Saturday, 31 October 2009
Friday, 30 October 2009
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Let's skip past the niceties, family updates and straight to the main course:
Friend: ...so who are you fucking nowadays?
Friend: Really? If you weren't getting any, you would have dry-humped the waiter by now.
Me: A little harsh, but fair. Let's just say no-one special.
Me: Like I said, no-one special.
Friend: Dish the dirt! Tall? Short? Inside leg?
Me: I've got a casual thing with a 25 year old...
Friend: What the fuck Thirty?
Friend: Are you never going to stop fucking about?
(This is why I don't confide in my friends)
Friend: What? You're no longer a teenager.
Me: One minute you want to know whose dick I am sucking, the next berating me for that very same sucked dick?
(She's not a fan of cock or dick as words)
Friend: I thought you were looking for something for serious.
Me: If serious happens, great, but it has to be the right person. Until then I'm having great sex, I'm happy.
Me: I'm dating, but nothing has come of that recently. I want chemistry, I don't want to sit in a pub or coffee place trying to persuade some arse that my aspirations fit in with his life. I want to feel it in my loins. Nine times out of ten, I am repeating the same old shit, for what? To have them act disinterested all night then try and semi-kiss, semi-grope me at the end of it. No thanks.
Friend: And you have chemistry with this 25 year old?
Me: Look - this bloke is gorgeous and funny, he tells me how gorgeous I am, how I make him feel, how good my body looks when I ride him. We fuck like he's never fucked before. You've forgotten what it's like...
Friend: What what is like? Meaningless sex? That I remember.
Me: No, to be single. You were more promiscuous than I ever was, and stupidly so, you've forgotten how many times you used to pick men up, take them home then throw them away...
Friend: I was young then...
Me: Well don't judge me now. I am who I am, I fuck who I want to fuck.
Friend: I just wish you had some self-respect...
(This is probably where I should have changed the subject)
Me: I do have self-respect.
Friend: Do you? Really?
Me: This isn't some drunken one-night-stand, this is a itch I need to be scratched. He makes me feel good about myself, so I can keep my self-respect, so the next time I am horny in a pub somewhere I don't feel the need to go home with some drunken idiot, you're right, I'm not a teenager. When I go on dates, I don't come across as desperate because you know what? I'm not. Do you think I want what you have?
Friend: Yeah, I think you're jealous...
Me: I'm not going to settle...
Friend: And you think I have?
Me: You're 'happy' aren't you...?
Friend: Of course...
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Condoms are a must.
It's been a long time since I have been a committed relationship that allowed the freedom of condom-free sex, even with Mr Maybe Next Time we used condoms for at least the first fourteen/fifteen months.
Now, I would have to be in a committed loving relationship, with us both being deemed clean by the NHS to even contemplate not using condoms, not to mention the birth control aspect as I am not currently on the pill.
Selfless lovers are the way forward and if only selfish lovers realised that by being selfless in bed could be the ultimate selfish act.
Recently a friend showed an interest in red wine, yet aware of his ineptitude for the subject. I suggested that choose one region such as Bordeaux or Rioja and discover everything he could about that region "be a Bordeaux buff" and start from there.
Pussy boy did just that with his sexual prowess.
Looking back over this year by far the best lover (technically) I had was without a doubt Pussy boy. He was enthusiastic even when we fucked in the middle of the night, post slumber and half sleepy, and he made it all about my orgasm, I doubt I've had so many orgasms in such a short space of time.
He would start with kissing, stroking and then head straight for cunnilingus; he was the going down town master. Even as I came to orgasm, he would keep going to see if there was a second orgasm hiding around the corner, I would always have to ask him to stop and his head would pop up like a puppy, ears pricked, massive smile of his face, licking his lips.
And after that? I was putty in his hands, my enthusiasm mirrored his own. I wanted to please him, I wanted him to feel the level of pleasure and intensity he had bestowed on me. I would do anything he asked.
However, the one time I didn't want him to go down on me (a wax was due the next morning) he was a lost puppy, his sexual armour dented.
He may have held me arms length emotionally but boy he knew how to use his tongue.