Scotland Reign

I’m a bottle blonde, but the curtain doesn’t match the drapes, if you know what I mean. What I’m saying is my pubes are black. They’ve always made me feel like a traitor. One lone hint of a foreign people in a world of boring Brits.

Maybe it’s the reason I’ve always been a little rebellious. I’m not claiming to be some kind of hellion…but I get bored. And boredom makes me seek out excitement, even if it’s not always smart. Especially where men are concerned.

Although, now that I think about it, I don’t experience the same drive for adventure with them as I do with the occasional woman who crosses my path and makes me jealous of her fabulous pair of legs or bountiful cleavage.

Maybe I’m bored with men because they don’t make my blood boil, earn my admiration with their swagger, or bring out my competitiveness. My brief history with the inferior sex so far is a prime example of my tendency to act on a whim.

A couple months ago, I gave up my career as a university rebel to make some money. Living alone in London is expensive, and while being a professional student—a job I aced, by the way—has its perks, it’s worthless when it comes to paying rent.

So when I managed to land a job at one of the country’s top national newspapers as a copywriter, I pounced on the opportunity like a snake on a mouse. Promises were made to me regarding advancement into creative, and upon reaching adulthood—with no shortage of side-eye from the personnel lady—I shook on the deal.

The first bit of advice I got came from her.

“You’re going to want to keep your knickers on, Jess. With your assets, there’s going to be a lot of competition to get you out of them.”

Hard to miss the fact that she spent more time looking at my boobs than my face while she imparted her little pearls of wisdom. It seemed like everyone at Daily Insight was interested in what it would take to rip off my brassiere, but I took her advice and made myself a promise. No one would get into my pants at work, especially since, as far as I could tell, anyone with enough sexual stamina to get a snore out of me worked in video editing. I couldn’t afford to change my work environment.

That’s right, I have no intention of staying long.

I want access to stories that will make me a better writer. Not to mention money. I’ve got expensive tastes and little time for frivolities. I’m here to climb the ladder, not make friends or fall in love.

Here’s the thing, though.

While I can guarantee my prized Double Ds haven’t been anywhere near the video-editing pool, I can’t say my willpower hasn’t wilted elsewhere. Lucky me, my darling boyfriend turns out to be a sex god with a highly creative mind. It’s only natural that a girl will want to compare and contrast.

But I have a nasty, hard-to-attribute feeling in my gut that I might have set out to get a good lay and