Please join me as I welcome Kirsten Backhard to the blog today – Stick around today for more

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Hey, what’s up? Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kirsten Backhard. Before you ask, yes, during high school, the boys use to call me “back-her-up-hard.” I think that was why I was popular. It had nothing to do with the fact that I had beautiful breasts or what the football team might have accidentally seen while I was in cheerleading practice.

I am from a small community, but let’s face it, I’m way more of a city girl. I was the girl that introduced tampons back in junior high in the girls’ change room. Remember that room? It smelled like socks and had six nonprivate shower stalls with mirrors all over. When you think about it, those rooms were kinda like your first introduction to really bad porn. Anyways, there was always a girl after gym classed who yelled, “Fuck, who has a pad?”

 

Before we get into the really good stuff, I should probably talk about where I came from. No, this will not be an education class on the birds and the bees or sex 101 for those that have a dirty mind. Shame on you. J

I came from a middle class family where my father worked in construction and my mother was a bank teller. I have two siblings: my older sister, Marie, who has like four kids or something, and my brother, Derek, who happens to be my older twin and who is hot. Yes, I don’t mind telling you that. You know what comes from a hot brother? That’s right— super hot friends that I might have taught how to french kiss. What? Don’t judge me.

We lived in a good community with a crap-load of kids. You could tell that most people that lived on our street were Catholic, and they didn’t get the memo on why or how they ended up with so many kids. As for myself, as soon as that first period came, there was no way in hell I was going to have that, so off to the medi centre it was!

In my last year of junior high, we had new neighbors move in. There was a cute girl named Liz. She had blonde hair and brown eyes. I know, it’s a weird combination. Anyways, she was a runner like me, which meant she also had a killer body. Liz and I instantly became best friends. She is totally my better half, and if I ever decided to go muff-diving, I’m totally calling that bitch up. Liz has a brother named Steve, who ended up being gay no matter how hard I tried to convert him.

Today I am…swallowing hard here…thirty-three years old. Yes, I am thirty-three, but my ass and tits show that I’m much younger. Thank God! I hold a senior  executive position at a downtown financial firm. I travel all over the U.S., placing bids on stupid-ass shit for men that are trying to compensate for their small penis. But who am I kidding? I love my job. I love to travel and experience new things. I have no one waiting for me back home, especially not a cat, and I’ll definitely know if I’ll receive a Happy Mother’s Day card in the mail any time soon.

My mother recently told me that I should start thinking about settling down and start acting my age. Like seriously? What the fuck? If I had a penis, I guarantee you that this conversation would never happen in a million years. She lives her life by double standards. I, however, do not. I like living my life by my penis, figuratively speaking of course. It has never poked me the wrong direction before, so why start doubting it now? Is it really my fault that it’s always on the prowl?

Don’t get me wrong. We have had our fair share of amazing, head-shaking experiences. I think it’s only fair to share some of these adventures with you, so you know how much my mother is off her rocker.

P.S. I love you, Mom. ❤

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