit card to pay for my drinks. The next thing I know, he gets up and sits beside me. His penis must’ve been talking to him, “Chad, she’s getting away! Don’t let her leave!”

He tried flirting with me. He pulled me close then grabbed the hair on my head and gave me a noogie. Was this guy in fourth grade? I wondered.

“What the hell!?” I said, pulling myself away from him. “You don’t do that to a girl unless she’s your fuckin’ sister!”

I straightened my hair out and got out of my seat.

“So we going to your place or mine?” he asked.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “But… I thought…”

“I seriously felt like I was just molested by an eight-year-old with that noogie you gave me.”

“Well, it won’t feel that way in the bedroom if you know what I mean.” He slowly licked his lips as though he was demonstrating his talents to me.

I stormed out of the bar leaving him with the bill. This guy just gave me a noogie for Christ’s sake. I sure as hell didn’t want to discover his idea of foreplay.

When I got home he left me a message, apologizing. He said he wanted to see me again. Needless to say, I did my vadge a favor by dodging that bullet.

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

The Big Cock

My second date with Brian I decided to go all the way. He was sexy as hell, and hands down one of the hottest guys I’ve ever dated. I melted every time he smiled at me and my pussy tingled just staring at his tall 6’3" build. I had to fuck him!

I invited him back to my place for “drinks," the universal code word for “I want your beef in my taco.” It didn’t take long before we were all over each other. He was on my bed, and I was about to take off his pants. I noticed then just how big his cock looked through his pants. Dear Lord!

My mind started reeling. There’s no fucking way it’s that huge. So I whipped his dick out and…it was even bigger out of his pants. This had to be the biggest dick I've seen in my life and this coming from someone who's in porn. It was not only long but wide as hell, and it looked like it was only going to grow more as he got more excited.

I’ve seen quite a few beautiful, big cocks in my life. But this thing looked like a monster. It was almost frightening. He looked like he had swallowed six other dicks for lunch. So I put my hand around it to test out the width and to see exactly what I was working with here but as I figured my hand wouldn’t even fit around it.

I’m always up for a challenge, so I decided to go ahead with giving him head. I opened my mouth as big as it would stretch and it barely covered the tip of his head. I tried to go further but couldn't as it was way too wide – talk about a mouthful. I would’ve had to unhinge my jaw to go all the way down on him but that challenge I wasn't up for.

I resorted to using my hand job techniques, the ones I save for when my mouth gets sore, when I’m not in a blowjob mood or in this case when it's just too damn big. They never teach you in books how to handle a massive cock when giving a hand job. It’s always one hand on the balls while you slowly move the other down on the shaft in a twisting movement while working your mouth down the penis. But when you're working with a massive cock you need your hands and mouth for balance not for trying out new techniques. Maybe that should be my next book!

While working hard and determined to give Brian an amazimg blow job he mentioned how he wanted me to play with his balls. But Brian’s bad mammajamma needed two hands to work the shaft and to hold it up including myself. His balls were being vastly neglected but I only have two hands and one mouth which were already focused on his head and shaft. If I even tried to move I was gonna lose my balance so I stayed focus on the job at hand.

For that go-round, I wasn’t prepared for the big challenge Brian’s huge penis gave me. But I was better prepared the next time I went down on him. As the load he shot in my mouth was a clear indicator that he loved my half-blow, half-hand job. But lord, if that wasn’t work!

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Dating Tip: Cleaning up for your next lover

If you're one of the lucky few to have two lovers in one day and need to clean up quickly without leaving any evidence of your other lover then here are a few quick tips:

Lint Brush - Perfect for picking up any hairs your lover left behind on your bed sheets and pillow cases.

Tide Stick - Works perfect for small stains on your clothes but comes in handy for quick clean up jobs to remove any evidence left behind from your lover.

Febreze - Spray this to get rid of that "just had sex with someone else before you came over" smell.

And don't forget to air out your place but simply opening the windows and you're all set for your next sex romp!!! Have fun and be courteous to your next lover.

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

The Deal

It’s been another day in La La Land (aka Los Angeles), which means I have another story about a penis to share.

I’ve been out with a guy named Brian about three times. He’s the cliché handsome as hell, smooth talking stud who any girl (especially me) willing rips her panties off for.
Thursday night we were together and he asked me (keywords here) if I wanted to spend SuperBowl Sunday with him. Sports and me are like Vodka and whiskey, we don’t exactly go together. But if he was up for a whole day of fucking, then you bet you’re left butt cheek that I could instantly morph into the biggest Giants fan ever.
We even made up a football fucking game. Every fourth down, he would get a blowjob. Every field goal, we would sixty-nine. And every touchdown meant we would scored too, an orgasm for both teams!
I texted him Friday afternoon to check on our plans. Here's how it went:
Me: If you’re still planning on coming over Sunday it would be great if you could give me a time because going to lunch with a friend that day and need to plan accordingly. :) Thanks!
Brian: Okay, I'll tell you tomorrow. I might go watch the game.

(My thoughts: WTF! I thought we were going to watch the game together? I have a life, man. I can’t sit around waiting for you to make up your mind. My pussy isn’t at your beck and call. She’s not gonna sit up and roll over for you.)
Instead I played it cool.
Me: No worries. I'll just plan with my girlfriend that day. Have fun.
Brian: Okay babe, I'll come over after. K?
(My thoughts: He has lost his fucking mind. There is no way in hell that I will tolerate your wishy-washy shit. Making me wait? Cancelling on me? Yet he still expects me to fulfill his fucking football fantasies? Hell no.)
Me: Don't worry about it. I'm not someone you can make plans with, cancel, then change your mind and say you'll come over after.
Brian: Got it. Sorry. Didn't mean to disrespect you. Won't happen again. Or am I cut off already?
Me: Never said I didn't want to see you again, just wanted to let you know it's not very polite to say you'll get back with me tomorrow (when I need to plan with my girlfriend for lunch), and you might just go watch the game when we already made plans. Then say you will just come over afterwards. Seriously? Think how that would sound if someone said that to you.
Brian: Yep, got it. Sorry very sloppy, and I don't have plans yet. I just don't want to spend too much time with you. Have to watch my feelings around you. You're very powerful.

(My thoughts: What the hell? He’s the one who made the goddamn plans. Now he doesn’t want to spend too much time together because he’s afraid of getting hurt? When did guys become such pussies? Grow some balls.)
Me: That's your call.
Brian: The real good things in life should be enjoyed a little at a time. I won't disrespect you again. Sorry.
Me: I'm not here to play games...if you like someone then you just hang out with them. I don't want to feel like you’re spacing your time out.
Me: I like you Brian, and I would like to get to know you more. But I don't think you’re going to allow me to. I think it's best if we don't waste our time with each other. But I did enjoy our time together :)
Brian: That's ironic.
Me: I know, isn't it? :) But I seriously don't want to play games with someone. If I like someone, I like them and want to hang out with them.
Brian: When did I say anything different than that? I felt safe with someone who says she's never been in love. Wants an open relationship! No strings right?
(My thoughts: Obviously he doesn’t feel safe if he has to watch his feelings around me.)
Me: Well, let's see. You canceled on me then you tell me you don't want to see me too much. How would you feel if the tables were turned? Just because I want an open relationship doesn't mean I can't have feelings for someone.
Brian: Sienna, I'm sorry I changed plans babe. It won't happen again. I do like you and want to see you again.
Me: I'm all for that! But don't put a time limit on how much we hang out. If I want to see you, I want to see you. And vice versa.

Brian: Deal! I still want to see you on Sunday. Hope that’s okay?

Me: I’ll think about it…

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide

The Beginning...

Lust and love are everywhere in Los Angeles, especially under my panties. On this blog, I’ve made it my sole mission to tell you all about my electrifying sexual experiences: the ones that rocked my pussy’s world and the absurd ones that didn’t exactly give me lady wood.

Before we delve into the nitty-gritties of my sexcapades, there are a few things you should know about me:
I'm a Single Girl by choice (I mean have you seen this ass?). I'm absolutely not looking for a monogamous relationship or marriage. Walk me down the aisle? Gag me. Life’s too short for one penis! My pussy has an insatiable appetite, and I need more than one cock in my life. My motto is the lyrics to Cyndi Lauper’s lyrics “Girls, Just Want To Have Fun.”

I’m not looking for a husband, but I am looking for the perfect partner in crime. My idea of a perfect relationship is similar to Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre’s (explained in the book Tête-à-Tête). They had an open relationship that lasted over fifty years. They never exchanged vows, had kids, or lived together. But they shared theirs lives together in a different sort of way. The only commitment they made was a commitment to happiness, and however many fucks they could get in.

Is there someone out there who will be my Tête-à-Tête lover? We’re gonna have fun finding out!

- Sienna Sinclaire® - The Single Girl®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide