My typical day:

Finally fell asleep around 4am, seemingly winning the argument against my insomnia, which was threatening to keep me awake all night.

Woke up at 8am. The building site that is the house next door to me tends to have the noisiest work in the morning. As if every builder takes pleasure in hammering, banging and drilling upon sunrise. Noisy fuckers.

Dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. Looked at my hair, debated taming the frizz. Decided I couldn't be bothered: I'll just have to look like a lion with a shaggy mane all day.

Enjoyed the elixir of life: my double strength Percol Fairtrade Organic Guatemalan freshly ground coffee, with a touch of cream and sweetener. Lovely. Now I am ready for the world.

Out and about. Some chores to run, bills to pay, shopping to do. Had a long debate with myself in Sainsburys regarding the ethics of buying organic. I want to buy healthily and ethically as much as possible, but can't really afford to right now. So, I had to make do with only organic cheddar; the bacon shall have to wait.

Came home, scoffed some high bran crisp breads, drunk a litre of water and took the huge amounts of vitamins I ingest daily.

Ready for action now.

Made some calls, (looks like I have a little work), spoke with some friends. Relaxed. Hard part of the day over.

Fartarsed around online reading every blog on my blogroll, making rude comments on other people's sites, getting the emails out of the way and chatting to a couple of mates.

Wanked 5 times.

WHAT?

5?

I repeat, 5??

What the hell is up with me?

I'm not even drunk, where the hell is my horniness coming from?

If I didn't know myself better, I would call myself a Wanker.

It must be all the (play)time I have on my hands; get this Girl a job, quick!!!

Decided it would be safer if I got rid of some of my energy at the gym.

45 minute run.

30 minute abs.

30 minute resistance training.

20 minutes stretching.

And still horny.

I am obviously a lost cause right now.

In fact, I think my horniness was possibly even worse at the gym.

It's this blonde girl's fault.

There she was, walking round with her obviously silicone-enhanced D-cup breasts, standing out proudly under her chin, with no bra on.

I repeat:

No

Bra

On

And a white top.

And erect nipples.

Got an image now?

Good.

Imagine how hard it was for me not to look.

Actually, imagine how hard it must have been for most men: they couldn't stop looking at her.

I'm surprised that they weren't all sporting erections through their sweatpants, I know I would have been if I was a bloke.

Anyway, so this girl with her gravity defying tits starts smiling at me.

At

Me

Er, why?

Who knows.

But she did.

And when we were doing some crunches I saw her staring at me.

Perhaps she thought I was cute.

But more likely it was because she caught me staring at her bullet-like nipples.

Not that I am into false breasts by any means. Definitely not. Especially when the girl owning them looks like a cheap lap dancer: very skinny, huge tits, bleached blonde hair, false nails. Not my thing at all.

But, when faced with nipples that I swear were smiling at me, I realise I am getting the old familiar throb throb down below, signalling the beginning of the end, and I find myself thinking that I too would pay good money to have them stuffed in my face and debate whether to ask her where she works.

Remembered I am more into men; decided against talking to her.

Continued working out, but figured, (like most men in the gym tonight),

'I'll use that image later'.

Smiled at a couple of cute guys on the bench presses.

Came home.

Fartarsing around online again.

Will attempt to get more than 4 hours sleep tonight.

That's if another Bully Wank doesn't keep me up again.

Boring?

Yes.

But my life all the same.

Glamourous being a freelancer, ain't it?