Wednesday, 30 September 2009

Hook, line and sinker

I am an idiot.
I met a really lovely man and flirting happened naturally and organically between us, I was very flattered. He admitted to me that he had a girlfriend that he lived with but that they no longer have sex, the conversation continued and it transpired that his 'girlfriend' was actually his 'wife',
He hinted at needing a mistress and for a moment I actually fell for the 'my wife doesn't understand me' line.
It's funny how sad I felt for him. Then myself.
Am I looking for an unobtainable dream of a relationship that fulfills me sexually, mentally and emotionally? Or will I like him and his higher-than-his-wife's-sex-drive, settle and then get bored, restless and seek excitement elsewhere?
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(Not) something for the weekend

Diary entry from November 2006
Well, well, well! Friday My best friend L's boyf dumps her out of the blue, so I postpone a couple of engagements and get pizza and ice cream delivered, it's time for manicures and pedicures. At first she was upset and defending his (stupid) decision, not much sugar was needed for her to start calling him all names under the sun. Stayed with L until she fell asleep. Saturday As part of a foursome, not a sexual foursome, I meet Mr Wilko, and he was just gorgeous, tall with broad shoulders and the deepest blue eyes. I'm so glad that I am wearing matching everything!!! Mr Wilko had the look of arrogance about him but the moment he smiled, I eased around him. I was dying for us to have loads in common but no, he's a rugby boy (can a 32/33 year old still be a boy?) into his dance music, and a generation apart on so many things. I was convinced he wasn't interested, but the night was fun all the same.
After being left in a cab with Mr W, conversation turned quickly to kisses, I have a momentary panic of 'what the fuck' but his tongue soothes any such worries and within seconds of being in his house I am up against the kitchen table he started kissing my left nipple, and then moves to my neck, I am so turned on, I feel the bulge in his jeans against my thigh (shit, I don't have any condoms on me) I ask him, he disappears, shouting for me to come upstairs, and ordering me to remove my top, my jeans, by the time I reach his bedroom I am dressed in boots, hold-ups, and underwear. It is requested that I keep my boots on and lifts me into his bed... Sunday Walking like John Wayne from the night before, I (just) make it for tea and cake with the girls, I don't mention my night of passionate - not sure why - maybe it's because it's my first intimate encounter since becoming single. Early night was needed. Note to self: Put condoms in handbag (!), an ex once said that he would never carry condoms as that would be assuming to get laid. My female friends say the girl shouldn't carry condoms as she would look easy...
I decide that I would prefer have them and not need them than need them and not have them.

Tuesday, 29 September 2009

So long Quiet Boy

Quiet Boy called today. For the first time since we met, butterflies weren't making a nuisance in my stomach as I saw his name flash on the screen of my phone.
I'm not sure what the phone call was for - nothing in particular nor a catch up.
It's over, I am finally over him.
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Obi-Wan Kenobi

When I decided to go out with Mr Maybe-next-time there was someone else on the scene. Someone I had become closer and closer with - Obe-Wan Kenobi. We slept together a few times and the chemistry was great, but my mind was in a head-fuck and my dilemma was a choice between him and Mr Maybe-next-time.
a) Mr Maybe-next-time on paper seemed perfect and in reality he didn't ask anything from me, didn't challenge me and at that time it was what I thought I needed.
b) Obi-Wan Kenobi was in me. Mentally, emotionally and physically, literally physically at times! He was too close to the rawness of what I was going through. I pushed him away when all I wanted him to do was fight for me, tell me in no uncertain terms that he wanted me. That I was enough for him, he was enough for me and that we were fucking brilliant together.
But he didn't, he let me go.
So I went. Quietly (at first). For the whole of my relationship with Mr Maybe-next-time I knew I should've gone for it with Obi-Wan Kenobi. About a year into the relationship I admitted to my Obi-Wan Kenobi how I felt and he just said it was too late. He happened to mention this after I cheated on Mr Maybe-next-time with him. I fucked him, he fucked me, we fucked long and hard and then he said it was too late.
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Monday, 28 September 2009

Love and Marriage

This weekend was full of weddings and as such a onslaught of champagne and the after-effects of champagne.
I feel a little softer being surrounded by people in love or to be precise a couple that were in love six months ago and will be in love again when the stress of the actual wedding disappears but I found myself regretting not getting married in my twenties, just for the experience.
It's not that I would still be married now - I have changed so much in the last year never mind the last ten years, I have three long-term relationships which could have ended up with a wedding, two of those shouldn't have done but could have done! On the flip side, I mingled with a few too many couples that seemed to still be together just because they are married, so I soon loosened my regrets.
Sex and Marriage
It's all down to sex. Well it would be wouldn't it. There is no comparison of making love with someone you are madly deeply in love with. The feeling of saying "I love you" when you come, although I've tried it with one night stands - it does not go down well but an interesting way of getting someone to leave in a hurry!
When "I do"
With this information I know that the man I want to marry is the man* that would want to have an hour with me in a hotel between the ceremony and the reception, then a quickie after cutting the cake before whisking me away for a full month of sexual interrogation, starting as we mean to go on.
After champagne onslaught
As always with weddings it got messy. The bride and groom left around midnight and we left to our own devices. It took over an hour of flirting with one of the (grown-up) page boys before I remembered that I still had my period. Thank you very much! I retired to my room (alone) with a stinking headache that a shower nor more champagne could fix.
*Did I mention that I am a commitment-phobe and it's thoughts like this that get me into trouble?!
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Ready, set, go...

At the weekend I gave someone the task of knocking one out in four minutes. I thought this would be ample time and I like the delegation of such tasks.
It did make me think back to when I was in a sexless relationship yet really fucking horny. Being in love can do that to a person, emotions and hormones at a peak an' all. I used to give myself goals, sometimes it they were qualitative and sometime quantitive but kept my mind occupied on not allowing the love I felt for my then-boyfriend turn to hatred.
My favourite task I succeeded in and believe me it took a considerable time of practice was being about to come to orgasm - start to finish - within the 30 seconds of the Countdown music.
This was when Countdown was repeated at around six in the morning, maybe it still is. I would set my alarm for six and just go for it. My inner-competitor wouldn't let me stop practising until I had nailed it.
Even now listening to that last ding gives me a little quiver.
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Three hours...

One my male friends, the horniest in fact informed me of his planned seven days of abstinence. He is abstaining from sex, all sexual acts including any indulging in self-love. Rule 4.2 allows him to play with his todger but does not allow him to bring himself to ejaculation.
He challenged me to join him in a week of abstaining, to which I replied "easy-peasy" (with the contractual amendment allowance of a play with Jason), game on.
Around three hours later Royal Mail actually managed to get me some post and after a ten day wait a new pocket rocket arrived, without hesitation, I gave the shiny new pocket rocket a test drive.
The aforementioned challenge completely slipped my mind. I couldn't even go a day!
Feeling like an Elaine Benis, I'm prematurely out of the running but haven't as yet admitted to my friend my mishap, maybe he'll give me a second chance!
I have spoken with the aforementioned friend and requested the need for a do-over, I've never heard a man in his thirties laugh so hard! He's going to think about it.
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I hate knickers.
My clitoris and other lady business doesn't match the gusset area, my clit is over an inch higher than Marks and Spencer think it must be.
Someone have a word...
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Friday, 25 September 2009

Fetish debut - part three

On the way home from my fetish debut I checked my phone to see that I had had a booty text, I asked to the taxi driver to change the destination and saw that the ex was waiting for me with an erection and the words "sorry, I started without you".
It's been a long while since we slept together and it was a drunken chance text he didn't think would be answered. As it's been a while, he was unaware of all the new tricks I have picked up since and blew his socks off.
I didn't divulge why I was so aroused but the earlier entertainment I discovered was the ultimate foreplay. We had sex three and a half times times in as many hours, to an almost military fashion. We started with a 69 and could taste his pre-cum nearly immediately, he came in about a minute, he was visibly shocked and embarrassed, but after a ten minute cuddle he was ready to go again.
I couldn't help but talk really dirty during the sex, well not during the 69, but the rest of the time. It was along the lines of needing to be punished as I had been very bad.
At around half six I called a cab and by seven was snuggled up in my own bed, with my own duvet.
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Fetish debut - part two

I get excited easily and wrapped up quickly sometimes to find that later I have become bored or distracted by something newer and more shiny.
Back to the fetish night.
It was amazing to speak to people, and by people I mean men that are happy talking about their sexual prowess, wants and needs without having to have ten pints of Fosters first. I probably had really good conversations with around twenty men from 25 to probably late fifties? It was reassuring to hear men and women admit their sexual strengths and weaknesses with such frankness.
I was groped a few of times but with my permission. One bloke asked if he could stroke my neck, another my hand, and the third asked to grab what he described as succulent behind.
I was asked if I would like to take part in a whipping session, I obediently obliged and it was exhilarating, when asked if I enjoyed it I replied it wasn't hard enough. He bent me over and gave me three short sharp smacks that winded me. "Better?" *gulp* "Yes" I whispered.
I kissed three men all delicious tasting and looking. I was so turned on and their outfits left very little to the bulging imagination.
Catch Up
I was sexually excited from entry to exit and I left the club glowing inside and out. However I do feel like a novice and have some catching up to do. I'm aware that verbally I may sound bravado and hope that my fantasies will be as rewarding in the flesh as they are in my head.
I don't have any regrets about going at all. I think I am dangerously close of including this as a very regular affair which will either alienate my friends or I will need to keep such antics to myself.
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Yes sir, no sir, spank me sir

I don't fancy my boss, I repeat, I don't fancy my boss but last night I had a dream about him.
He was fisting me, and asking me to grade on a scale of ten how much I was enjoying it, and how I would impress him at my next review meeting. It was really quite sexy, when I spoke to him this morning (working from home *ahem* sleeping off a hangover and wanking furiously) I recalled the dream.
When I dream about fisting it's almost like a scene from All Creatures Great and Small - where a whole arm disappears inside a cow.
In fact he is probably the first boss I haven't fancied.
My first boss used to give me lifts home in his car which I thought were quite innocent until one day he said he couldn't give me a lift as he was picking his girlfriend up. Young and naive as I was I replied with "don't worry, I'll sit in the back"! *quickly googles first boss* I had a huge crush on him but with me a teenager and him in his thirties didn't contemplate actually doing anything about said crush.
What a shame.
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Too much information

If you are squeamish please don't read on or make a cup of sugar-riddled tea and then decide.
I'm having a hectic week, meetings being added last minute, changed, cancelled and then not-cancelled. I managed to have a two-hour session with Jason last night before having to go to a meeting over dinner.
The moment I saw Jason I could have eaten him, so fresh-faced and eager, his mouth tasted great in fact kissing him was intense, hard tongue kissing then soft tender embraces, it was as if we hadn't seen each other for a month not earlier this week.
The sex was incredible (although his Cheshire-cat grin was a little full on), it was wanton, and actually now thinking about it more romantic as I thought it had been, when you want to kiss someone as you come it adds a different dimension for me...
He makes cute noises to complement his every thrust until he pulled out - BLOOD EVERYWHERE - I was so not expecting that *said in the accent of a young American teenstress*.
I mean everywhere. If pictures were taken it would have looked like a crime scene.
I'm pretty good at judging my period and I didn't have it pencilled in until the weekend. He was fine about it but it caught me unaware. For about fifteen minutes.
Cue lots of laundry and my own Cheshire-cat grin.
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Thursday, 24 September 2009

How many?

Lloyds Pharmacy have posted a kooky quiz that takes how many people you have slept with and the age you slept with them and works out how many people indirectly you have been sexually in contact with.
If I hadn't recently been given the full bill of sexual health recently (scroll down to the bit where it says "I got the rest of the results back, all clear. Clean as a fanny shaped whistle.") put together with never having had an STD, I would be mighty paranoid about now.
My number* is:
I was not expecting that.
There is a brilliant episode of Roseanne when her less-than-innocent sister claims (aged 38) she has slept with 60 men (three per year for 20 years) - this is the nice number to placate her husband or maybe husband-to-be, the look from the rest of the cast give the rolling of eyes to indicate the amount is probably five or ten times that amount.
Said Scene from Roseanne
Fred: All right, how many people did you date before you met me?
Jackie: Well, do you mean dated at all or dated seriously?
Fred: I mean seriously.
Jackie: Oh, I'd say only a few.
Fred: Good... not that I mind if you've slept with lots of guys...
Jackie: Oh, well slept with! [chuckles] That's not what you asked me.
Fred: Well I guess not.
Jackie: Fred, it's not that many. I'd say three a year.
Fred: Since you were what? Eighteen?
Jackie: [thinks] Okay, we'll go with that. [Fred looks discouraged] Come on Fred, it's not THAT many! Let's see, three a year for 20 years is... 60... wow.
Fred: Wow... I don't even know 60 people...
Jackie: Well... I didn't know all of them.
Three lovers a year doesn't sound like that many, especially if a short relationship lasts six to eight weeks before you decide you're not right for each other. If I were single for 12 months I know the amount of men I slept with would definitely be more than three but put that number against years of monogamy and I guess it all equals out.
Well done to Lloyds Pharmacy for their outstanding marketing ploy and hopefully sharing the message of safe sex to those 13,000,000-odd direct and indirect lovers plus the ones I intend to have in the future.
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*Not taking into consideration it can only calculate up to 50 partners

Wednesday, 23 September 2009

Axis of Evil

In this case the axis of evil happens to reside with Facebook/MySpace:
Invitation error
You have four friends called Bruce and invite the wrong one to the 'secret' party you have planned (why do all male friends have profile pictures of themselves dressed in superman costumes - yes really!). Cue 'secret' party becoming Halloween free-for-all.
The hot one night stand
Over a decade ago and through Lambrini-goggles, you search for him although there are three ways you could spell his name. He had blond hair, right, maybe dirty blond, it could have been brown. A good half hour is wasted. IF you do eventually find him, he is certainly not as you remember him and consider booking self-esteem classes.
The first love re-run
First love is intoxicating, too overwhelming with raging hormones to back up every love-fuelled sigh. First love was real and felt it would last forever or you would die. He is the ex you don't bump into at your local supermarket is somehow thrown in your face with a "Hi, how are you doing", "Your photos look great, you haven't changed" and "Do you get back to any of the local hangouts"?.
The ex-boyfriend's new (how young>?!) girlfriend
All of sudden updates include how much he loves his new bit of fluff, how lucky he is to have met her plus unnecessary photos of surprise weekends away *vomit*. You can't help but compare yourself to someone who wears a hell of a lot of pink and sequins and has to prefix every sentence with 'cute'.
Facebook chat
One minute you're reminiscing on old times, with him saying he wished he were more mature when we met, to "do you remember that night we had sex six times during a rainstorm" to "I can remember what you taste like, what you feel like". Yes, even after five years of separation. Instant message sex has taken over from phone sex... Yet there is still an awkward silence after ejaculation.
The break-up
Do you de-friend the ex only to regret that twenty minutes later you can't reassuringly check his status is "feel like shit" or be upset when all his photo albums are now called "party!!!!" or find that his wall is plastered with girls saying how funny he is (he isn't that funny)? Or keep him as a friend but revoke all permissions on your photos, status updates and heart?
Apologies if this makes me sound bitter, I'm not, my tongue is firmly in cheek. Facebook is a necessary evil in my life and without it I couldn't stay in contact with so many friends, especially those that have moved out of the comfort zone that is (for me) within the M25.
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Hierarchy of Intimacy

It's sometimes easier to be really dirty with a man you know is a one night stand than someone you have a romantic connection with.
With a new lover, I prefer him to take charge or at least initiate so I can react accordingly. A friend once commented that it a reaction to me sleeping with a new lover too early but I think it's probably more a reaction to attracting passive lovers - as I can feel like that on the first date up until the twentieth date.
If only men wore their sexual adventurousness (from tame - bloomin' kinky say) on their sleeve, right next to their heart of course!
If only!
So with 1. being when I'm unsure of how far to go to 10. being completely relaxed and open (although this one goes up to eleven) this is my repertoire:
1. Doggy
2. Missionary
4. Oral sex (performed on him)
5. Oral sex (performed on me)
6. Cowgirl
7. Masturbating for each other
8. 69
I love the 69 position, but prefer it when I completely let go and it's one of the best positions for me when in love. There is something about this position that makes his pre-cum taste better, I guess it must be the angle that it secretes onto different taste buds.
9. Reverse Cowgirl
10. Lotus
and finally...
I can't believe I forgot to add it to the list of things I would like to try - this will have to be rectified. I have never broached trying erotic asphyxiation with a partner and emphasis on the try and not die trying.
However, this is different to my curiosity with anal as I have been known to gently push down on my neck when I masturbate. I haven't for ages as I didn't want to 'need' a better and potentially more dangerous fix but it's more than a curiosity.
Looking at my behaviour always amuses me because a) I am a creature of habit and b) there is often an underlying method to my madness.
These are slightly inter-changeable with the addition of more than four units of alcohol. And completely goes out the window if he tells me in detail what turns him on and what he would like to do with me...
I am usually more than happy to oblige.
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Tuesday, 22 September 2009

xkcd: Anatomy Text

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Dry patch vs. wet patch

The idea behind this blog was to get my sex-obsessed thoughts channelled and assist my dirty mind concentrate on life but it seems to have had the opposite effect!
I still read as many sex related articles, I masturbate the same amount if not more frequently, I imagine what most men I meet would be like naked and as lovers, I may now be worse what with venturing into unknown (to me) realms of London nightlife.
I've spent the last two months or so in my head: I've turned down exes, potential new lovers and even invites for a 'coffee' - as I was too busy being neurotic and deliberating with myself the rights and wrongs of casual sex, allowing other people's opinions cloud my own judgement. I seem to have only sexually repressed friends who have been making me doubt my sexual frankness.
That, listening to others, ends here. That ends now. (I suppose officially it stopped before I met with Jason last night)
I got talking to a young (in her mid-twenties maybe) woman at the fetish night who had a brilliant attitude that I am adopting for myself: "I'm going to regret what I do, not what I don't".
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Three Os a Lady

As promised (in his titillating note) Jason greeted me with a deep kiss, it was a strong kiss, not too soft or too overbearing and the right amount of tongue. Talk about great impression and immediately being swept off my feet. We have had drinks before but still I was a more than a little nervous about meeting.
Skipping to the sauciness.
I was dressed in a lucky dress (I have a few to choose from!), fuck-me-heels and as he discovered stockings and suspenders. I love wearing stockings even if they are under jeans or a casual outfit, they make me feel sexy and his eyes lit up in the style of a cartoon character when he felt them under my dress.
It turned into a cosy night in without the DVD or wine!
I didn't realise how greedily I tried to get his shirt off and I had to remind myself to calm and slow down. As I straddled his lap, I could feel his erection through both our clothes and noticed how his breathing was deep and soft, he has just he right amount of stubble - so you can feel it brush against your skin but not so it was cutting.
He removed my top, and took some time getting acquainted with my breasts. I never know what to do at that time, especially as I was standing in front of him, I stroked his neck and shoulders while he liberated my breasts from their lace cage, he spent an eternity kissing the nipples until they were hard, too hard! Too hard being when they are so hard and pert that even a small touch can cross the line from pleasure to pain. He spun me round to examine my body with his lips.
His erection was escaping his boxers, it was tumescent and red. I took it in my hands and he made cute noises when I got to the tip with each movement, he started to stroke my clitoris which made me even more wanton.
In my head I have a hierarchy of intimacy (it needs a dedicated post to explain it), certain acts depend on how I am feeling and how comfortable I am, at this point I was still a little nervous with no Dutch courage inside of me but extremely turned on.
I think he was heading towards giving me oral when I announced that I wanted him to take me from behind doggy style. He obliged, well he reached for a condom, then obliged. His penis was amazing, the head of his cock just rubbed my g-spot the right way from the get-go. I was able to come twice, the first time quickly, almost by surprise, the second time was deep and all-consuming.
Twenty minutes later he was hard again, I gave him a lube-aided hand-job leading to another roll in the sheets - I was so wet, the moistness almost made me a little self conscious, he started slowly with him on top, then him behind, and both of us very sweaty. We both came at the same time (I love it when that happens) and fell onto the bed in a post-orgasmic mess.
I never know how or when I will come with new lovers, I know my body well enough to help it along the way but three orgasms with a new lover within an hour is pretty amazing - not to mention the feeling of coming together.
He came across as genuinely sincere, with a libido to rival my own and he had the ability to be overtly sexual without sounding crass or pervy.
We're going to try and catch up again at the end of the week for a rematch.
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Monday, 21 September 2009

Hot Stuff

The excitement of meeting up with the potential younger lover - Jason - is simmering in my loins a) he is smoulderingly gorgeous and b) he seems to be into me as much as I fancy him.
However there were some realistic thoughts that took away from the fantasy - we have kissed but no physical contact other than that, the chemistry was there, and I want the reality to deliver the fantasy.
We are meeting tonight, when I asked to reschedule from last week, he said he was disappointed but he sent me a note detailing everything he wanted to do with me when we were to have some alone time. I've just reread the note - it is hot stuff, I'm already turned on and have a grin plastered on my face. And it sounds silly but I liked the way he used the words "There's so much I want to do with you....".
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Mini death

I find that just before I orgasm, I feel a mild panic, I know that it's coming (no pun intended) and I have to let it happen, and have no control which can be a little embarrassing with extraneous (unexpected) noises, facial expressions and pure grinding.
But it is that moment of letting go that I crave for in satisfying masturbation and when with partners.
Reading the effect on organs during a woman's orgasm. If there was ever a reason to strive for a healthy body inside and out to increase effective blood flow and organ efficiency the levels of orgasm has to be an important one.
Levels of orgasm:
Level One
Energised organs - Lungs
Observable response - The woman sighs, breathes heavy, salivates
Level Two
Energised organs - Heart
Observable response - Woman extends tongue to her lover while kissing
Level Three
Energised organs - Spleen, Pancreas, Stomach
Observable response - Woman grasps and holds man tightly with activated muscles
Level Four
Energised organs - Kidneys, Bladder
Observable response - Vaginal spasms and secretions flow
Level Five
Energised organs - Bones
Observable response - Joints loosen and she may feel the urge to bite her lover
Level Six
Energised organs - Liver, Nerves
Observable response - Woman undulates and gyrates like a snake, wrapping limbs around her lover
Level Seven
Energised organs - Blood
Observable response - Blood boiling, she frantically touches her lover everywhere
Level Eight
Energised organs - Muscles
Observable response - Muscles relax. Urge to bite intensifies as she grabs her lover's nipples
Level Nine
Energised organs - Entire Body Energised
Observable response - Woman collapses in "mini death", surrenders to her lover and is completely open
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A reoccurring dream needed me to actually discover the word to describe it. That word is irrumatio.
The dream starts with me asking a man (usually an ex) to fuck my face. The man then asks me to describe why I want to, I have to use the right words to 'persuade' him to fuck my face, I put my hands to my now really wet pussy, I say that it would really turn me on,even the thought of it is making me more than moist. I then beg for him to fuck my face, I beg again and again and again. He succumbs to my wishes and somehow I am still able to shout 'fuck my face' while he is fucking my face.
I have been using this dream as masturbation fodder for the last couple of days with extreme success.
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Sunday, 20 September 2009

Fetish Debut - part one

Drum roll please.
Last night I went to my first fetish night with a lesbian friend who agreed to 'show me the ropes', I didn't have a chance to find a catsuit I liked so I wore some kinky underwear and rubber hold-ups.
Little did I know I shouldn't have worried so much about an outfit and scouring central London yesterday afternoon like a toddler with ADD.
It's safe to say that with my friend by my side I felt comfortable but after a couple of gin and tonics I felt euphoric. I was at home. Surrounded by people that were brazen about their sexuality and wearing their sex bruises so to speak on their sleeve. Not just that but with adults, not teenagers, adults. Men asked me my sexual preference before asking my name. It was enthralling.
I was groped (consensually), spanked, whipped, kissed and more and I loved it. I loved every minute of it.
I'll check my behind for bruises, have a spot of lunch and debrief properly later...
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Wednesday, 16 September 2009

Still poorly

Reasons I know I am ill:
- My libido has disappeared.
- I tried to masturbate earlier to make myself feel better but nothing.
- A practically pornographic test message couldn't raise a smile never mind a clit twitch.
- When I ran out of Lemsip, I could've cried.
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Tuesday, 15 September 2009

I am a lyrebird

Last week I met a Dubliner and within an hour I was pronouncing words and the end of sentences with a little-lecprecaun-like accent. Not because as you may think, I was taking the piss, but because I liked him.
I thought I was quite noisy when having sex until I realised I react to my partner, I can orgasm quietly, silently sometimes, I can of course scream the house down. I am turned on by the smallest moan when you start to kiss someone through to dirty mutterings and appreciative groans. There have been times where I have been asked to have his hand over my mouth as an attempt for me not to alert the neighbouring room, because OH MY GOD the orgasm was so strong I would have woken more than just the next-door neighbours.
Sometimes it is the shyest of men that have the most to say with their clothes off. I went out with a bookish physics student not so long ago who detailed every move he made in near pornographic detail, describing my body and the effect it had on him. It was hot!
I am bed-ridden and not in the good way. I seem to have caught a cold but as I am going out with Toyboy on Thursday, I have to be better by then!
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Monday, 14 September 2009

Party pleasure

And calm.
What do you do when the love of your life, five years after you break up with him, gets engaged to somebody else? Overreact? Act out? Both?
I sent him an email wishing him my most sincere congratulations, at the time there were sincere, I want him to be happy.
At a party and x amount of strong martinis later and I started to feel a little emotional. I started flirting with another guest, we have been to the same parties before but not spoken more than polite hellos and goodbyes. We flirted, kissed, very publicly, which then led to very drunken kissing in the toilets, leading to a blow job, yes, in the toilets. He came back to mine, but we were too drunk to have sex, when I say we, he was too drunk to get it fully erect, I was too drunk to put a condom on the right way. Cue more kissing, he tasted of cider and cigs.
After I wake, I realise that our behaviour is the talk of facebook statuses and I already have two text messages along the lines of "I thought you were going to behave" and "no more shitting on your doorstep?".
The shame. The shame.
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I find it difficult at times to show my true feelings, I tend to bottle away any emotions I am uncomfortable with.
I am aware that I need time to think things through at times but please note if my response to anything is ever 'no worries' or 'fine', take ten steps back and rethink it.
Because all IS NOT FUCKING FINE and NOW is probably the TIME TO FUCKING WORRY.
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Sunday, 13 September 2009

Old diary entries

I've just posted an old diary entry, it's usually when I come across an old notebook, diary or word processing file and it is more of a personal reference. A way to compare how I am progressing sexually, mentally and emotionally.
On the one hand there is an underlying sexuality to my notes but on the other they are tinged with a naivety that I don't always recognise nor acknowledge in my younger self. If I have acted on my desires and fantasises more proactively like I am now - I can only let my hand wander into the depths of knickers and think about.
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Scarlet Magazine

Diary entry from September 2006
Scarlet magazine: I bought it last week but today is the first chance I have had a chance to flick through it. The cover has a profile of a pretty brunette, in fact if it didn't have in big fuck off letters 20 PAGES of EROTICA one would assume it was similar in content to Marie Claire, Glamour etc.. As most of the advertising is of lingerie and adult toys, not sure how comfortable I would be reading it on the tube. I consider myself sexually confident (at times) but the inner prude blushes way too easily... No-one ever read over my shoulder on the bus/tube/train, that was until I was reading a Ben Elton novel, I think it might have been Dead Famous or Past Mortem, and I caught the bloke next to me peer over and it obviously had to be the page where fisting* and olive oil were going hand-in-hand. I instantly blushed. As with most publications it comes with a wallchart (note to the Guardian - why oh why would I want a wallchart of dinosaurs, trees or whatever - and calm - I'm sure that many people do like wallcharts - I apologise). This wallchart, however, is of vibrators, I am quietly pleased that I own one of them, but think, where on earth would I put this wallchart. I call one of my friends and she suggests somewhere ironic like the bathroom but not say the living room or bedroom would be trying to prove how sexually liberated one was (which I hope to be one day!).
The letters page gave a good insight to previous editions, "Lotto Cock" reminded me of a potential Sun headline but still with an open mind I move on... Full frontal was a great page, it instantly made me laugh with 10 Unfortunate URLs - in particular (Italian Power generator) and (computer experts).
Some scantily clad men thrown in, some "erotic" shots of Danny Dyer, naked men are much less alluring than say naked women (I am straight, very straight), the pics take themselves too seriously and there is none of the cheeky smile and naughty glint that we all love Danny Dyer for. An excellent article by Loaded editor, it says first installment - on to a good thing...
Technical tips - blow-jobs - half way through reading this, my boss comes in, I'm at lunch, but still put Scarlet in between the Metro, not sure if I want to start discussing the "5 solutions to the spit/swallow debate" with the office - I am still new here!!
Questionnaire completed - I am at medium risk to have an affair...
Back to work in five, I quickly skim the rest, I note six more articles I want to read, some ideas for presents and shopping, a cocktail recipe to try, Toy with us, as well as the aforementioned twenty pages of erotica.
*fisting isn't recognised as a word according to the gmail spell checker

Saturday, 12 September 2009

What's wrong with football?

Please tell me what is wrong with football? I am sick and tired of meeting men that say "I don't like football, you'll be glad to hear" teamed with a Cheshire Cat grin.
You know what? I'm not glad to hear! I don't mind football, I actually prefer men that like football. I'm turned on by passionate men. Men that are passionate full stop, football here is a good example, as the testosterone that accompanies football also fuels my fantasies.
For me, it used to be a win/win dating a football supporter. If his team won - we would meet up and have a celebratory shag, if his team lost - we would meet up and have a consolation-make-it-all-better-shag. One of my most sex-filled and satisfying afternoons was when I was promised a sexual favour for every goal that was scored, his team scored four goals that day. I've just realised how much more sex we had on (weekend) match days than non-match days.
There wasn't just a benefit sexually, he was less restless during the football season, full of focus and the weekend papers would be brought to me with haste.
I like football. I like footballers. And, of course, I like men that have the stamina to run/train and play for that amount of time each week and then have a kick-about for fun not to mention the legs.
Could one write about footballers without a small dedication to the beauty of firm quads? How about when you're being taken from behind and you can feel his legs softly brush against your buttocks?
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10 things I want to try... (in more detail - part two)

Anal Sex
I should have added a little bit about anal sex on this previous post but thought it deserved and required some further investigation:
Never say never
When I was younger there was no way I was going to be anally penetrated. There were different connotations surrounding it, anal sex between consenting heterosexual couples was illegal when I first started experimenting sexually and the subject was certainly taboo with my friends and a complete veto with boyfriends.
The considerations for losing my rosebud cherry:
I was remember how both when I lost my virginity, the first blow job I gave, my first fingering, more firsts! Let's just say when the fourth person I gave a blow job to really hurt me (a story for another time) I was VERY upset, distraught, followed by a MIGHTY anger and I felt extra hurt as I gave him a blow job when I was still sensitive about giving them.
I know I will become emotionally attached and as such I am weighing up the options of the fallout, and if I were to get upset I'm not sure how many friends I would have the courage to talk to. I am drawing up a list, male gay friends are at the top!
Preparation is key it seems. I don't want to soil anywhere during the event and I certainly don't want to have any bowel 'loosening' after the event. After a little research, I have started to keep a food diary and a poo diary, yes, on my desktop there is a file called poo.doc, oh how we laugh!
What if something goes wrong, not enough lube, too much lube?! I don't want it looking like the first five minutes of a late night Casualty special. I know doctors and nurses would have seen worse but I still don't want to be at their mercy.
The right person
Considering the emotional attachment and the potential embarrassment if it goes wrong or I don't like it, I can't decide whether I should wait until I am settled in a loving trusting relationship, suggest it to a long-term lover and other ingenious ideas. For the time being I am leaving to when it feels right, it will feel right. And hopefully that time will be the right side of my stool diary!
But all in all, I am not put off trying anal sex, and more than happy to don a strap-on for a loved on if he wanted me to. In fact that makes my rosebud twitch as much as thinking of being penetrated there myself.
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PS - Rosebud: Was that what Orson Welles was referring to in Citizen Kane?! Just found this, and I'm not far off, it was a vaginal rosebud not an anal one according to gossip.

Friday, 11 September 2009

Emptiness is a film based on a Dan Brown book

I am shallow.
I need to be stimulated mentally, emotionally and physically, not necessarily in that order or in equal measures but my mind must be as turned on and as (figuratively) lubricated as my lady garden.
Bored senseless and I got talking to a tall dark stranger, he was initially engaging and he was nicely flirtatious without being smarmy. Then he dropped the baton. He asked me if I liked cinema? His favourite film (and book) was The Da Vinci Code, I suppressed a small laugh, I assumed he must be joking, but he wasn't and went into detail of trying to incorporate places in the story into his travel plans.
Any attraction I had for him vanished without a trace. The moistness dried up and I excused myself, saying I would catch up with him later on, I then avoided him...
Does this make me a bad person?
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I like firsts. And fists but in this instance firsts.
Three people think they were the first to be blown by me, five men think they were the first to liked or licked even my clitoris. It of course is a ruse. It is a love lie or a love omission. It is me saying "I love you and trust you enough for you to be my first at this intimate act" and also I like to be thought of as innocent?!
Men sometimes say they want a dirty slut but in reality that is not always the case! As the Oscar Wilde quote goes "Men always want to be a woman's first love, women like to be a man's last romance".
I know that the person I first try anal sex with, won't be the last person who think they popped my bum cherry, unless it's so good I kidnap him, tie him to my bed and use him and his body as a sex slave forever and ever and ever.
Is this dishonest? I think so. It gives a false sense of intimacy and romance but when you are there in the moment, naked, with a loved one, new or otherwise, the last thing you want to start admitting to is when you last wanked for a man.
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Toyboy Boytoy

In light of my fantasising about the (too) young fella, and I do mean young, I have to decipher his emails using Urban Dictionary!?
But... this week I met a man five years my junior and he has ignited something inside of me. Not only is he satisfyingly sexual, he is charming, intelligent, gorgeous and an all-round sauce-pot. So it looks like I have a new toyboy boytoy to play with. Maybe there is more cougar in me than I had previously assumed.
More to follow.
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Thursday, 10 September 2009

Shitting. Doorstep.

I am good at not sleeping with men in the same group of friends. Actually I am usually pretty good at not sleeping with men in the same group of friends.
Out with some friends and a ex-lover's friend from Uni showed up, he was flirting with me outrageously to the point of playing footsies under the table. With just him and I at the bar, he asked "how about it?", I explained my history, my albeit brief sexual history with my male friend. He said he knew and that my so-called friend/ex-lover had given him the green light!
I was so very offended. I was not to be 'passed round' with permission, did he think he owned the key to my secret garden?
When we went back to the table, I sat in a different seat and ignored his footsies attempts. I'm still not sure why I reacted so strongly. After I calmed down his charm started to work wonders and by then the ex-lover had long gone home.
I did end up going home with my new found friend and his sexual abilities were firm and strong which is also how I would describe his erection, not to mention incredible girth. He had an insatiable appetite and we also then had sex twice in the morning. I love morning sex, great morning sex even more so, great morning sex with the hardest erection ever seen even even more so.
I feel that I might be compromising on my morals more than I used to.
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Today I am extremely hungover. I am sitting at my desk pretending that I don't feel like I want to vomit. I have a horrible feeling that acid reflux may get the better of me before the day is out.
When tired I misread words. Stimulate for simulate, orgasm for organism and even vagina for angina. It's times like this that highlights that my brain is, if not totally sex obsessed, maybe a little dyslexic. Dyslexia is an anagram for 'sexy laid'. See, I can't help myself.
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Prostate prevention

(Raw) Broccoli and tomato ketchup could prevent prostate cancer. I have also read that prostate massage is also good as a preventative measure. Note to self: I wonder how much Heinz budget for 'medical' research.
I wish straight men would stop associating anal play with homosexuality and just enjoy the pleasure the body can bring to themselves and others. Instead of getting incredibly drunk and asking me to "stick a finger in" and go on to deny all knowledge of it the next morning.
I am not a doctor, please don't hold my 'medical' advice as gospel. That's what the NHS are there for. I love the NHS.
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I am an addict

I love life, I do as I please, but I do it to extremes. I have an addictive personality, if that is the correct term.
Early morning hit, topped up during the day leading to insomnia.
I can't really drink. I get drunk very easily. My emotional guard is stripped by alcohol. But the majority of my socialising starts and/or ends in a bar. I don't when to stop or if I do I give an especially convincing impression of not knowing. The last time I was really drunk I sent Quiet Boy a text saying "Let me love you". Embarrassing to say the least.
I fall in love on a weekly basis, from my postman to a colleague to an innocent passer-by in my life. I fantasise what it would be like to be their lover and loved one, I imagine what their penis and testicles look like and how we could satisfy each other. I have been known to proclaim love on first sight, on a first date and even sincerely in a Dear John letter.
I take risks for my enjoyment of sex, I have curbed these to be as sexually healthy as possible. I have had sex with (practical) strangers, ex-boyfriends and other people's boyfriends. In retrospect I know it's usually the thrill of the chase rather than the catch, but in the moment I want, I need, I desperately need the feeling of a penis inside of me, an orgasm growing inside of me. As I am penetrated there is a relief, a satisfying relief and comfort. The moment just before an orgasm is what drives me. Everything else in the world doesn't matter and disappears, your mind blanks, preparing for immense euphoria.
If I wasn't so self-aware I could easily be a drug user. The aforementioned euphoric sexual hit but in the form of powders and pills is extremely tempting but luckily for my well-being; physically, mentally and financially it is the want for physical and real sex that motivates me.
When I find something/somewhere/someone that entertains me, I do it/them as often as possible to the point of over indulgence and then I'm on to the next thing that takes my fancy.
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Tuesday, 8 September 2009

The Slave Factor

My usual reaction to my fantasies is to allow them ladyplay time and leave them at that. That is probably why I am super surprised at myself for acting on the dominated/dominate one. I will be, wait for it, I can hardly believe I am actually doing this either(!), holding auditions for a subservient male. A slave boy. A man to tender to my every whim and fancy.
I have a shortlist of two to choose from. The two potential slaves are opposites in physicality, relationship status, job and location.
Initially I specified non-sexual as if it were sex role-play I wanted I would involve a lover. With a relationship though casual or otherwise there are always different boundaries. Humiliation can only go so far as you care for them, otherwise there wouldn't be the relationship. Also with the vice-versa, your mindset needs to be strong enough to change roles as and when.
In the times I have previously tried this, sometimes I am not in the mindset of it being my turn to be dominant, especially after a long day at work. So as said I will be looking for two men to fulfill my needs; one master, one slave.
In saying that I want to explore this without a sexual relationship am I admitting that I would prefer to be doing this with a trusting significant other? I'm not sure.
I am still looking for a master.
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Monday, 7 September 2009

And they say the love letter is dead

From Kevin Smith to his wife on their tenth wedding
Over the last decade, you and I have never missed an
opportunity to let the other know when they've fucked
up. It's an irritating character flaw we share: a reflexive
last gasp for life from the fading individual that's losing
a battle of absolute surrender to a shared identity
As much as we'd like to think we're our own people,
we're not anymore.
We're entwined in one another's story. And with each
year, the tales become the tale, as the story moves
further away from our solo adventures of yore.
We're now so up in each other's narratives that they've
put us under one cover: "Two Married Faggots Who're
Queer for Each Other, the Fucking Faggots" - a
potentially incendiary title that's not meant to insult a
community as much as communicate just how
passionate this couple is for one another (the working
assumption being that same-sexers are far more
passionate about... well, passion than their breeder
counterparts; hence the glory-hole). But seeing as
this is our ten year anniversary, we must be doing
something right. And in honor of that, for the next
ten minutes, I present all the things you've been
right about over the last decade. Naturally, with
the time constraint, the list can't be all-inclusive;
even so, accept this as a nod of gratitude from a guy
who looks at you at least once a day and thinks
"She's still here! Man, I'm gonna owe this hooker
a shit-load of dough..."
Ten minutes.
Circumcising the watch... And, go!
- Never makes me get on top to fuck
- Raised a sweet, smart, strong woman-kid
- Never let the bush get crazy out of control
- Waxes the asshole regularly
- Made us change the carpet in the Oceanport house
- Law & Order
- Knew Harley's Nuk wouldn't be an issue
- Taught me to play BlackJack
- Insisted we move to California and buy Ben's house
- Got way into 2000 Stanley Cup finals when she knew
nothing about hockey
- Bought me all that cereal that one time
- Got me out of the sleeveless sweatshirt
- News Radio
- Wore the cutest overalls while she were pregnant
- Rocks just the right amount of anal to keep it
- Ate all that grapefruit when she was pregnant
- Re: Skywalker ranch - "We should get married here."
Then pulled the wedding together in less than
two days.
- Fucking the sense into me after I was like
"We should break up."
- All the furniture she's ever bought
- The chandeliers
- Wheat Grass
- The Mickey painting
- Snapped
- Six Feet Under
- I should've been on time for airport pickup when she
moved to Jersey. With flowers
- Larry the trainer
- Any number of people she's been like "I don't trust
them..." or "They're creepy..." about
- Tough love with old Mewes
- Frasier
- Everybody Loves Raymond
- Having that Christmas party in the old house
- Asking her parents to move in with us
- That actress
- Gnocchi
- Pinto Beans
- The Pixies
- The Ivy
- That little drape on the Bluntman costume that
covered my gut
- Sierra
- Sugar Ray's "Every Morning"
- Vegas - All those barbecues and parties
- The kid and softball
- Not over-bidding on Rumson house
- Burke Williams
- Us in general
In a life filled with crazy-lucky windfalls of good
fortune, you, Jennifer, have stood head-and-tits
above 'em all. Thanks for sharing a big slice of
your biography with me.
I love you more than I love pre-sweetened cereal (and
before anyone snickers: as someone who's watched me
pack on the pounds over the last decade, my wife can
appreciate the absolute truth of that cereal sentiment).
I love you, Super-Pal.
"I just figure, y'know - after twenty years, every man
deserves to hear this: I was wrong."
"And I think after twenty years, every woman deserves
to hear this: I agree with you."
- Dan and Roseanne
I hope that when I have been married for ten years,
I get a note like this xx
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No offence

Wouldn't it be great if you could honestly talk to your partner without causing pain, embarrassment or offence.
I wrote about Mr Maybe-next-time not liking to give the gift of oral sex but as I couldn't speak with him frankly without him becoming very defensive, changed the subject or plain silent. The one time we tried a 69 it wasn't great but after a year of no oral sex I was just over the moon to have him down there.
He didn't seem to know what he was doing and used his tongue as if it was his penis, it was clumsy and rushed. When a week later he said he didn't want to do it again that was the unique opportunity I had to give him some tips and motion him towards perhaps just a clit peck, which in turn could become a clit kiss, a clit snog or even (fingers crossed) clitoclasmic orgasm. But I didn't, the moment passed. My frustration returned, I felt cold and rejected and treated him as such. It was sad.
If it isn't possible to speak to your partner, at least at the end of a relationship wouldn't it be great if one could rationally and honestly give feedback without any of the hurt or resentment? I would like to think so.
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