Ashley Needles

Dating I've noticed one giant mistake guy after guy keeps making. On dates, I try to find things to compliment and questions to ask. Isn't that what makes a great date?  Guys, however, seem to think dating is a chance to brag about their accomplishments and give shallow compliments about the way a girl looks. "Waitress, check and a barf bucket, please." I guess I'm not your average Jane. Is it so wrong to want a guy to give a damn about my accomplishments? I mean, I work my ass off too! I get it's intimidating for guys to date a woman who's traveled a ton, been successful in several industries by the time she was thirty and has huge aspirations but guys seldom even get to finding that stuff out, as they talk about what great employees they are and how awesome their new sports car or truck is. To be fair there is one question that sometimes comes up if a guy has a bit more of a clue than the average bear, "What sports team do you like?...

It was March, a week after Art's death. Each breath since it happened felt as though my ribs were breaking my chest, the loss so enormous it was a black hole crushing me alive. He saw my sad eyes, grabbed my wrist and pulled me back when I tried to walk away. "What's wrong?" He asked. "Art's dead." The words hung sucking away the air between us. Every part of me wished to be swallowed by the earth. Dying could not be as terrible as this. "Let me help," it wasn't a question. It was a demand. "I've interned with grief counseling." We made plans. I pasted on a smile and make-up and went to pick him up. A glimmer of excitement for the ounce of relief he offered from the pain ripping me apart, was the first touch of anything but torment I'd felt since Laura gave me the news. He got in my truck with a bad mood that was closer to a hurricane than a storm cloud. I tried to compensate. I wanted so desperately for one pe...

When I was sixteen I fell for a guy who looked crazy good in pink. At seventeen I fell harder for a guy who was a gothic cross dresser. Damn was he sexy! He was sensual, masculine, extremely well endowed (something I found out much later in life.) He was smart and eloquent, and dominated every room he walked into. He wore black eyeliner and mascara making his blue eyes electric. At six-foot-something with a broad frame and muscles to match, every ounce of his 180 pounds was bad boy sex appeal. Never has any other guy's fashion sense ever so fascinated me. His platform combat boots and black skirts are something no other guy I've met has had the confidence to wear. It was a brand of seduction few men have the strength to imitate. To this day just the thought of guy wearing eyeliner and mascara gives me naughty fantasies. Yet today men get sex changes just because they like wearing a dress. This bothers me. I'm not against transgenders, but I am against the rare bre...