The Adventures of Naughty Miss Jones

'cos naughty miss jones knows vibrators. Visit me at

I am a fan of wine and cheese. I am a fan of sexy ‘boy next door’ types. I am a fan of articulate people. I am a fan of sex toys (that actually has nothing to do with the tale of this blog, I just like to keep y’all reminded :)).

So when a young lad stumbled onto my radar recently who was cute, articulate and textually wooed me with promises of wine and an abundance of Dutch smoked, Naughty Miss Jones got a little excited.

Amongst all the ‘dtf’ and ‘nice boobs’ messages I receive on tinder (admittedly, the girls put one of my boobiest pics up, so I can’t blame the poor lads) an apparent gem of a boy emerged. He was super cute in that ‘I don’t know I’m super cute so won’t act like an arrogant prick’ kinda way, he wrote long, entertaining messages, he spoke of cheese and wine with passion, and he promised said cheese and wine would be enjoyed if/ when we ever met.

The receipt of his messages soon became a highlight and I found my mind wandering to him often, spending too-embarrassing-to-actually-admit periods of time composing witty messages, and I gave him the moniker ‘Sexy Pete No.2’ (cos the position of Sexy Pete, the original is already filled in my life (miss you Pete)).

When the fated day arrived for our meeting, I was a bundle of nerves. And then I met him, and… whoa… The ‘I don’t know I’m super cute so won’t act like an arrogant prick’ was instantly upgraded to ‘I’m smoking hot but you already know I’m not an arrogant prick’. If any guy was going to bring out the crazy-eyes Ally from the Bachelor in me, it was this fine young specimen.

And so the charming young woman in me instantly disappeared. You already know when I’m in the presence of someone I really want to shag I go all red and blotchy, turns out my condition has worsened and in addition to those symptoms, I come down with a mighty fine case of word vomit. Doctor, things just got critical.

Over the course of the evening, I mentioned Britney Spears about 179 times, I admitted I would rather be at the One Direction concert than the Football grand final (true, but not exactly man impressing material) and I failed to ask him any questions about himself, notwithstanding there was heaps I wanted to know. Smooth, missy, s-m-o-o-t-h…

But it gets worse! I laughed out loud when Ally justified her night-one-pash-attempt on the Bachelor with ‘you were just so good looking’. But…oh the shame…I did it too (thankfully, he was at least willing to spare me the humiliation and gave me a half-arsed effort at a pash back). But it was too late, no amount of saliva swapping was going to save the night.

And so it appears the wine/cheese/seafood/cheese/dessert wine extravaganza we had planned will never come to fruition (a tragedy in itself given the number of times cheese is mentioned). My last ditch effort to return to my former charming self via text was met with no response, and the original Sexy Pete remains the only Pete in my life (miss you Pete).

I was feeling a bit sad last night, of course, but woke this morning to find three separate messages from three male friends just enquiring how I was or seeing if I wanted to catch up. It reminded me that when I’m not suffering from red-blotchy-word-vomit ness, I am actually nice, and charming, and the males in my life actually like spending time with me. As long as I can put a stop to the frequent Britney Spears references and can keep my crazy-eyes Ally in tact, things should be fine.

And (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again), until I can get my symptoms under control when in the presence of a sexy male, I can always console myself by the fact I’m in the presence of, literally, thousands of vibrators.

Naughty Miss Jones xx

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