Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Diary entry from November 2006 I bumped into an ex earlier, we always pretend we were a great couple where in fact we had great sex and a laugh (not at the same time). He was giving me all the gossip and ended by telling me he had recently had sex on a plane, there was a brief pause, he gave me an odd look. I bet he's guessing that I am jealous that he's banging a girl from work whereas actually I am jealous of his mile high action. I often fantasies involving journeys, on a plane being top of the list, followed by trains, buses, night bus, taxi, mini cab, car etc etc. I want sex in a plane... I slipped my hands into my knickers in a taxi once - don't think that can compete!
Diary entry from November 2008
That dreaded question: "So, uhm, erm, how many men have you slept with?" I recoil. I am not ashamed about how many men I have lay with, I have said no to more than yes to. In fact I regret not saying yes more often. It's the fact that I have to decide whether the asker will judge the number. I believe that the number doesn't quantify you as a better lover or even an easier one. I can think of a three girls that have slept with just two men (not the same two men), but have given hundreds of blow jobs, yet they have a holier-than-thou number of two! From today I am a born again virgin. Clean slate, hymen back, innocently chaste. Hopefully to be touched for the very first time, soon...
I hate dressing up for a first date.
Don't get me wrong, I love the preparations of getting ready. Long bath, defuzzing, exfoliation, blow-dry, make-up and heels together with the romantic happily ever after fantasies. It's more that I don't want to give a false expectation, I don't always wear make-up nor heels but I do often dress effeminately.
I usually keep a smart jacket and some heels at work as I know I'm more casual than smart casual. It's not that I am looking for a Wayne Slob in fact one of my most recurring fantasies involves a man in a suit, but someone that has an 'at home' look.
An ex once commented "I like it when you wear skirts", so what did I do? I spent a month wearing skirts and dresses nearly exclusively. I then questioned [to myself] if he was controlling my decisions and spent the next month wearing trousers, jeans and leggings, just to prove that I am independent and to see if he would still love me as much should I not happen to wear a skirt.
The same happened when a lover commented he liked my legs in jeans. God, I'm contrary.
PS - The love bites are still going strong.
Monday, 27 July 2009
Following on from the love bites...
I was meant to have a date tomorrow night and think it would be ever so bad form to cancel last minute especially as we have both each had to reschedule once but how on earth can I go looking like I have indulged in an erotic asphyxiation session with King Kong?
I sent a text canceling proclaiming work commitments (I hate lying) and he replied short and sharp "yeah sure". Is it wrong to prefer to be seen as a cold bitch than a warm-hearted tart?
I have a three love bites the size of two pound coins scattered across my neck. Admittedly I wasn't too bothered at the time of their creation, as I recall it was hot, heated and actually very nice. That was of course before I looked in the mirror this morning.
What gives a 33 year old man the impression that love bites are cool and sexy? I feel like I have regressed to my teens and this is certainly not the weather to be wearing a roll-neck.
I went into work with some longer-than-normal earrings, my neck plastered with foundation and a Zoolander "I can't look left" approach to the day. Of course come lunchtime one bite was spotted! *dies of shame*
My colleagues assume, I'm sure not how, what or why, that I am an innocent 'butter wouldn't melt' kind of girl and the look of disgust from the Managing Director's PA was enough for me want to recoil into my mother's womb right there and then.
I sent the instigator a text condemning him to a life of punishment which seemed to turn him on and perhaps oddly as he was rather proud he wanted pictures as evidence.
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Being single has left me with a void. A musical one.
I have a vast taste in music, an eclectic one I guess, which is usually fine-tuned to the relationship I am in. I was faced this morning with my own choice for radio and music and no need for consideration else's consideration. So why was it so difficult for me to decide what to listen to.
The last few years I have spent listening to punk, prog-rock, alternative, folk/acoustic and the most recent heavy rock with the occasional Spurs *ergh* podcast thrown in for good measure.
A friend recommended to me Mooncup (it's an alternative to tampons), I had a quick look at their website and it not only sounded good value for money but ecologically and environmentally sound. Until I got to the "what size" section.
Apparently "Please note that women over the age of 30 years old are increasingly likely to need the size A regardless of giving birth. This is because the tone of vaginal and pelvic floor muscles naturally reduces with age but to varying degrees in different women" my vagina is now considered plus size.
Paranoia kicks in.
I really don't want an old vagina and I certainly wouldn't contemplate getting surgery for a 'designer vagina'.
This was about a week ago and yesterday it was still playing on my mind. I went to Sh! to see if I could get some love balls/eggs to firm up my pelvic floor muscles, I am not, I repeat, not having an less than adequate vagina.
I bought some medium sized Ben wa love balls, which reminded me of marbles from when I was a kid, I put them in and about an hour of tensing those muscles and the effect was near immediate. When I came to take them out I couldn't get to them, so I left them in and went on my date.
All throughout the date I had a smug-self-knowing smile, reminded that each time I rolled my pelvis forward I could feel the balls inside of me. That smile was wiped off my face when I went to the toilet and whilst weeing I heard "plink plink", the balls has escaped!! And now flushed to love ball heaven.
I felt that my pelvic floor muscles had been given a workout and have ordered some more online - this time from LoveHoney and with a handy pull-string for easy removal!
Thursday, 16 July 2009
So what is the difference between any bloke and a Mr Right Now?
I still have my urges and will be treating an urge tonight, I'm going out with the Drummer. So why is he allowed? There is no way he is a Mr Right nor a Mr Right Now.
A Mr Right Now is someone that I could completely fall for and be with even though I, he or we know it's not really working or compatible either emotionally, physically, mentally or sexually.
The Drummer is someone I go out with time to time, we coyly shares stories and a couple of glasses of wine and then have animalistic sex. And just that. Minimum of foreplay, just fucking, sometimes for hours, sometimes quick, hard and fast. We tend to happen upon each other when we're single, coincidentally at parties, at a station or just on speed-dial.
When we met, I was mad about him, and as the saying goes* gave sex for love, it seems the moment I stopped loving him, he started to back off too. It's something we don't really talk about but appreciate what we have: company and sex.
A friend recently called him "my real-life dildo", maybe she has a point.
* Women give sex for love and men give love for sex. I'm not too sure how I feel about that expression but see it in too many of my friend's relationships.
For the first time in my adult life I am happy in myself and truly happy being single. Of course I crave the intimacy a relationship brings and nature's alarm clock (an erection nudging one's thighs) but I've stopped seeing someone just because they are cute, or intelligent, or get all my references to my favourite music, programmes and films as a teenager or make me more moist that I knew possible - what I am now looking for is a man than encompasses all the right qualities. I am looking for a Mr Right, and going to avoid Mr Right Now.
As I type this a perfect Mr Right Now has just messaged me. "What am I up to this week?", I have given him a comprehensive list, implying that I won't be around this weekend to wake up in his big strong arms, anyway, why is it the ones you like never smell in the morning, or if they do, you find it endearing.
I could get out of my plans for at least one of the weekend nights to spend with him, but here and now (determined and sober) I'm going to be strong.
So what does being thirty have to offer?
An excerpt from an interview with Helen Mirren: "When were you happiest? I remember thinking, when I was in my early 30s, that this is the best age to be, and I still believe your 30s are a wonderful time. But I think I am pretty happy now." I hope all the practice and preparation in my 20s will deliver greatness in my 30s, bring it on! *Not scared in the slightest*