I am a size queen.

I admit it: I like large men.

In fact, more than that, I adore large men and when faced with one, will quite happily swoon (and drip) in their presence.

Penis size however, I really couldn’t give two shits about; as long as the owner of said cock knows how to use it well, then the fact that it’s large or small makes no difference to me whatsoever, (though for the - ahem, anal amongst you, who will no doubt point this out unless I do so first - you can also read a more detailed analysis of my thoughts on cock size should you want to).

No, my size issue is different altogether. It regards the main three aspects about a man (besides the face, eyes and arse of course) that grab my attention, and make me go weak at the knees:

1. If he is tall
2. If he has large hands
3. If he has big feet

Now, my liking of these things is not a fetish, but it is fair to say that they all form part of the (somewhat prejudiced) requirements that I have when it comes to my being attracted to a man.

Regarding his height:

I am not being discriminatory against short men for sexual reasons - I have dated men shorter than myself in the past and been fully satisfied. But given my dominating personality and brash self-confidence, it takes a lot of a man to make me feel like all girly and shy and delicately submissive. Being with someone whose sheer physical presence – his height – overpowers my own size, leaves me feeling like a smitten-kitten, curled up safe in the arms of her protector, or being made to meow for her dinner; either way, purring loudly.

So I need my man to be taller than me: the taller the better, 6’ minimum. I want to feel that I am small and timid and girly, rather than big and strong and dominant. I want to get a tired neck from leaning up to kiss him; I want to have to reach above me to caress his face; and I want to have to stagger about in 5’’ heels in order to feel his cock between my legs when we embrace.

Regarding his hand size:

It is a total myth that there is a correlation between hand size and cock size – I know, I’ve been running my own personal survey for more than a decade and have had my previous assumptions about the two proved very wrong. But regardless of cock size, for me, a man must have large hands: small ones not only do not turn me on: they actively turn me off.

Now this is partly due to the big “man-hands” (as my female friends put it), that I myself have; my un-dainty, non-fragile-looking, large hands outsize all the female hands that I encounter and, quite often, male ones too. And I have an issue with this – insecurity if you will. Similar to my not being able to shag a man whose breasts were larger than my own (large ones), how could I feel all girly and sexy when his ‘petite mains’ looked dainty and delicate next to mine?

But there is another reason for my hand-fascism: when I see a guy with large hands, I can only think of one thing: his lovely long fingers inside me, filling me up. It’s just not the same with short stubby fingers. Sod having a big cock, I want big fingers to fuck me. I want to feel that he owns me with his hands; that when his fingers are inside me, it feels like my pussy belongs to him. And that when he motions with his forefinger to ‘come hither’ that it means exactly that: get your arse over here Girl – you see these big digits? They’re going to stroke you until you drench my hand in your juices. Who ever thought that just beckoning me towards them would make me wet? But it does.

Regarding the size of his feet:

I have one rule here. It has nothing to do with wanting his toes inside me, wanting a large kick on my butt, or licking his feet (though possibly the first one might be interesting to try, now that I think about it). Nor does it have anything to do with cock size, penetration, or anything else sexually related.

Rather, it comes down to this: because I have annoyingly large feet, my rule is to never date a man with feet smaller than my own. Shallow I know. But since I am a vain cow about such things, in order to make my feet look small, dainty and feminine, (which lets face it, is every woman’s objective when she is wearing a pair of stilettos), my partner has to have damn huge feet.

No-one, I repeat no-one, is going to make this Girl feel like a fucking massive duckfooted-boat-impersonating-heffalump.

Though I suppose that if he were 6’4 with massive hands, I might make an exception.

But he’d have to be really good in the sack.

And not try on my shoes when I was out at work.

[The casual sex debate will continue again shortly with Why Fuck Buddies Are Not Friends That You Fuck]

Men use love to get sex; women use sex to get love.

This fallacy is fed to us from childhood and is one of the biggest misconceptions we have to challenge. We seem to accept this gender stereotyping as if it were fact, when clearly it is obvious that it is a myth: men want and need love and companionship just as much as their female counterparts; women seek sexual pleasure and gratification just as much as men do.

But in this society, it is still largely unacceptable for men to admit to having emotional needs for fear of being considered 'weak' or 'feminine' and similarly it is unacceptable for women to admit to having sexual desires that need fulfilling for fear of being called a 'slut' or 'whore'. As a result of this societal conditioning we accept this gender stereotyping with little resistance; it is no surprise that emotional conflicts manifest themselves between the genders - not being able to express ones' true needs can only create frustration and unhappiness.

With respect to men specifically, I think the main reason why many of them are shit at one-night stands is due to the above: they want intimacy, but are unable to accept or face up to that need, and seek solace through sex, which inevitably is unfulfilling for them.

In my opinion, with regards to one-night-stands, men tend to fall into three categories:

1. The Fucker. They are immersed in an existential emotional crisis, which they are in total denial about, and seek to fuck as many women as possible as a way to feel better about themselves. The sex they have is cold, distant, unemotionally involved, and purely masturbatory: they use the woman's body to get off - her pleasure is irrelevant.
2. The Pseudo- Partner. They either haven't had much casual sex, or they have recently come out of a meaningful relationship. They seek a connection with a woman and convince themselves that it is just sexual fun, but really they are seeking emotional solace, whether it is because their ego needs boosting, or because they miss having closeness with someone. The sex they have is very affectionate, loving and tactile: they interact with the woman as if she were a partner.
3. The Lover. They may be newly single, or just wanting more casual interactions on their way to finding someone they connect with emotionally: they are not necessarily seeking sex just for the physical pleasure, but are open to opportunities that cross their paths - even if that might mean ending up in a relationship with someone they started off just having sex with. The sex they have is generous, fun and laidback; they interact with the woman as if she were a friend, enjoying her intellect as well as her body in bed.


I have had a lot of Fuckers: they made up the horrendous time that was my early twenties. I had sex with men that not only didn't give a shit about me, but actually pretended to give shit about me, in order to get me into bed: they told me that they had feelings for me and wanted to see me again, but never contacted me again afterwards.

Now I am not for one minute saying that no-strings-attached sex is bad (far from it), but the issue with the Fuckers, is this: rather than them being self-confident emotionally happy men, who wanted a bit of fun, they were actually desperately fucked-up and very insecure. So they kept up a façade with themselves of 'just wanting a shag', spent all their time lying in order to have terrible, selfish (and awful) sex, and then they went about their lives, in total denial of their need for intimacy.

And I can tell you, sex with these men is dreadful. Ironically, they think they are great lovers, but it is the opposite: they fuck as if they are the only one with sexual needs, that all that matters is their cock, the woman is treated like a thing, not a person. I may not have ever sold my body for sex, but I can relate to what it must be like for a prostitute: when you have sex with a man like this, you feel used, and unsatisfied and empty: a vessel for them to obtain their pleasure. Which is why, when I realised how I was being manipulated, I stopped allowing myself to be taken advantage of by men like that. (I was young and naïve then. I am far wiser and more cynical now).

Sex with Pseudo-Partners is far better in quality, but has its own problems - at the other end of the scale. These men are unfamiliar with fucking without affection (either due to not having had much casual sex, or because they are not able to have emotionally disconnected sex), and resort to making love instead, which contradicts their façade: that they just want a shag. Because what they seek is more about intimacy, rather than just sexual gratification, they are only able to express their desire through physical affection. In a one-night-stand, this results in their being overly tactile and loving with someone they actually have no feelings for - false intimacy in every respect.

It is no surprise that many Pseudo-Partners seek solace in the arms of a prostitute - with sex workers offering Girlfriend Experiences, ie. 'real' intimacy and closeness, rather than the clock-watching in-out, in-out, that is 'normal' in the exchange of sex for money, these men can then pretend to themselves that they are getting what they want - even if it is just for one hour. And then reinstate the façade that all they want is a shag.

But keeping up these appearances can be tiresome; it is common for many men to find it difficult to sustain an erection when faced with a casual sex encounter - they make think and say that they want a quick shag, but their cock is telling them differently - it never lies.

Having sex with these men is enjoyable - in the physical sense - usually they are highly skilled in pleasuring a woman, due to their own emotional connectedness, or learned techniques with a partner. But in a one-night-stand, their love-making form of sex becomes reduced to just a physical gesture that has no meaning; something that bears only a faint resemblance of real closeness and intimacy. So sex with these men is ultimately unfulfilling - when you want to be fucked hard and with abandon, they want to cuddle up and lie in your arms: it is clear that there is a problem.

But it is not all doom and gloom. I've saved the best for last: The Lover.

These men are emotionally aware, upfront about what they want, and open-minded about what they might encounter. Their expectations are not centred round their need to suppress their emotions, nor are they suppressing their sexual desire; rather they are able to have fun, laid back sex if that is what they feel like having, or have something more meaningful if that is their preference instead. There is no soul-searching or angst about their actions - they state honestly what they want, to the person they are having sex with, and accept the consequences of the choices they make.

Sex with these men is great fun: flirtatious, spontaneous, tactile and relaxed. The true physical expression of sexual desire is explored, the experience is mutually enjoyable, and is sexually satisfying on multiple levels - quite literally. A Lover is able to understand the difference between making love and fucking: they may shag with abandon, but are able to do it in a generous and sensual way, without resorting to false intimacy via pretend love-making.

They are also able to cut through the crap: if they want to see you again, they say so, if they don't, they say that too. They are mature enough to relate to women as equals and as mates - even if they are fucking them. These men challenge the myth about men only wanting sex, because they are able to connect on an intellectual and emotional level too, rather than reducing their experience to a purely physical one. Therefore they make great one-night stands. Plus, if you find that you have a good rapport with them, they can also make for good fuck buddies in the future: a bonus in my opinion.

I try to keep an open mind about sex and relationships; sure I would like (very much) to be in something meaningful with someone special, but I also will take up an opportunity if it arises (hopefully in denim trousers, with no underwear). I like to think of myself as the female equivalent of the Lover; someone that views and assesses each scenario as it is presented to me, rather than trying to mould it into something else. This blog has been about my espression of that; my being a woman who is proud to love sex and is not ashamed to admit it or explore it. And I am generally happy about the situations I get involved in; I walk into them with open eyes and am prepared to experience whatever they may offer, whether they be pleasurable or not. I treat my lovers with respect and dignity, even if I do not wish to see them again and I expect the same in return.

Sadly, in my experience and more often than not, getting involved with men on a casual basis turns into being something messy, complicated, uncomfortable or embarrassing. Given that the number of male Lovers I have met are very few, proves my hypothesis that most men out there, are crap at one-night stands, which makes for depressing times all round.

Still I maintain my optimistic outlook overall - I have to - if I didn't, I'd never get laid.

[This casual sex debate will continue with Why Fuck Buddies Are Not Friends That You Fuck - coming soon]

The Girl's 10-point Guide to One Night Stands (for women)

1) Be clean, hygenic and keep your muff neat. In other words, prepare for a normal night out.

2) Wear nice pants. Whether you choose a thong, hipster hotpant, or brief, you will impress them: men are easily pleased by flimsy material. Again, clean ones are a must, take an extra pair out with you if possible. Especially if you are planning on draping them over his face at some point during the night.

3) Always take condoms with you; you never know when you might need them. Practise putting them on a dildo with your hands and also with your mouth: the latter skill especially helps when they go soft at the sight of a little bit of latex.

4) Relax for goodness' sake: it is just sex. It doesn't need to mean anything.

5) Enjoy it. Sex is supposed to be fun, not stressful. Don't spend time focussing on your insecurities:

a) Take it as given that if you are getting naked with him, that he fancies you and that you turn him on
b) Don't worry about whether you look fat; if you feel confident about your body, he won't notice the cellulite
c) Don't worry about not being porn-star sexy: if you appear relaxed and enjoying yourself, that will make his cock hard - not your trying to seem at ease with maintaining a fantasy representation of women.

6) Enthusiasm is more important than experience. Being willing to learn and be open-minded will make for much better sex than attempting to be the world's greatest lover. Do ask what he likes, and whether he is enjoying what you are doing; always be willing to learn new things - even if they are not to your liking (anything involving defecation, children or animals obviously doesn't apply here).

7) Don't worry if you find it difficult to climax; it can be hard to relax with a stranger. Instead of feeling pressurised to come, think instead of that nice warm feeling in your pussy - concentrate on the waves of delight emanating out of it. Enjoy it. And if all else fails, move his hand away and do it yourself. Mama knows best remember.

8) Do try to remember his name. Though you could probably get away with 'God', 'Jesus', 'Ah yeah, fuck me harder' and 'Do it! Do it!' if you are unable to recall who you got into bed with. They won't mind.

9) Don't be too affectionate, loving or tactile, nor expect them to be: this is casual sex, not a relationship:

a) If they are very affectionate towards you, do not think that it means anything beyond their trying to get close to you: it doesn't. Making love is reserved for partners, not impersonal shags.
b) If they tell you you are beautiful, don't take it personally. Especially if their cock is in your mouth when they say it. It just means they like what you are doing, not that they are in love with you.
c) If they lie there looking into your eyes and saying,

"We are made for each other"

run.

10) Make sure you understand the etiquette after the event:

a) If in the morning, they say

"I'll call you"

And then they walk out, do not ever expect to hear from them again, because they are a tosser.

If however, they say,

"That was great, thank you, it's been fun"

And smile as they leave, then take it as the sex was good, but do not expect to hear from them again either.

b) If in the morning, they say

"That was great, thank you. Want to do it again sometime?"

And smile as they leave, making sure they got your 'phone number before exiting, then expect to get a call from them for some more sex soon.

c) If in the morning, they say,

"That was great, thank you. I had a wonderful time - and not just because the sex was fabulous; the company was terrific too. If you'd be into meeting up for dinner sometime, give me a call",

And smile as they leave, making sure they gave you their 'phone number before exiting, then they are trying to tell you that they like you more than just a shag. It is now up to you to decide whether you want to give things a try and get to know them some more. If the sex was fantastic, but you don't want anything more, it may be tempting to just use them as a human dildo, but let's face it, that's not being very nice, and is not worth hurting their feelings over. (Unless they behaved like a total tosser to you, in which case, ride their cock till it makes you come, and then get the fuck out of there).

The Girl's 10-point Guide to One Night Stands (for men)

1) If you have time to plan before the event, be prepared: hygiene and cleanliness are not optional here. Trimming/shaving your pubic hair is; and a good choice if you have the chance to do so before shagging a woman for the first time:

a) Your genitals will smell and taste sweeter (hair collects sweat).
b) No-one likes getting pubes stuck in their mouth whilst they suck away.
c) Less hair around your groin means more nerve ending stimulation from having the skin exposed - having a tongue lick and nibble areas previously covered by hair will feel magnificent.
d) If women can wax, pluck, and shave their nether regions, so can men.

2) Pant choice can be important - always go for the newest ones you have, and obviously they should be clean. Style is not that relevant; though it takes a confident man to get away with wearing y-fronts.

3) Always have condoms handy; there are no excuses here. Again, the choice of which you use is irrelevant; more important that they are close at hand, and can be put on swiftly, when the moment is near.

4) Relax for goodness' sake: it is just sex. It doesn't need to mean anything.

5) Enjoy it. Sex is supposed to be fun, not stressful. A one-night stand is not a job interview where you need to make a great impression; it is far better to be yourself and enjoy whatever happens - this'll impress the woman much more than your sexual prowess.

6) Enthusiasm is more important than experience. Being willing to learn and be open-minded will make for much better sex than attempting to be the world's greatest lover.

7) Don't worry if you lose your erection - it happens to everyone, and is quite common in a casual sex situation. (Trust me on this - I've been faced with a few). It's really not a cause for concern - sex does not depend on your ability to stay hard - just be willing to do other things to please her and yourself. Whatever you do, don't say,

"Sorry honey, it, (pointing at your cock) ain't happening tonight" and then roll over and go to sleep.

Do slide your fingers inside her, kiss her deeply and say,

"God it turns me on to see you so worked up, I could do this all night"

And then prove it.

8) Do try to remember her name rather than just call her 'honey', 'darling' or 'babe'. Obviously don't call her by the wrong name, or worse, 'mother'.

9) Don't be too affectionate, loving or tactile: this is casual sex, not a relationship. Incorporating emotional intimacy by interacting with physical affection is out for the following reasons:

a) Making love is reserved for partners, not impersonal shags; snuggling, holding hands and watching each other fall asleep is something you do with someone you love, not someone you have just met.
b) Using sex to get the intimacy you are actually craving, (no matter how unconsciously you might want it) is misjudged: you will be disappointed by it. You are here to have sexual gratification, not a Girlfriend Experience: if you are seeking pretend intimacy from someone you do not know, go hire a prostitute.
c) Intimacy can confuse the situation. If you have no emotional feelings for the person you are shagging (very rare to, in a one-night stand) then do not interact in an affectionate and intimate way; your loving hug may be interpreted as meaning you want more than sex - something that perhaps neither party actually wants.

10) Make sure your etiquette after the event is up to standard:

a) If in the morning, you don't want to see the other person again, do not say,

"I'll call you"

And then never speak to them again. It's not only a lie, but a thoughtless one.

Do say,

"That was great, thank you, it's been fun"

And smile as you leave.

b) If in the morning, you decide that you wouldn't mind shagging them again, but don't want anything more than that, then say,

"That was great, thank you. Want to do it again sometime?"

And smile as you leave, making sure you get their 'phone number before exiting.

c) If in the morning, you are so impressed by the skills she showed in bed, plus you are totally stunned by how funny, sweet and clever this woman is, and you think you'd like to get to know her some more, then say,

"That was great, thank you. I had a wonderful time - and not just because the sex was fabulous; the company was terrific too. If you'd be into meeting up for dinner sometime, give me a call",

And smile as you leave, making sure you give her your 'phone number before exiting.




[Reasons why (so many) men are crap at one night stands to follow shortly]

There comes a time when a girl needs to take matters into her own hands.

I’m not talking about self-pleasure here – that is in hand frequently, thank you very much.

Rather, I refer to this Girl’s love life – a dire state of affairs (so to speak) at present.

The usual route for dating – meeting people through my freelance work – has not been fruitful in recent times, seeing as the work I do has all but dried up.

I have also now ruled out being introduced to a nice guy through my friends, (most of which are coupled up themselves). Either all their acquaintances are married already, or - and more horrifically - their taste has totally declined since they themselves got hitched.

Men that my friends would have not wasted four minutes of breath on whilst they were single, are now “lovely, friendly, and funny” men, even though they have the social skills of a Neanderthal and the intellect of a twelve-year-old.

I can hardly bear to mention the times I have been fixed up with men, sold to me on the idea that they were “interesting, warm and open-minded”, only to later discover that that actually meant that they owned 200 dvds of lesbian porn, had no female friends at all, and were unable to look me in the eye when they spoke to me.

I would love to erase the recommendation a friend gave of a man whom she described as “really nice, caring and sweet”, when what she really meant was “he is unable to connect on any emotional level whatsoever and has huge hang-ups about sex”.

And lets not even delve into the “I’ve heard he’s good in bed” stamps of authority given by (unqualified) friends: the supposed tiger they recommended turned out to be the only wet pussy in my bed that night.

So, work and friends are out. Where else to meet a man?

Well, there’s the fallback option of pubs and bars I suppose, but though there might be some nice man-totty on display, Potential Boyfriend Material© is non-existent. Whilst there may certainly be some quality single men sitting there supping their beers, the environment isn’t really conducive to anything other than pulling for a meaningless shag. I don’t deny that occasionally something of more substance can be found in a bar (I met one of my boyfriends in one), but generally it’s all about the sex.

Not that there is anything wrong with this of course - I have had my fair share of fun with men I have met in a bar - but now I want something a bit more meaningful at this point in my life.

I have considered - and tested - other means of meeting men too. I have attempted to approach the handsome man in my local supermarket; I have smiled at the geeky-looking guy in the gallery; I have given my phone number to a friendly man who sold me a t-shirt on a market stall – none of these paid off (gay, married, had girlfriend).

Now that I am faced with the reality that I’m not getting any younger (tick-tock goes the biological clock), and feeling that finally, I really would like to share my life with someone (for longer than a short-lived fling), I have decided to be proactive about things, and try to meet a partner via other means.

So I am currently debating joining an internet dating service; I figure that even with the freaks, weirdos and psychos that will inevitably surface through this route, they can’t outnumber the amount I have already met face to face.

Plus, I get to vet their appearance, learn about their interests and hobbies, and find out their political viewpoints. Let’s face it, I have fucked a couple of Tories in my time and don’t plan on shagging any more. Not that they were bad in bed - far from it, the arguments we had made our shagging even more passionate - but skills in bed are less important to me than their sharing my beliefs in things such as in equality in childrearing; the former can be taught, the latter will be cause for endless arguments and eventual separation further on down the line.

The problem I have now, is how to write one of these damn profiles, in order to attract the right types of men. Stating I am a sex fiend for example, might get me lots of dates, but would any of the men I would be meeting be interested in finding out more about me, other than what I was like in bed? Likewise, writing ‘multi-orgasmic’ in the ‘skills’ box may get me a lot of offers to test out my abilities, but perhaps wouldn’t enable me to show that I also have a brain and occasionally have been known to make people laugh too.

The problem I am having is that to write a good profile, one has to be good at marketing; seeing oneself as a product with a distinct customer base. I am crap at this sort of stuff: where the hell do I fit in? What’s my target audience?? Apart from having a high sex drive, what on earth do I have to offer???

Somehow I don’t think including the fact I am, “neurotic, insecure and perpetually self-analytical, due to being intermittently emotionally fragile” would be very good selling points.

Nor stating that I am “highly opinionated, judgmental, and a smart-arse know-it-all” would win me any offers of a second date, I’m sure.

So what the hell do I write?

I have been wondering about using “Sarcastic socialist seductress seeks similar soulmate” as a tag-line; it needs work, obviously, but it gets the point across (and surely I will impress many fine men with my clever and ingenious use of alliteration).

The discussions about wanting kids at some point, and dabbling in threesomes together, can wait I think.

At least until the third round of drinks anyway.

What the fuck?

“She’s just like you.”

“How so?”

“She’s like a man.”

“You have a tactful way of insulting me, you know”

“Sorry. What I meant, was that, like you, she is the same as a man: she always wants sex.”

“Ah, I see. Always horny then?”

“Always wet you mean.”

I laughed. “Definitely like me then.”

We paid for another pint and moaned about the portion size of the food, wondering if we had ordered enough for our beer-induced drunken hunger.

“So, will you be needing Viagra then?”

He laughed. “Not yet, though I did wonder the other night, whether I could ever shag again.”

“She rode you hard? A woman after my own heart, obviously”

“Well, she’d already made me come three times, and to be honest I was a bit knackered at that point. When she asked if we could have one last shag before going to sleep, I wanted to say no.”

“Ha ha ha. Sounds familiar. Did you tell her to have a wank instead?”

“Hell no. A beautiful woman in bed with me, a soaking wet pussy, are you kidding me? It didn’t take me much to get hard again I can tell you.”

“Good for you. Glad to see you appreciate what is obviously a quality woman. Was it worth it?”

“Definitely. She came as soon as I slid my cock into her. I love that. Took me fucking ages to come, but it was a good pay off at the end, even though I was fucking shattered.”

“Nice. Lucky bastard. Sounds lovely. That’s what I need: a man who’ll go the extra mile because they enjoy taking advantage of my sex drive”

“What about your public performance? Any more of that happening? That sounded hot”

“It was. But I’m not planning on being on display again. I’m a good girl don’t you know”

“Yeah, of course, I forgot. But you are far more daring than me. The closest I got to doing something in the public eye, was eating her pussy as she was standing at the kitchen sink with the curtains open”

“Doing your washing up no doubt, you lazy bastard”

“Well, she was very wet, but not from having her hands in water”

“She sounds like your type of woman alright. So are you still looking to play then – got any couples lined up?”

He looked down. “Um, no, I’ve stopped that for the moment. But if she wanted to dabble, I wouldn’t say no, though I think we need to let things settle before we involve others”

“Oh my. Here’s a woman with a great sex drive, you enjoy her company, find her funny and sweet and don’t want to fuck anyone else right now. Should I be buying a hat and fixing a speech?!”

He laughed. “Not just yet. But watch this space. I really like her.”

“I’m so happy for you. You deserve it. That really is great news.”

“What about you then - anything going on?”

“Nothing to write home about; it’ll happen – at the right time. I hope anyway. Until then, whatever happens, happens; I have an open mind”

“I was going to say ‘and an open pussy too’ but figured you might hit me if I did”

“Goddamn right, you cheeky bastard”

“I want you to meet her, at some point; I hope you’ll like her”

“I’m sure I will. But don’t be getting any ideas about the three of us in your bed”

“I won’t, don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about: if she’s hot, I’ll be wanting to bed her too”

He laughed. “Whatever man you end up with, he is going to be one lucky – and very happy – bloke. Just remember that”

“Cheers my dear. I’ll drink to that”

Well, I finally got my arse whipped.

Sadly not with a riding crop or paddle, much to my disappointment.

Rather, even with all your wonderful comments about me (thank you very much), I have just been evicted from the Big Blogger house, as a result of being the most nominated this week (damnit).

Sad to go, still, after five weeks I reckon I had a good run. It was enjoyable participating in the tasks set to all the bloggers, but I found it difficult to contain the sleaziness in my writing, which, lets face it is a daily challenge for me.

Anyway, here are the posts I did for the competition:

Task One
Task Two
Task Three
Task Four
Task Five
Task Six
Task Seven
Task Eight
Task Nine

In other news, I am thinking of applying to the Patent office for this totally orginal and never before thought of idea: Daily triplicate self-stimulation prevents and relieves menstrual discomfort™©®

If it works for me - I must be onto a winner I reckon...

Sometimes all it takes is a look.

I felt him staring at me even before I looked up to meet his eyes; I was aware of his piercing gaze, and knew that amongst all the people at the party, he was looking solely at me.

Occasionally, instant chemistry occurs between people. It has nothing to do with fancying, or flirtation, or even curiosity, it is just synchronisation on a purely physical and carnal level: across a room two people share a glance, and immediately know that they want to fuck each others’ brains out.

When I saw the way he looked at me, I knew. The hunger, the way he held my gaze without looking away; not smiling, yet with desire clearly shining in his eyes – I could feel his passion burning into me even though he was standing some distance away. The sexual tension hung in the air like an invisible mist; his body screaming loudly to me amongst the chatter of the party. He watched my face and waited for my response.

I was trying to think with some clarity, rather than listen to the pounding between my legs, as I watched him watching me. I knew that this was one of those moments – a fleeting chance to grasp a window of opportunity to fuck with abandon.

I had no misconceptions here: there would be no getting to know each other, no friendly chat over drinks, no knowing of names. This would be him pushing me against the wall of the toilet cubicle, pulling my dress up, tugging my thong to one side and ramming his cock into me. We would be strangers clawing at each other, fucking with fury, dripping with sweat. And then moments later, we would exit the toilet to rejoin the party group, to continue on without missing a beat.

As I looked at him, I knew all this lay ahead: I’ve been here before – and I know a zipless fuck when I see one.

My pussy throbbed. I knew he would be getting hard too: I saw him adjust himself as he continued watching me and I wondered about my attraction to him.

Here was a man, twenty years my senior, rotund, short, and with the typical mannerisms of an East End wheeling and dealing Geezer: it certainly wasn’t his appearance, or the loudness of his cockney voice which filled me with desire. Nor was it his age - unless faced with David Lynch talking to me all night - older men do not interest me. But the way he looked at me - the assured steadiness of his gaze - let me know that he wanted to fuck me, and that is what made my pants get so wet.

I debated what to do: it was my choice after all. I knew that if I held his gaze and walked into the toilet, he would have followed me. It excited me that sex was so clearly within my grasp, that I could enter the loo and then be pummelled by him shortly afterwards. I imagined what it would be like having his breath on my neck and his cock between my legs. I could almost feel the orgasm I would have had, welling up inside me ready to burst. I wanted him badly.

I stared at him, and thought for a moment.

As much as I yearned to fuck him, I knew I couldn’t. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it wasn’t right for me to do it. But not for the reasons one might assume: I was at the party as a carer for an elderly person, and going off to the toilet for a quick fuck meant leaving them to fend for themselves. I couldn’t do that to them – as much as I wanted a shag.

So I broke my stare with him. He kept glancing at me for the rest of the evening, but I chose to look away: the temptation to act was far too strong.

Unfortunately, when it comes to my desire, I know I am more of a looter who breaks all the glass to steal what’s inside, rather than a patient regular shopper queuing at a checkout: I’m a great pursuer of the ‘try before you buy’ type deals on offer.

But if today is anything to go by, I guess I’m learning how to slowly window shop instead. Or at least, remove the window carefully before grabbing the goods – a definite improvement in my eyes, even if it means I lost out on a shag.

I've been asked to become a whore.

No, not the type who sells sex for money; I tend to prefer getting sex in return for sex, rather than bring the dirty matter of cash into the equation.

But Little Blogger over at the Big Blogger site has given us a mini-task - one that will help us avoid eviction if we succeed - and it involves pimping ourselves out somewhat: this is where I need your help.

Please go to the Big Blogger site, scroll down to the "Fine!" post and leave a comment attesting to how great I am. I kid you not: this is the task - getting everyone I know (that's you lot) to leave a comment on that post saying nice things about me.

The person with the least comments about them gets the kick from the house, so since I would prefer to stay, I hope you'll all contribute to this asap, and spread the love.

Ta. xx

There are times when single women like myself may have difficult conversations with our mothers. They might include:

“I’m pregnant”;

“I’m a lesbian”;

or even,

“I’m thinking of becoming a nun and living in isolation, away from the family, for the rest of my years”.

Explaining what Vanilla and BDSM mean however, are not topics one might expect to cover, but this was the challenge I faced today.

Our conversation started off innocently enough: talking about a forthcoming wedding. Moving on from the normal issues - who’s going, what to wear, what to bring - we found ourselves discussing the groom.

In my opinion, I think he is young, dumb and full of cum and may eventually cheat on his bride; his serial long-term monogamy up till now has limited his sexual experiences, thus leaving him in possible need of self-discovery via casual shagging with other women.

My mother however, disagreed, stating that perhaps he is satisfied with his wife-to-be, that not every man needs to shag around and get sexual notches on their belt. I pointed out his wandering eye and suggested that at some point, he might follow things through with someone else. Again, my mother argued that just because he might look at other women in a sexual way didn’t mean that he would have an affair.

I was quickly losing this argument. Damn my mother and her open-minded progressive outlook. So I raised the stakes. I ventured that I imagined their sex life to be very vanilla and that at some point he may wonder what else lay out there for him to try.

“What’s vanilla?” my mum asked.

I stared at her and realised what I had said.

“Is that when white people will only have sex with other white people?” she said, “isn’t that rather racist?”

Bless my mother.

“Um, no” I replied. “vanilla is the opposite of BDSM”.

There was a pause.

“What’s BDSM?” she said.

I dropped my head in my hands and couldn’t believe I that I was going to have to describe this to her. Of all things to talk about with your mother, explaining forms of ‘alternative’ sex is not top of the list.

I tried to quickly explain:

“BDSM stands for Bondage Domination Sado-Masochism”.

She looked at me. “What? Say it again.”

I groaned quietly. “BDSM is Bondage Domination Sado-Masochism”; ways of exploring sex that are considered transgressive.

“Ah”, she said, “so vanilla must mean boring then.”

“No no, not at all. Vanilla just doesn’t include, well props, or role-playing and stuff like that, but it’s still great, you know, Missionary and the like…”

I realised I was trying to sell my mother the idea of vanilla sex being fun; now I know what that expression about teaching your grandma to suck eggs means – replace granny with mother, and eggs with cock, get an image in your head of your parents together, and you don’t want to be having this conversation anymore.

I tried to change the subject, veering it towards the location of the ceremony. My mother looked at me studiously and then said,

“Have you ever done BDSM then?”

This was seriously turning into a time when I wished the ground could open and swallow me up; I did not for one moment want to explain to my mother about my enjoying being handcuffed, spanked, and fucked hard from behind. Nor did I wish to tell her about my whipping a guy and sitting on his face till I climaxed repeatedly. I especially didn’t want to tell her my desire one day to dominate a man with a strap-on dildo. No, I didn’t wish her to either know, or visualise any of this, in any way.

So I was economical with the truth. I told her that I knew of BDSM, was open-minded about it, but that essentially my tastes were vanilla. (Not totally a lie, since I enjoy both, but not entirely truthful either).

Thankfully she then dropped the subject and moved onto more positive things, like how I only have a few childbearing years left in me; that I’d better find some work soon otherwise I’ll be wasting my life; and that the top I was wearing didn’t suit me and made my arms look flabby.

Mothers - you gotta love ‘em.

Even when they are quizzing you about your sexual habits.

Never hit on your boss

One of the things about being freelance is that when I find work, it is often with new employers. Mostly they are a right-wing middle-aged narrow-minded bunch, but occasionally, as it was recently, I find myself surrounded by young, liberal, sexy guys; my boss in particular was gorgeous and very funny. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that if you want to leave a lasting impression on your employer, it is best not to make moves on them, especially if you want to be rehired.

I arrived at the given location early in the morning. As I walked to the unit base, a man greeted me, smiling. I noted that he looked close to my own age, had gorgeous smile lines around his blue eyes and soft blonde stubble on his chin.

He shook my hand firmly (fabulous) and told me,

“I’ve heard all about you”.

For a moment I panicked. He knew about Girl with a one-track mind? Have people in the film industry found out about my blog?! I was ready to run there and then. But it slowly dawned on me that it was my good work reputation that had preceded me, rather than my sex fiendishness (though he was to discover that later). We chatted for a bit, then were called to set and both went our separate ways. Not before I noticed that he had a fine arse and a well-defined back though.

I got on with work, busy as usual. But I became aware that at every given opportunity, he would come over to chat with me. I soon learned that he was single, lives near me, drinks in my local pubs and knows some mutual acquaintances. And as well as reading The Guardian and voting Green, he had a great sense of humour, was very intelligent and had a humble naivety about him that was most endearing. The boxes in my head for Potential Boyfriend Material were being ticked off very quickly.

So when he apologised for the crappy pay I was getting, I suggested that he could make it up to me by buying me a beer sometime. Endearingly he blushed, and said “definitely” as he grinned widely at me. Fabulous, I thought, here was a guy who fulfilled the basic criteria, and was a lovely man - who knows what could happen; it gave me some hope for the future. Plus of course, he was cute as hell and I wanted to shag the living daylights out of him, but that is beside the point.

We spent a few days flirting. I noticed that every time he was near me, his body would brush against mine. It was only subtle - his hand on my shoulder or his arm grazing against me - but being aware of body language, it said a lot to me. Not as much as when he gave my arse a little slap and then grinned at me, but near enough: it was clear that there was some mutual attraction and it was exciting to see the seduction unfold.

The dialogue between us had developed too. No longer talking about UK Foreign Policy and the crisis in the Middle East, we were now discussing sexual appetite and the different ways each gender expresses it. At one point he made a couple of remarks about liking a woman who is sexually confident and we both sat there grinning and blushing; it was very sweet, but also a reflection of a developing connection between us – I looked forward to our chatting over a beer away from work later that week.

It never happened.

When we finished work, I asked him for a lift. Even though we were only two minutes from a tube station, and I gave him the polite opportunity to decline me, he responded positively immediately and we headed off to the car park together. Great, I thought, we’re alone; we can flirt and chat, and have a beer.

We entered the elevator. The proximity of our bodies was almost too much to bear; our shoulders were touching. All I wanted to do was turn to him, drop my bag on the floor and press my lips against his. The anticipation was killing me. The elevator doors opened and we stepped out into the car park. Opportunity number one missed.

Inside the car, he seemed to be making a point about repeatedly getting things out of the glove compartment, his hand brushing against my knee each time that he did so. I did think at one point that he would rest his hand there (and maybe even let it travel up my thigh), but he moved it to the steering wheel and we began the journey home. Opportunity number two missed.

Ok, I thought, maybe he’s shy. Perhaps he needs me to take the initiative here. Maybe the situation was intimidating him a little. Fine: I’ll summon up all my courage and take the lead – after all he said he likes a woman that knows what she wants, and what I wanted was to take him home and ride him like a cowgirl – sorry, I mean I wanted to have a beer with him and find out some more about him.

So I flirted with him openly. I ensured that my hand occasionally brushed against his arm, so that he felt the frisson. I figured by being absolutely upfront, he would seize the moment and respond positively. And you know what happened? Opportunity number three fell flat in my face.

1) He spent most of the journey talking on his phone

2) He drove me to a tube station and waited for me to get out

3) He didn’t try to kiss me goodbye

4) He didn’t arrange another night to meet

5) He said the ever dreaded words, ‘Speak to you soon’

I travelled home that night confused and gutted. I must be unlucky I figured: how could I get it so wrong?

A week later I thought I’d give him a call. Mostly because he had said there was more work coming up and I should keep in contact, but also because I wanted to know if perhaps he had felt put on the spot that night, and if given a few days, might still be up for meeting outside of work.

He let his phone go to voicemail, twice. And he hasn’t returned the message I left (regarding work) either. So not only have I messed up what seemed to be a promising situation, but, it seems, I have also sabotaged any chance of getting work with him again, which in the current dry climate of the UK film industry, is tragic beyond words.

At this moment in time, I may want to be in a relationship, I may desire a shag badly, but even more necessary, I need to get some work, and I fucked up this situation good and proper. That’ll teach me not to ever chat up my boss again.

I hope.

Will update here shortly.

In the meantime, my latest post for Big Blogger's 8th task is now up.

Have a read of the other Blogmates' posts too.

Enjoy.

It's late, I am drunk, and I just got back from meeting the wonderful, gorgeous, and lovely Violet Blue.

Apart from being a fantastic like-minded woman and even more beautiful in the flesh than her online pics portray, I also discovered that Violet and I share the same taste in porn films: we both adore The Operation, one of the best - and most originally filmed - pieces of erotica I have ever seen.

If I were to make porn, this would be it. I love it.

With that in mind, I am off to bed. Goodnight.

I spent all of yesterday glued to my TV screen watching the news unfold.

I sent email after email and text after text to reassure all my friends across the world that I and all my loved ones were ok.

I looked out my window at all the people on the street and felt lucky that I wasn’t involved in what happened, nor living in daily fear like those in Iraq.

And I frigged myself as if there was no tomorrow.

It’s not that death and destruction get me horny; nor is it because fear, sadness and worry turn me on.

It comes down to this: with the knowledge that it could have been any one of us; that I too, could have suffered loss like those unfortunate people who lost a family member; that life is something to be valued, because it can be cruelly ripped away from you without warning – with all this running through my head, I felt a sense of urgency, a need to grasp life, before it grasped me.

I found myself watching the most terrible scenes, being scared that this was happening in my city, and feeling awful for those involved. And simultaneously I was filled with the most passionate desire to make love, to fuck with abandon, and to connect with someone so that I might feel alive amongst all the death unfolding before my eyes.

I had to touch myself - feel that I was still alive - so that my passion connected me to the living, not to the dead. With the blood racing through my veins, the adrenalin searing across my body, and my heart pounding heavily in my chest, I felt like my soul was on fire with desire, and needed quenching. So with my hand between my legs I touched myself, and when my climaxes surged through my body, I felt blessed to be alive.

I hear that people get horny at funerals - that when faced with death, the human race reverts back to its most basic function: to procreate - to replace the death with life. And I suppose that in some way, this was what drove my rampant horniness of yesterday. But more than that, I think that faced with the proximity of my own or loved ones possible mortality, it made me think about my own life and about how when faced with death, other fears I have, seem irrelevant and petty by comparison:

• How silly I am feeling scared of being in a relationship: my issues with intimacy do not have to prevent me from getting close to someone.

• How stupid I am thinking that I am not worthy of being a girlfriend to someone: I do have a lot to offer, even if I am unable to see it yet.

• How dumb I am worrying that I am destined to be forever single and alone: I will surely find someone eventually, who wants to be with me.

Looking at my trivial and self-absorbed worries made me think of how life is short, that I have to make the most of it while I can, and not succumb to my own insecurities. So, I want to grasp it, face my fears and challenge myself to start living - properly - in every area of my life.

Carpe Diem as they say; it’s never too late to take things in hand (as I say to myself, every night).

Here’s to the future and all that may come with it.

What the hell is going on in my city???

This is scary stuff.

Horrid.

I've been saved from eviction.

Just.

But not for long - my mouth keeps getting me into all sorts of trouble: I'm too rude for Big Blogger it seems - my sordidness no doubt has some correlation to the amount of votes I got to evict me from the house.

Better keep my dirty thoughts to myself then. And with you of course, but lets keep that as our little secret, ok?

“It’ll take a while before it reformats” he said, sitting back in the chair while my laptop screen burst into action in front of him.

“Would you like some tea?” I asked, as he pushed his chair away from the table.

“No thanks, but I’d like something else” he replied.

“What’s that then?” I asked, thinking perhaps he’d prefer a beer.

“I’d like for you to take off that t-shirt and show me your tits” he responded.

I shouldn’t have been shocked really; after all, the last time we were alone together he was spanking my arse hard as he fucked me from behind. But that was over a year ago, and things have changed.

“C’mon” I said, trying to sound convincing, “you know we’re just friends now”.

“Ok then, you can leave your bra on. I just want to see your lovely bosoms outside that top”. He smiled at me wickedly and fixed his gaze on my nipples. I felt them begin to harden slightly and knew that he would be able to see them through my t-shirt.

“I’d really prefer not to” I pleaded, “how about a nice cuppa?”

“I’ll just have to use my imagination then” he said, and he unzipped himself and pulled down his jeans, revealing his growing bulge protruding through his jockey shorts.

I glanced down for a moment and took in the view, knowing that as I did so, it would get him harder. His hand ran across his groin for a moment and rested on his cock.

“Come on, touch it. You know you want to”. He ran his thumb along the outline of his erection and then cupped himself gently under his balls.

I looked back up at him and saw the wicked glint in his eye. It struck me how much this would have driven me crazy just twelve months ago; that seeing his desire for me would have made me want to jump on him and fuck him breathlessly. Not any more. I watched this man with his hard cock in front of me, and knew that I didn’t want him at all.

“I think you should put your trousers back on and behave – we’re friends, let’s keep it that way, ok?”

“You didn’t used to say that, I know what you’re like” he said, as he grabbed my hand and attempted to place it onto his lap.

“Now, now, none of that!” I said, trying to be polite, “I’d really prefer not to, if you don’t mind”.

“Really?” He seemed disappointed. “You not attracted to me anymore then?”

I tried to think of the least insulting way possible to let his ego down gently. “Um, well, there’s this guy, and I really like him, and although we’re not ‘in’ something, I just want to see how things go and not shag anyone else right now”.

He laughed. “Ah, monogamy - that old game. You’re a serious one, aren’t you?!” He grabbed my hand again and tried to get me to touch him once more.

I snapped my hand back. “Yeah, I’m far more serious than you know actually; it must be my degree in sarcasm that had you confused”.

“Quite likely, though I must say I am rather surprised, given our previous dalliances” he replied, grinning. I noticed that his hand was slowly rubbing his cock through his underwear. I also noticed that I wasn’t turned on at all.

“Look, I’ll go make us a tea, you put your clothes back on, everything will be fine” I tried to reason.

“With this?!” he exclaimed, pointing at his now rather pointed erection poking through his pants, “I think this is going to have to get some air”.

And with that he pulled down his pants.

I sat there and stared at him. He seemed rather pleased that his hard cock was on full display next to me and he reached down to grip himself.

“Touch it. Go on. Touch it. Please” he pleaded.

“No. I’m not going to. I don’t want to” I said, and as an afterthought, “sorry”.

That didn’t stop him: his eyes were shining brightly as he watched me, cock in his hand, slowly stroking it.

“Ok then, you won’t mind if I sort myself out, I’ve really got the fucking horn right now” he said, rubbing his cock faster, the pre-come glistening on the head.

For a moment I thought about telling him to fuck off, that if he wanted a wank, he should at least go into the bathroom and do it privately, that I didn’t want to have to witness him doing it. But given that this time last year, my mouth would have been wrapped around his cock, and my hand sliding in between my legs, I felt bad that I was shutting him out so coldly; it seemed mean to be so harsh with him. Plus – and more importantly – he was fixing my ever-so-sick computer for free, so the least I could do was let him rub one out, as a way of saying thank you.

“Just don’t get any near my laptop, ok?” I said, as I handed him some tissue, recalling that he fired off quite some distance when he came.

“Don’t worry, I’m very neat, and have good aim”, he said, somewhat unconvincingly.

I watched him as he got close, surprising myself that I did not find it in the least bit erotic or arousing in any way, which was unusual for me, given that I normally love to watch men masturbate.

What I did find gripping – so to speak – was his expression: he watched me watching him, and his face turned from frustrated sexual need to one of rapturous delight, as he watched me smile whilst he ejaculated into his hand.

“Good boy” I said, as he caught every last drop in the tissue.

“Right, that’s better, I can concentrate now” he said, pulling up his pants and trousers, “and your computer looks like its all good now too”.

Eventually my computer got sorted, although I didn’t, but this wasn’t to my disappointment - on the contrary: I learned that even when faced with a cock waved in front of me, I can turn it down; that there is more to life than revisiting sex with old fuck-buddies; and that when it comes to any situation, always have tissues at the ready - you never know when they might come in handy. Literally.

I'm not intentionally neglecting my own blog, but what with work, my recent race, and the amount of tasks being set by Big Blogger, I haven't had time to update here recently.

Rest assured I will do so very shortly.

In the meantime, you can read my latest (rushed - again) entry for Big Blogger's latest task, and also nominate a blogmate to be evicted via the sidebar. I always knew I wouldn't last, with a dirty mouth like mine: looks like I'll be out shortly...

Enjoy.

Well I've finally done it.

Achieved my objective.

Arrived at my destination.

No, I didn't manage to abstain from playing with myself for three days (though I did have a 48 hour gap this week, due to work, which I was rather proud of). However, my accomplishment is far more personal and more deserved to me, than the control of my sex drive: I have run my first race.

That's right, today I ran The London 10k (6.2 miles). Although I didn't beat the world record holder's 28 minute accomplishment, I did get to the finish line alongside the first 3,000 runners, (in front of 17,000 others), so am feeling pretty chuffed with myself.

Others may have run faster than me, but along the way I have beaten injury, personal setbacks, and training limitations due to work, so the fact I managed to run the entire distance today is something I am rather proud of, and I am going to continue with my running regime even though the race is now behind me.

Although today has been a great day, coming home jubilant after the race to an empty flat kind of got me down. What I would give to have a partner right now, to run me a bath, rub my tired legs and eat my aching pussy; it sucks being single sometimes.

Even though a cute guy chatted me up whilst I stretched after the race.


[Nominations are occurring again on the Big Blogger site. Do visit, have a read of the other blogmates' entries, and add your nomination via the sidebar.

Remember, only vote for someone if you want them OUT of the Big Blogger house, not if you wish them to stay in].