Chancer

I don’t believe in luck.

Let me rephrase that. I don’t believe luck can be made, as if some people have a knack in striking lucky and some people don’t. No. I believe in chance. Taking chances. Putting yourself in a position where there are risks; an equal chance of failure or success, and being willing to accept whichever comes your way.

And when it comes to me, I do this regularly. Though I am often not aware that I am in this position till much later. People who know me, ask me, how is it that I have the balls to:

Demand a refund due to the terrible projection of a movie in the cinema
Ask for huge reductions in my ‘past-its-sell-by-date’ shopping basket
Send food back in a restaurant when it’s not exactly what I ordered
Greet Ken Loach as if he were an old mate (he’s not)
Ask for a job from someone I have just met
Walk up to a stranger and ask him out for a drink

And when I think about it, I really don’t know how. I mean, it’s not that I am not scared to do all these things – I am. It’s just that the fear doesn’t hit me, till some time later, usually when I get home, and then I think to myself

‘What the fuck did I just do??’

I have a delayed reaction I guess. To everyone else, I seem super confident, outspoken and flirtatious – and I am – but inside I shit bricks like everyone else, even though I appear to be calm, relaxed and cool on the outside. (Those acting lessons I took many years ago paid off I guess).

But this ‘confidence’ doesn’t seem to work in my favour all the time, especially with guys, much to my detriment.

I recall getting drunk a while back with a friend of mine, E, who I had a huge crush on at the time. (He later turned out to be gay, and not Bi as he and I had thought, but that’s another story). E and I had been drinking all afternoon and ended up where you normally do on a nice autumn day: sitting in Trafalger Square, getting drunk and having a ‘truth session’. E admits to me he was intimidated by me when we first met and that until I approached him, he was too scared to talk to me. After a couple more beers I managed to find out why.

Me: So what is it about me that’s off-putting?

E: You’re not off-putting. You’re very sexy. I mean, you’re gorgeous!

Me: (Embarrassed) Thank you. Why is that scary?

E: That’s not scary. You’re fucking lovely. (He reaches over, puts his hand on my thigh) Of all the women I have ever known, you would be the one I would want to sleep with, you’re sexy, intelligent, you’ve got great fucking tits…

Me: You forgot funny…

E: Yes, funny too. If I wasn’t with T (his boyfriend), I would be asking you out.

Me: (My heart raising a little – I liked him, remember) Um, thank you.

E: I can’t believe you are single!

Me: (Melancholic now) Neither can I…

E: I think I know why. But I don’t know if I should tell you…

Me: Why? Please. I need to know!

E: Ok. You did ask… Because of the way you are. The way you come across to people is that you don’t need, or even want, a man.

Me: What?! That’s not true!

E: No, you seem like you’ve either already got a man or that you have no interest in having one; either way you’ve got no need for a new one in your life. That’s how you come across anyway.

Me: (Too stunned to speak)

E: You’re so confident, you’re very unapproachable. For a guy to be able to even talk to you, he needs to have a huge pair of balls, let alone chat you up. That’s why I ignored you when we met. Not because I didn’t like you, but because I did like you, but you really scared me. Does that make sense?

Me: Sort of. But I thought I had ‘Desperate and Needy’ written all over my forehead when it comes to men?

E: No. More like: ‘I have all the men I need, now get lost’ written all over your forehead.

Me: Oh. Fuck. Bollocks. Shit. Damn. Help!

And then it started raining and we said goodbye. And I privately vowed to work on this brash outer self of mine and try and be a bit more demure, soft, cuddly and feminine: thus more approachable. Maybe then guys would chat me up, right?

It lasted about a year. And I still didn’t get chatted up. And I realised that being quiet and shy-acting, just wasn’t in my nature. Instead of coming across all sweet and girly, I appeared to have lost my brain and the ability to have an intellectual discussion, the very things that (I think) are appealing about me (minus the breasts of course).

Not only is it in my nature to be outgoing and assertive, I think I also enjoy taking chances and putting myself on the line, especially when it comes to men. Maybe I like the thrill of it. I mean as well as the possibility of failure, there’s also the chance of success that is just as heart racing. Take the following over the last year:

My asking the sales assistant who was helping me try on ski trousers out for a drink (he had a girlfriend)
My walking up to a guy I had seen on the studio lot and asking him out to dinner (he had a girlfriend)
My getting an actors phone number (never called him, can’t afford to shit in my own backyard)
My chatting up one of my gym instructors (he had a wife and kid)
My meeting a guy from a personal ad (we ended up shagging)
My chatting up a guy on the bus (we ended up shagging)
My following a cute guy around in the supermarket (he had a boyfriend)
My flirting with a guy in my local newsagents (both of us with The Guardian, him with a smile, me in a hurry – haven’t seen him since)
My asking a total stranger out for a beer (haven’t heard back from him)

All of these situations have made my heart beat a little faster, which must be good for my soul, if not for my metabolic rate. And even though I have been gutted (to say the least) about the ones that didn’t work out, at least I have taken chances and put myself ‘out there’.

Without risk, there is no serendipity. Life would be exceedingly dull. And a dull life is one not worth living.

I reckon anyway.

Even if I do hide my head in my hands on a semi-regular basis wishing I hadn’t been so forward…

Silent Night, Horny Night

There's nothing like being cooped up indoors for a few days with all your relatives to get your blood boiling. And we're not talking fury here, though in my case, the level of frustration I feel has been pretty furious. I am referring of course to my sexual frustration, which has been made all the more difficult to cope with, due to the regular and close proximity of family members. Picture the scene:

Int. Bedroom. Morning
Girl lying in bed, hand between her legs. Her breathing is deep, her body moving slightly against her hand. The bed squeaks. She stops moving.

Cut to:
Int. Kitchen. Morning
Mother and father preparing breakfast.

Cut back to:
Int. Bedroom. Morning
Girl's body moving back and forth. She slides her fingers around her pudenda, wets them slightly, circles her clit with them. She moans, then stops herself, tries to breathe silently through her nose. Suddenly:

MOTHER
Girl, are you awake?

Girl’s fingers stop moving. She lies motionless. Raises her head from the pillow.

GIRL
Uh, yeah…

MOTHER
Do you want some tea?

GIRL
Um, no thanks

Girl resumes fiddling, concentrating on keeping the bed perfectly still. Her fingers are slick and wet now. She slides two of them inside, gasps quietly as they go in. She pretends they are a hard cock inside her and she drifts away into the fantasy, until:

MOTHER
Well, do you want some coffee then?

The cock disappears. Girl groans, stops moving her fingers, opens her eyes.

GIRL
Yes, I’d love some, thanks. Be down in a sec

Silence. Good. Girl closes her eyes again, thinks about running her tongue around a man’s chest, stopping to kiss his nipples. She begins to throb again, resumes her position, slides her fingers inside once more. She can almost taste his skin…

MOTHER
Do you want cream or milk with that? I know you like cream, I made
sure we got enough, so would you like that instead?

GIRL
(under her breath)
For fucks sake
(raising her voice)
Yes please, that’d be lovely

Hold the front page!!!

News just in:

The Girl has achieved a dashing feat, one that far surpasses any other obstacle she has overcome this year. With wit, cunning and intrigue, she has managed to arrive at a place where few people dare to go - in fact, somewhere she has never been.

That's right folks: a 72 hour abstention.

Or in other words: I've kept my dirty paws away from my heated muff for 3 whole days. No fiddling. No playing. No fingering. Not even a tickle in the area. Aren't you amazed/incredulous/proud of me? I certainly am.

Admittedly I have been busy working, socialising and Christmas shopping this week, but given my previous history of incessant hand-to-pussy frequency, I have done rather well - if I say so myself - and think I deserve a reward of some sort. My two kitcat shuffles earlier today are only a preliminary gift to myself for lasting so long; surely there should be more celebrating?

So, to the weekend and beyond: may you all have a great time eating, drinking and shagging. And when you raise your glasses, say a little 'well done' to me, in your toast.

Cheers!

xx

Condoms condoms condoms!!!

(Use of triple exclamation points ©®™ Mr J. Billericay’s ‘Blog and be Published’ distance correspondence course, module II, part I)

Condoms.

So many to choose from, I feel like a kid in a sweet shop, hand laden with a shiny bright new 20 pee piece, surrounded by hundreds of different ½ pee and 1 pee sweets, not knowing which I want more. Too much choice - I want them all!

Cut to: today, in Superdrug looking at the condoms (for pure research purposes I should add), surrounded by too much choice, again. There are so many available nowadays, not only your regular and thin types, but non-latex, extra-thick, ribbed/studded (yum), and with added warming lube. A different type for every day of the week (twice at weekends).

Do people know that condoms are included in the cut-price wars going on between chemists and supermarkets?! It’s like a battlefield in there, big red signs discounting everything, begging us to ‘Buy! Buy! Buy!!!’ and you get taken in by it, end up purchasing 10 megaboxes of latex sheaths and find yourself shagging away for loyalty points. Or not. But I digress:

Condoms.

What I want to know is, which ones are more enjoyable to use? Is there a difference between them? Do guys have preferences? Like smokers, are men 'loyal' to one brand or another, or are condoms pretty much the same all round?

It would be great to know. So all you lovely people out there, please comment on which brands/makes/styles you prefer and why. International brands welcome, I am interested in all...

I don't believe it...


I really don't.

1,045 of you visited yesterday.

I am... speechless.

Truly stunned.

And somewhat confused: my little blog?

Are you all telling your mates about my site or something???

I don't trust myself

I was that close to calling SP this evening and asking if I could fuck him, or at the very least have some heated phone sex. It's been a very difficult day for me, I feel so hormonally challenged, I can barely concentrate.

I knew I was in for trouble today. Whilst watching a Marx Bros double bill, I should have been fully enjoying the hysterical antics of Groucho, Harpo and Chico, but instead I was imagining SP's cock in my mouth and was tempted to nip off to the loo for a quick fiddle. But, as some of you may know, I love funny men, and I was damned if I was gonna let some (major) horniness prevent me from getting my full-rib-tickingly-eye-watering-laughs that these quality films provide. In fact I think if Groucho were alive today (and in his thirties), I'd be doing my utmost to track down his number and ask him out on a date. What a sharp, intelligent, witty man...

Anyway, I digress. SP. He's been on my mind again recently, probably as a result of seeing him last week. And no, before any conclusions are hastily jumped to, all clothes were left on and no sex occurred. This wasn't due to any willpower on my (or his) part I should add; more that both of us were visiting our friend in hospital and we only had a few minutes alone in each other's company. Though thinking about it, that would have still been long enough for us to sneak off to the toilets for a quick one, but I'm grateful that we both behaved amicably and with restraint.

So we chatted, said we would meet for dinner sometime, hugged each other and it all seemed good. You know, closure, moving on, being able to be 'friends' without always jumping each others bones. I had ignored his eyeing me up and flirting with me all evening and just put it down to me looking damn fine and immensely shaggable (ok, I admit it, I had made an effort, knowing SP would be there, but every woman wants her ex - especially if he was the one to say he's "not ready to commit yet" - to see her looking good and think to himself 'Damn! What's wrong with me? She's gorgeous!') Anyway, we're all friends lalala and then he goes and crosses the boundary again. Not in a huge way, but enough. As we were saying goodbye, he reached in towards me and an inch or so below my breasts, he gave me a little squeeze with his knuckles. Not a grand gesture I agree. But it was something he used to do to me, before he kissed my neck, or stroked my breasts and it was intimate enough to let me know that

a) he still wants to shag me
b) we are not really just friends
c) I am his / he thinks he can still have me

Let me clarify that last point. I am single. I don't belong to anyone. But pinching me like that on my abdomen wasn't about him showing me what a good friend he is, or even that he was horny (a slap on my arse normally sufficed for that). No, it was about him showing me that he can still get in 'there' (me, my head, someplace private, more private that just fucking me) and it is this which has confused me and pissed me off.

And knowing that I still want to shag him rotten makes it all the harder to enforce these boundaries; to have been able to say to him when he did that

"Stop that SP. What are you doing?"

would have required some strength on my part. I am ashamed to say that the only thing on my mind at that moment was how much I wanted to reach my hand in between his legs, feel his cock and rub him through his jeans. It wasn't until later that my mind came back into focus and I thought 'what a fucker', and came up with things I should have said to him at the time.

Fast forward to today. Horny as hell and not thinking clearly at all. I started justifying shagging him again to myself:

"It doesn't need to mean anything"
"You just want some good sex"
"SP and you have fantastic, mind-blowingly-awesome sex"
"How often in your life do you get that?"
"He would be a brilliant fuck-buddy"
"You could experiment in ways you can't yet imagine and feel safe"
"You'd get a LOT of orgasms (and wank fodder for later)"

and you know, when I look at it like that, it seems only logical to call him, go round there, stick his cock inside me, have some fun (lots), crash out, have breakfast made for me, then go home. And repeat 4-6 weeks later. It would be fine, right?

Wrong. Pre-SP, it would have been a breeze. I had become expert at detatching my emotions from intimacy, no man could hurt or offend me, I took opportunities when they presented themselves to me, could have mind-blowing sex with whomever I pleased without wanting or expecting follow-on calls. And have lots of fun, without the emotional bullshit and turmoil that I constantly see my female friends going through. And to some extent this is still true. I don't feel dirty or cheap having sex and I don't need to be in love to have an orgasm with someone.

But. Then there was SP. And with him, I learned to break down that wall of mine and open up, emotionally, mentally, even physically. I suppose I learned to love again. It was a big thing for me (hence 74.8% of my blog contains posts about SP) and I have learned a lot about myself in the process. And I have remembered what it is like to make love with someone. And I miss that terribly. No night of 20+ orgasms can really beat that. It's something magic, and romantic and all that soppy bullshit but fuck it, it's true. And having had that with SP (as fucked up as it was), I think it's nigh on impossible for me to just be able to fuck him now. Sure I could shag him rotten, not reciprocate his physical intimacy, and leave first thing in the morning (and I have), but I know that at some point, maybe three days, maybe a week, I would want to speak to him or see him again. And not just because I wanted another taste of the good stuff - but because I missed him.

And this is why I cannot sleep with him again: I guess I am more fragile than I realise when it comes to matters of the heart. I need to move on and not be tempted to have sex with him, and right now - horniness ruling my head/heart/pussy - I am not sure if I can do that. I don't trust myself. But I hope that I find some inner strength from somewhere (probably containing 2 x AA batteries), before I do do something I will regret...

Drunk Blogging: Food for thought

Out bar-hopping in Shoreditch tonight, I discovered heaven. Somewhere you can

Get drunk
dance
and eat kebabs

all in one venue, aptly named Shish. For the average English person out partying on a Friday night, to be able to do all this in the one place, without having to stagger down the road in search of a fast-food joint at 3am, this restaurant/bar/club can only be described as pure bliss. For me, a classy lady of distinct taste and high standards, you can just call it fucking lovely. And it was. I haven't eaten a kebab for 15 years and the one I had tonight was beautiful. Well worth falling off the no-meat-in-my-mouth-that-you-have-to-chew bandwagon for.

My friend and I entered a discussion tonight about 'settling down' and came up with the following 'either, or' situation:

If you had the choice of either

a) spending the rest of your life with someone you got on brilliantly with but that you didn't enjoy having sex with

or

b) spending the rest of your life with someone you argued with but you looked forward to shagging them at any given opportunity, because the sex was fantastic

which would you choose?

We spent a lot of time on this actually, interested to know all your thoughts...

Stupid is as stupid does

Another late night blogging episode. Though I am not drunk this time, but I am a stupid fool nevertheless. I could kick myself for my idiocity today.

I was on the way to meet friends, running late - not entirely unusual for me, having to attend to my own particular call of nature for the second time just before I left the house. Anyway, I rush to get on the tube and a while later I find myself on a packed carriage on the misery line and forced to stand.

As I turn my head to survey my surroundings I feel someone staring at me and my eyes lock with this guy sitting across from me. He looks away when I catch his gaze and I sneak a look at him.

Messy dark blond/pale brown hair? Check
Blue/green/grey eyes? Check
Fresh stubble? Check
Well built? Check
Thirtyish and 'ripe'? Check
Large hands? Check
Large feet? Check
Cute? Check
Have I got an obsession with the above features in a guy? Most definitely, CHECK.

His eyes turn back and catch me staring at him. I look away, can't help smiling. I pretend to listen to my i-pod, I have no idea what songs were playing. All I could think was

'You know you wanna look at him, go on, look'

and I would try to sneak a glance, when I thought he wasn't looking. And each time, he would catch me doing it and smile. He had the most gorgeous smile, and his eyes would light up with these fantastic laughter lines when his mouth broadened. Oh what a mouth. Such luscious full lips. I found myself fighting off the desire to go and kiss them gently whilst caressing his smile lines.

Anyway, we kept staring at each other and smiling and looking away shyly and then repeating the process. Over and over again. For 15 minutes or so. He liked me, I liked him and I became aware that this was one of those 'Passing ships in the nights moments', that everyone experiences at some point (and for some strange reason, usually on the London Underground), but that is most definitely a rarity, where two people thrown together by some random fate find that they have an mutual attraction, but nothing ever comes of it and they both go their seperate ways.

I always promised myself that if this ever happened to me again, I wouldn't be one of those sad fuckers who let the chance pass them by, only to regret it later and have to put an ad in the local paper, hoping the object of their affection will contact them. No, not me. I was going to grab the bull by the horns and make sure things happened. I mean, why not? What is there to lose, right? You've only got one chance in this world, you should take every opportunity that you get offered. So I thought I'd be prepared and make the most of the situation if it happened to me.

And did I? Did I hell. Damn fool. At some point, the guy stood up to get off the train, looking back at me as he exited the carriage, smiling. And then he stood on the platform and winked at me. Winked. If there ever was a time and a place to wink, that was it. I felt special. He was cute. It was.... classy. And it made me grin back at him madly. Then he began to walk along the platform and bent down to peer in the window and he smiled at me and waved. And I waved back. Now you would think with all that I have said above about how much I liked him, how I am assertive, and how I don't like to miss opportunities that I would have jumped off that train there and then and talked to him.

Well I didn't. My legs were glued to the carriage. I was stuck in a time-warp where everything moved slowly apart from the resounding thud thud of my heart as it hit the inside of my rib-cage. I was in limbo. I couldn't move. He is standing there grinning and waving, I am standing there grinning and waving. And I didn't think to move. Until the doors closed and the train starting pulling off that is. And suddenly everything is lucid again in my brain and I am thinking

'No! I want to get off the train. No! Stop! I have to get off to speak to him'

and the train is pulling away from the station now and I can see the guy still waving at me and I am asking myself

'Would I get fined if I pull the emergency lever now? The train needs to let me off. Surely it's a matter of life and death?'

and I am silently screaming

'Oh my god, I just let him slip through my fingers, WHY??'

and I feel like Unluckyman on a bad day, the world seeming to conspire against me and celebrate my misfortune. The other passengers on the train were certainly looking at me, that's for sure, probably wondering why this i-podded woman was simultaneously laughing out loud and gritting her teeth whilst shaking her fist at the sky/carriage ceiling.

I let it go, and I lost him. Forever. And now I have become one of those sad fuckers left wondering about what might have been, rather than knowing what could be. I am embarrassed to say that a part of me has considered doing the whole personal ad/desperation thing to find him, but also I even hoped that this guy might be a reader of this blog and get in touch with me, but I know that this is totally unrealistic (and I am NOT asking for unsolicited emails pretending to be him either).

So, I am a fool and there is nothing I can do, but accept my actions, stupid though they may be. I guess fate sometimes shines on you (and in a positive way, it did), and the only thing I can do, is learn from this experience and NEVER FUCK IT UP SO STUPIDLY AGAIN!

Drunk Blogging: Boys boys boys

Another night, another bottle (or two) of Merlot. It was a Christmas party so I am excused from all wrong doing. The fact that I am sitting here trying to type whilst having double vision for the second night in a row is besides the point. I should get a gold star for effort anyway, I reckon.

So, at an Xmas do with my mate JN tonight, a few guys taking my fancy. It struck me, when I was attempting to chat this guy up just how much I love men. I mean, they bug me sure. They annoy me, hell yeah, but when it comes down to it, I am a smitten kitten when faced with a cute guy. There is so much about men that I love. For starters, I just adore:

Their deep voices, could listen to 'em all night
Their rugged skin, want to feel it against my softness
Their stubble that shows through and feels scratchy
Their adams apples that I want to kiss
Their strong shoulders that I want to stroke
The hair on their chests that I want to run my fingers through
The curve of their chests that I want to fondle
Their nipples poking through their shirt, asking to be sucked
Their strong backs, needing to be massaged
Their arms that make me feel so safe and protected when they are wrapped around me
Their large hands that I want to hold in mine and caress
Their glorious bottoms, so wonderful to grasp hold of and pull them in towards you
Their strong thighs, so wonderful to grip and push against
Their slender calves, so lovely to fondle
Their sturdy feet, so wonderful to kiss
And, most beautiful of all: the little patch of hair that leads from the belly button down towards the crotch - like an arrow, sign-posting their cock, god I love that. Oh to run my tongue along it all the way down, not stopping...

Yes. I love men. Now, if I could only get one of my own to adore/worship/fuck all night, then life would be so much easier...

Drunk Blogging: Girls girls girls

I do try not to do it whilst inebriated, but with a delicious bottle of Merlot currently ruling my head, it is pretty hard to keep my fingers from straying... onto the keyboard. Plus, I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some Blogroll-stealing-arsehole fuck with me, and prevent me from venting when I need to, so here goes...

I'm out tonight getting merry with my friend K. The bar we are in is full of people celebrating Christmas parties; we're just relaxing and lounging back in the booths. All is well, we're catching up on life, and my mind is not (totally) preoccupied with sex. But at some point I need to go to the toilet, so off I wander. And to my surprise upon entering said loo, a sweet looking blonde girl approaches me. Now given some of my history with women in toilets I can be forgiven for jumping to conclusions, but in this case I protest my innocence: I fully expected her to ask me if I have any tampons. Instead, she says to me:

"Are you looking for a friend?"

I am truly confused and ask her to repeat the question. She says again whispering, conspiratorially,

"Are you looking for a friend?"

and grins at me widely. And I wonder to myself, 'is she offering me her 'services''? Doubtful, I feign ignorance, and ask her again to repeat herself. She motions towards one of the cubicles and says,

"There's a girl in there, are you looking for a friend?"

and grins at me again. And now I am thinking to myself, 'Oh my god, is she pimping someone else?!' And I respond with a resounding

"No!"

and act shocked and a little disgusted. She then says quietly, pointing at the closed cubicle,

"Oh. There's a girl in there crying, I wondered if she was your friend, I didn't know what to say to her, I hope she's ok."

I mutter something unintelligible and scarper off into a closed cubicle of my own, hoping the toilet will swallow up some of my embarassment for being so wrong about her.

Later...

Getting more drunk by the minute, me and K are having a fab time, chatting away, people watching. We both notice this Queen dancing near our table. She is truly gorgeous: slim, curvaceous, the most beautiful arse in the world and wearing a body-hugging fitted wrap dress with no underwear (I checked, many times for a VPL, trust me). I couldn't stop staring at her arse; it was like a magnet, calling 'squeeze me, slap me', argh, too much, believe me.

Anyway, K goes off to the loo, and the Queen pounces. She comes over to me, sits next to me, puts her hand on my thigh and flicks her hair back, while she demands I come and dance with her. I flirted back gently but stayed seated. She carried on dancing and returned back to the table repeatedly over the evening offering me drinks and trying to get me to dance. And perhaps in different circumstances I would have followed it up - even though she was most definitely straight (like me), she would have definitely swung. I'm of the belief that most women would and do, drink from the furry cup, especially given 3.187 glasses of wine (the exact amount it takes for them to stop thinking of cock and start thinking 'mmm, I'd like to suck that girl's breasts').

Of course I know it was a missed opportunity and all that and I could possibly have got somewhere with it, but, with the period and all, plus the fact that K and I had to have some 'friends' time tonight (and I wasn't about to dump her over a possible shag), means that this particular scenario will have to play out in my mind only...

Not so for the couple that were fucking in the downstairs toilets in the bar - who were obviously living out their fantasy/horniness to the fullest, in all it's noisy glory. There are times that I love London: sometimes you get chatted up, sometimes you flirt outrageously, and sometimes you get to be the lucky fucker getting laid in the loos...

Panic

After having my Blogroll code lifted from my site (see sidebar) and used without my permission elsewhere, I have now had a terribly restless sleepless night, where I dreamt that someone found out my identity and somehow hacked into my blog and posted my name up on it.

It's enough to make this Girl consider giving up blogging.

Seriously.

I love Cock...



















...Rock

I love their music
I love the talent and immense skill of all four musicians
I love their energy
I love the sense of humour that they have
I love the parodying of masculinity and machismo
I love their arrogance combined with their typically British self-depreciativeness
I love the campness and glamour of their costumes
And I love the way Justin Hawkins cock can be seen swaying from side-to-side in his catsuit

It's enough to drive a woman crazy I tell you: just knowing any man is commando under his clothes is a huge turn on:

Especially if his trousers are thin
Especially if his trousers are tight
Especially if you can see his bulge moving

And there is our Justin, prancing about all over the place, happily commando in his silver spandex catsuit (which finishes just above his cock, leaving practically nothing to the imagination), and you can see it. ALL of it.

It

was

just

there

for

all

to

see

and I couldn't help but wonder what it might be like, if I were to slide my fingers an inch into his catsuit and pull out his cock. Grab it firmly in my hands, lick the sweat from his smooth chest, and then lower my mouth onto his waiting cock.

Of course there were probably 10,000 other women (and men too) who would have been thinking the same thing; singing along to Get Your Hands Off My Woman, whilst dreaming of his sexy cock in our mouths. Well, I think they would...

Anyway, it was a fantasic gig - The Darkness are great live - and even if I was temporarily distracted by the catsuit/cock/mouth situation, it didn't stop me from enjoying what it is all about: great music, played by talented people, LIVE.

Class.

Now, back to my Hawkins brothers threesome fantasy...

I've still got it

Every woman knows how it feels:

Your stomach feels full
Your ankles swell
Your breasts balloon in size and hurt when touched
Your back aches
Your skin breaks out
Your hair becomes greasy
You get hot flushes
You feel faint or nauseous
And between your legs the interior decorators are beginning to get busy, stripping away (without steaming the wallpaper first)
Plus of course the mood swings, that mean you are crying at a fucking Andrex advert one minute, and telling the man in front of you in the queue in Sainsburys to "fucking hurry up" the next.

I am of course talking about PMT - the prepatory period (pun not intended) for the actual Period (of which you may add to the above, excruciating endless pain for hours on end, combined with heavy bleeding).

But I digress. PMT. It's enough to make a woman feel down - and I do. I feel like shit, I look like shit and I know it. The water retension alone makes me feel like a beached whale, let alone all the other crap on top of that. And just to rub it in, I am the horniest that I could ever be when I have PMT. Like nature's way of saying "Fuck you. Too bad that you feel driven mad by your hormones and want, no, need to fuck. You look like shit so you ain't gonna get any." And I can't help but feel that men know when women have PMT (not just because of the mood swings) and find it a turn off, so that certainly doesn't leave me feeling confident about how I look.

So, you know, I just give in, do my best to put up with it, accept things as they are and carry on, looking forward to shoving in my gob the daily maximum amount of 1200mg of Ibruprofen, 3000mg of Paracetamol and 30mg of Codeine that I shall ingest in the days to come.

But then, sometimes something happens which puts a smile on your face and makes you feel womanly and sexy and not beached-whaley and today that happened twice. The first: walking past an internet cafe, a cute unshaven blond guy, mid 30's stared and smiled. I had to look around me, to check he wasn't looking at someone else. Me? The whale? I looked back, he smiled again. I carried on walking, looked back once more, he leaned his head out, smiled again. Wow. Maybe he was too far away to see my whaleness?

The next guy certainly wasn't: he came out of this bar he was working in, stood next to me, and said hello. He was cute, unshaven blond and mid 30's (hmm, a trend?) and had a wonderful smile too. But how could he not see my PMT? I was whaling it up right next to him. He must have known. And if so, why was he chatting me up? There must be something wrong with him surely? But it didn't stop him talking to me or me promising him to pop into the bar soon and say hello, so whatever it was, I forgot about being a whale and instead felt like a butterfly: light, happy, flirty and sexy. And knowing what lies ahead (pain, pain and more pain), having moments like that, reminding me that I am still attractive - even with PMT - makes it all seem like a breeze.

My Dilemma

An old fuck buddy of mine has recently contacted me and offered to take me to a swingers club. It's like he pyschically knows that

a) it's been a while and I am gagging for it
b) I am pre-menstrual and absolutely gagging for it
c) it's that time of year (cold, dark, festive bollocks) and I am definitely gagging for it
d) I have been waiting for the chance to swing with someone who is open-minded like me and I am literally gagging for it

Now, he's not the greatest fuck in the world, but then he's not terrible either. I suppose I feel neither here nor there about shagging him. He's not the most handsome man, nor the largest - in every sense - which doesn't make him that appealing to me, but, he is a sex-mad dirty fiend with a wicked glint in his eye and it is this about him that gets me off. But I still feel uneasy about fucking him again.

It's not that his technique is all bad: when he fucks me from behind and I ask him to spank me, he knows where, and just how hard - he takes direction very well. Plus, for a small man, he is surprisingly strong, and has thrown me on the bed, pushed my legs above his head and rammed me as hard as I could take it, more than a few times. And even with his size, he knows how to make me feel all 'girly' and submissive, telling me

"You like my cock in you don't you? You dirty little girl, move those legs up, I am gonna fuck you hard now"

which of course he does, mixing in a few slaps on my arse or thighs to spice it up.

No, it's not the sex that's the problem. It's the situation. He has a partner. And I've met her. And she's very nice too. But she's not into swinging. I tried to suggest ways that he could convince her that going to a sauna would be in her best interest, but he said there was no way she would even consider it. And practically begged me to accompany him.

So, here I am, faced with
a) good sex (and I am gagging for it, in case you had forgotten)
b) the chance to swing

and I am at a crossroads. Do I take him up on the offer and think only of my pleasure (ok, and his, but that goes without saying) or do I take into account that someone else could get hurt here? I know that he has always cheated on his partners - this would be no different - except I know her. How much of a feminist can I be if I am even considering fucking another woman's man? Just because he is a whore, it doesn't mean I have to behave like one too - does it?

Sex shop shopping: some rules

Based on my experience shopping for sex toys in Soho recently, I felt it necessary to impart to the world the following wisdom:

For Men

1. If you see a single female in there, do not blush or laugh at her. Certainly do not approach her in the hardcore DVD section, point at particular DVD's and say "Done that, and that, and that. Think I'll get this one out again - got a real result from that."
2. If you see a single female in there, do not stare at her wildly, amazed that women also wank and go shopping for sex material. We do.
3. If you see a single female in there, smile briefly and return to what you were doing. It's only polite and you are not there to chat her up after all.
4. If you see a single female in there, it's best not to walk around with a hard on. She won't be very impressed, even if you've got a large todger.
5. If you see a single female in there, try not to fill your shopping basket with a years supply of porn. It'll just make you look desperate; a weeks supply is more than enough.
6. If you see a single female in there, do not approach her with the largest dildo you can possibly find and ask her "What do you reckon, eh? Your type of thing?!" Instead, have a look at the boys toys and ask her what she thinks your girlfriend might like.
7. If you see a single female in there, try to stay away from the 'orifice' hardcore porn. Certainly spend no longer in the section than is necessary to just "tut" loudly and walk away shaking your head. No woman is impressed by a man who likes the sight of an anal canal held open and spread so widely that one can see deeply into it.
8. If you see a single female in there, do not laugh and joke with your mates in front of her about "that one's fanny" or "look at that slapper". It's difficult enough for the woman to be in there, without being made to feel cheap, embarrassed or degraded.
9. If you see a single female exit a sex shop with a new purchase bagged up, do not grab hold of her, demand to see inside the bag and exclaim loudly in front of all your mates "she's got a new dildo in there!"
10. If you see a single female in there, do peruse the 'couples' DVD section and the female sex toys, and ask the sales assistants for demonstrations to find out whether it'll give a woman more stimulation. Even if you are single too, you'll appear sensitive and generous, and will give us women hope that not every man in a sex shop is a sad git who couldn't get laid if he tried. Plus, as well as giving you some idea of what women like, you might discover that you like it too...

For Women

1. If you haven't yet, then DO go to a sex shop. Ones like Harmony and Ann Summers in the West End are women friendly and Sh! in Hoxton Square is women-only (men as partners). We need to increase our visibility in these places as well as discover our sexuality. Go.
2. If a guy tries to make fun of you up in a sex shop, ignore him. He will go away. Or better yet, laugh at him, loudly. People will turn to stare - he'll back off - works every time.
3. If you get stared at, stare back. Hold your sex toy proudly in your hand, walk up to the staring man and pick up a magazine or DVD in front of him. He needs to know you are not ashamed of the fact that you, like him, will be masturbating later.
4. Have a look at the 'couples' DVD section - it's not bad nowadays. There's plenty of hardcore penetrative stuff, not too much money shot crap or 'orifice' nonsense.
5. Explore the sex toys. There really is something for everyone. Ask for demonstrations, cop a feel of the vibrators, play with the stimulators. If you're gonna be spending £20 - £70 on something to get you off, make sure it's gonna get you off.
6. Have a look at the boys toys. Even if you are single it's good to know what gets men off, whether it be small vibes, strokers or anal massagers.
7. Stay away from the 'orifice' section. You'll feel ill. Trust me. Anything that resembles an in-your-face gynacological exam is not a turn on for most women.
8. Take your time. Stand tall. Enjoy. Sex shops are for men and women. This is your pleasure you are seeking. Be proud of that.
9. If a man grabs you on your exiting the sex shop and demands to look in your bag whilst shouting to his mates "she's got a new dildo in there!", smile sweetly at him and say loudly "yes I have and I plan to be using it shortly, but certainly not thinking about you!" as I did recently. That shut him up...
10. If you see a guy looking at the 'couples' DVD section, or perusing the female sex toys, whilst asking the sales assistants whether a woman would prefer this or that, chat him up. He's obviously open-minded about such things, and may just be single...

For those looking for some more enlightened stimulus, the following may be of interest:

Ms Naughty

Porn for Women network

For The Girls

Porn Movies for Women

Pure Cunnilingus

Porno4Women

Have fun y'all

Things I miss with SP

Him cooking me breakfast in the nude
Bathing with him and watching him shave
The way he used to lay his hand on the inside of my thigh and squeeze my leg, when we were sat on the bus together
Waking up to him smiling at me and wrapping his arms around me
Watching him brush his teeth, the toothpaste oozing down his chin
How when on my back, his cock deep inside me, my legs wrapped around his neck, he would kiss my ankles and rub his face against my calves
The way he thought he had got away with farting without my noticing
His tender sweet kisses that would make me forget where I was, who I was, what I was doing
Seeing how hard his cock got as I undressed in front of him
How he used to rub his nose against mine when we kissed
The way his soft mouth felt licking me between my legs
Being strapped to his bed in handcuffs
Lying curled up together on his couch watching tv
Eating dinner together, talking
How I would get wet, just from being in the same room as him
The way he would sneak up next to me at any given moment and kiss my neck
Him not fucking me till I was begging for his cock
How he would hold my hand whenever we were out together
The way he would slide his hands over my breasts as I made tea, knowing my nipples would be erect immediately and that I would instinctively press my arse against his growing cock
How he would sometimes 'march' me into the bedroom, his eyes lighting up as he 'ordered' me to remove all my clothes and get on the bed
That he would whisper, speak and shout my name over and over whenever we were intimate
Sitting on top of him, moving slowly, our eyes locked, him kissing my hands
The way he would always offer to wash my laundry with his
Watching and feeling his response to my sucking his cock
How he would give my arse a little slap every time he walked past me
Watching him play with himself whilst he watched me play with myself
How he would slide his fingers into my lower back when we hugged and massage me there
Knowing that I would climax (again) as soon as he slid his cock into me
How he would grab me and 'force' me to sit on his face
That when we had sex I didn't care if I died during it, it felt like heaven and I was in ecstasy
Him knowing my ticklish points and how even the thought of it made me squirm excitedly
How sweet he tasted when I licked him all over
How much I adored his cock in my mouth and how badly I wanted to fuck him whilst I was sucking him
The way he loved my climaxes and how much pleasure he got from making me orgasm over and over again
Him squeezing my waist gently whenever we were out together
How when his cock was inside me, it felt like I owned it and that my pussy belonged to him too
Feeling him orgasm and how it made me climax too, every time
Lying in his arms, him stroking my hair, the morning sun lighting up his face

I miss his company
I miss his sex
I miss
Him

Beautiful bodies

If only more men thought this way, women across the world would not be faking orgasms.

Discuss.