Getting turned down for sex by someone can be a difficult matter.

One has to deal with the initial rejection, then the bruised ego, then the disappointment and insecurity that follows.

It has to be said that this isn't a common state I find myself in. Without wanting to appear totally up my own arse with a huge ego, I have to say that in my experience, most men I have met and come on to, do not turn me down when faced with the possibility of getting in my pants.

But when they occasionally do (yes, even The Girl gets turned down), I tend to deal with them saying "No" to me as a temporary setback: if I got hung up on every rejection I experienced I would be a quivering wreck by now. So, I usually let the let-down go over my head - onwards and upwards and all that. If it wasn't meant to be, then so be it.

Still, when faced with three rejections in a week, like I have just had, it seems that maybe I should be giving this state of affairs (so to speak) a bit more thought.

Surely something must be up for things to go so wrong?

It all seemed to be going so well.

I had decided recently to approach matters of the heart and body a little bit differently - not putting all my eggs in one basket, and taking up opportunities as they were presented to me, rather than holding out on one, and letting the others fall by the wayside, like I have done previously.

That way, if one situation didn't have a positive result, I would have others to fall back on. A 'Reserve Shag' if you will. Not that I was looking for more than one shag, just that I was keeping my options open in case my preferred one fell through.

So that is where I found myself: three lovely men, all with great personalities, fantastically sexy and seemingly interested in me too. Some vibrant dates were had, some snogs exchanged, and some heated words said.

Things are looking up I thought.

Wrong.

I have been left not only empty-handed, but empty-pussied and somewhat red-faced too: all three said 'no' to me.

In order of preference:

Man # 1: very intelligent and cute. But as I made moves to kiss him, told me that he preferred to, "just be friends" from now on. Result: Gutted.

Man # 2: sweet and kind. I cuddled up to him in stockings, a see-thru pink camisole and a wet pussy. He told me he "didn't know what was wrong", but that he, "just didn't feel anything". Result: Confused.

Man # 3: funny and dirty-minded. Aside from the regular rude texts he sends, not much else happens. He told me he was "too busy" to get together. Result: Frustrated.


Now, I know in this blog I have talked about how much I would like a relationship, as opposed to a meaningless one-night stand. And I still do - in the long run - but won't rule out other possibilities, (like a fling with someone), in the meantime. I am optimistic that a relationship will happen at some point - with the right person.

But now, right now, I want a shag.

I want to be pulled against someone, while they grip my body, and grind their cock against me. Have them devour my mouth with their tongue. Rip my clothes off with force. Grab me and press me against them tightly. Squeeze my tits and pull on my nipples. Grip my arse hard. Slide their fingers along my pussy and shove three of them inside me. Lift my leg around their hips and push their hard cock so far inside me, it makes me gasp. Pump me till my legs go weak and I can hardly stand. And fuck me so hard that I dig my nails in their back and draw blood. And finally, wonderfully, thrust inside me so much that I come like a fucking train.

I want to be fucked.

It's all very well bashing my vibrators and dildos, but I need cock. And won't be fully satisfied till I have some. It's been months: I need to feel like a woman again.

And I really thought that at least one of my possibilities would result in some action. But I was wrong. On three counts.

To misread all three situations so incorrectly surely must tell me something: either I am thinking with the wrong head (er, pussy), or all the planets are out of alignment, or I must have lost my groove or something.

Probably the former: I can't think straight right now.

Here's to a clearer head, post evening frig/s.

And to the hope that another situation will present itself to me shortly.

Soon.

I finally got a response to a text I sent a while back:

"Hiya.

Am single once more: no need to be a good boy!

Been thinking about your luscious lips wrapped around my cock - it's got me so hard.

It's been a while since I fucked you senseless, hasn't it?

Can't wait to have your sweet pussy sitting on my face again.

You still up for playing sometime?

Let me know xx"


Hmm.

Intriguing.

Thoughtful.

Tempting.

I am wet already (obviously).

To call, or not to call, that is the question...

Up until my early 20's, every blow job I had given had been forced upon me.

Fellatio, as far as I was concerned, involved some form of coercion or physical force.

Every act of putting a mans penis in my mouth was a reminder of what I disliked about sex. I felt humiliated, dirty, used.

And every time I did it, I felt disgusted. Not only with myself, but with the guy: how could something so revolting turn him on?

Even when boyfriends, whom I cared deeply for stuck their cocks in my mouth I hated it. It wasn't a way of them showing me they loved me, that was for sure. I never enjoyed doing it, I loathed doing it and dreaded the moment when my partner would ask me to suck him.

That is, until I met DK.

DK was a stunningly handsome man. His eyes shone so brightly and he had the sexiest laughter lines around them. We used to sit up all night arguing about politics. He was, like many Mid-West Americans, quite intelligent, reasonably educated, but fucking ignorant. He truly couldn't see beyond the USA, had been brainwashed by the right-wing media and was unable to see that there was life beyond Capitalist America and it's sad Dream.

Anyway, you can imagine our rows. Bitter to the end. Especially because at that point in my life I was reading a lot of Marx and Chomsky and thought I had the answers to everything. So we'd fight and fuck. And boy was the fucking good. Very passionate. Very heated. Very political:

Me riding his cock whilst digging my nails into his chest: "You surely don't believe that the pursuit of financial wealth is the answer to Americas problems? As if by making all poor people rich, you'll get rid of class oppression or racism?"

Him, grabbing my hips, pulling me deeper onto his cock: "You want to tax everyone and stop people having the money they've worked for and that they deserve. Why should poor people get handouts? They should just work harder, then they'll have the same chance as everyone else to be happy."

Me, pumping him hard: "Oh shut the fuck up and fuck me"

And so we did.

We literally shagged each others brains out for many months, arguing and fucking. And it was with DK that I learned how wonderful and sexy blow jobs could be.

DK loved oral. Let me clarify that. He ADORED cunnilingus. To this day I have never met a pussy worshipper like him. He would beg me to be able to put his head between my legs and eat me all night.

Now, I am not such a fan. I mean, I'll never say no to having my pussy eaten, and I do enjoy it (I've even come from it a couple of times), but given a choice between some labia licking and a hot hard cock thrusting in and out of me, it's gonna be the cock every time. I like penetration - it makes me come - a LOT.

Anyway, it'd be our little game for DK to beg and plead and he'd get stuck away, head down, as if he hadn't had a meal all day. Gold Star for enthusiasm. I would watch him. I noticed that his cock would be flaccid when he started licking me, but that within a few minutes he would be grinding himself against my bed. I soon learned that this was because he was already rock hard. When he came up for air, he cock stuck out like a fucking flagpole. I would grab him immediately, and try and fuck him, but he would always ask for just a little bit longer 'down there'. Ok, whatever, I thought, as I lay back and got licked some more.

Knowing that he got a boner from eating me turned me on. And it made me think: Why did he enjoy it? I never enjoyed sucking anyone's cock. What was it that he liked? I gave it a lot of thought. Was it because I tasted nice? (Possible - I always keep my pussy trimmed, shaved and clean) Was it because he had a fetish for pussy (Again, possible, though by all accounts he had a fetish for fucking too) Or was it because he got turned on by doing it? Maybe even turned on because he knew I was getting turned on from him doing it?

That's when it struck me. Indirect enjoyment. Non-physical stimulation. The mental fuck. He got off on getting me off. And I realised that I was being selfish. I had, for some time, just laid back, with him working away at eating and licking me, and I had never even given a thought to sucking his cock. DK had never even asked me to suck him, let alone push me down there against my will, like so many others had. And maybe because of this, I wanted to explore him and give him back, some of the pleasure he had given me.

He had the most beautiful cock. Not just because of its size, but it just seemed to be the perfect shape - for me. He kept the area so clean that I can recall how sweet his cock and balls smelled to this day. You'd be surprised how many men don't bother to wash properly, or often (no wonder I hated blow jobs so much). And DK kept the area neat and trimmed, practically no hair at all.

Let me just interject quickly with four reasons why men should shave their genitals:

1) It'll make their cock look bigger
2) Their cock and balls will smell sweeter: hair holds the sweat and it goes rancid
3) No-one wants to be flossing whilst they eat: having a hair in your mouth while you suck, sucks
4) There will be an increase in sensation in the area: having a tongue swirl, suck and nibble directly against skin without the barrier of hair is much more pleasurable for the man

So, DK, shaved cock and balls, clean, cut, and aesthetically pleasing. So I started to lick. He tasted good. So I licked some more, this time lightly flicking over the head. DK moaned a little. Ok, going well so far. I licked from the tip to the base. DK shifted his hips slightly, so his balls were under my tongue. So I licked them. DK's breathing got faster. I opened my mouth, and enveloped his balls inside it. DK gave an approving sound, so I sucked them a little. He moved again so that his balls were above my nose. And this is where I learned about the perineum and the delights that are the base of a man's penis. I sensed DK wanted me to explore the area, and so far, things were going ok. I wasn't on the verge of puking, DK's breathing was heavy and his cock was rock hard. All good then. I licked the underside of his balls. He shivered. I moved down and nuzzled my nose against his balls. He groaned. I nibbled the base of his cock and licked his perineum and he literally started spasming, his gyrations were so extreme.

Aha! I thought, this would be it then. DK's 'button' (I believe that everyone has one place on their body that drives them absolutely fucking wild. The joy is to find it). And, from future experience, that most certainly was DK's button. But I didn't just stay there. No, the point of the button is to occasionally press it, not go overboard and only focus on that one spot. So, I alternated between sucking, licking and nibbling the head of his cock, sliding as much of it into my mouth as possible, gripping it with my hands, lashing it with my tongue and swirling my tongue around the underside of his cock, balls and perineum.

And I was rewarded in more ways than one.

Firstly DK was going absolutely crazy: thrusting his hips in the air, groaning hard.

Secondly I was soaking wet.

I didn't know if it was turning DK on that had got me horny, or whether it was just having something so delicious in my mouth that had got me off. But whichever it was, I was hot as hell and wanted to fuck him.

Which, as if he read my mind, DK knew, grabbing me and pulling me up over him, sliding me onto his hard cock. We rode each other for a few minutes, then climaxed together. Lovely.

Not much has changed for me since then. I love giving blow jobs now. And it still makes me wet. I find it hard to give one for a long period of time actually, because it gets me so horny I just want to slide myself onto them and come hard. But I do try to hold off and have occasionally seen one through to 'completion' without interrupting it with the needs of my pussy. (Although I made sure that got seen to soon after, don't worry).

And when, some time later DK and I fucked again, we found ourselves to be arguing once more. Though not about politics: it was over who got to suck the other first.

I seem to recall us ending up at a tie: we had a lot of 69's, DK and I...

Next Episode in a few days.

I was 21 and in a relationship with T, a sweet and funny man, a few years my senior.

We had met a few months prior, become friends and eventually ended up in bed together.

T was the first man I slept with who knew the power of teasing.

When we first had sex, it was enjoyable, fun and satisfying - I had no complaints. But as we got to know each others bodies a little more, things got better, more intense and more heated than I could ever imagine.

I remember being in bed with him one afternoon. I had taken the day off work, ostensibly from bad period pains, but in reality to spend the time with him instead.

So we're lying there, me with stomach cramps, him with a hard-on, snuggling up together. T starts kissing me. I kiss him too, but hold back a little: I was in great pain and not really in the mood for sex, plus I felt a little embarassed about him being intimate with me whilst I was menstruating.

I should point out, that at this point in my life, I was unaware of two things:

1) That an orgasm (or three) helps with the cramp pains that one gets from menstruating
2) That when a woman is on her period, she is usually the horniest she will ever be

Anyway T keeps persisting, kissing me on the neck just where he knows I like it, and I'm neither frigid nor selfish enough to want to deny him a bit of pleasure too, so I respond back. But when his hand moved down between my legs, I tried to dissuade him and moved his hand away.

But he kept on, just lightly touching me, occasionally grazing his finger along the outside of my panties and letting it almost touch my clit. And although the pains in my belly were intense, I began to feel myself getting wet, so I moved in towards him, so that he would have better access to my throbbing pussy. I expected him to slide a finger inside my panties or, at the very least, press and rub my pudenda harder, but he didn't. Instead he backed off, grazed his finger against me even lighter and gentler than before, whilst still kissing me intensely (another sensual kisser, yum).

[I should interject at this point and make a statement about kissing. A good slow, deep, seductive, sensual, sexual kiss can be the very thing that sends someone over the edge in my opinion, perhaps even make them climax. A good snog is like making love to someones mouth with your mouth. And I don't just mean tongue fucking. I mean slow, hot, wet sensuality. A synchronised rhythm. Combined mutual desire. An unspoken wish to be connected, not just by mouth, but by the heated, pulsing organs between your legs too. A good kiss is like someone whispering in your ear that you are the sexiest person they have ever met and that they are dying to fuck you].

Anyhow, T. Kissing me all over and getting me hot. At some point I forgot I was in pain. Probably had something to do with the intense ache that was between my legs. And only he could fix it.

I moved in towards him again, but he moved his hand away, just enough, so that only his thumb gently grazed my clit. I anxiously tried to press myself against his cock instead, so that I could get the stimulation I was craving, but he just laughed and smiled at me. I was confused. Didn't he want me?

But then he slid his hand between my thighs, ran one finger from the bottom of my vulva up to my clit and then reached up to my nipples squeezing them gently. My breath quickened. I wanted his hand back.

I pressed myself closer to him again and he moved in towards me, this time reaching underneath my panties, sliding a finger between my labia.

T: "Oh, I see, it's like that is it?" he says, as he feels my wetness.

I just mumbled, closed my eyes, hoped that he would continue. But then he said,

"Nah, I don't think you're in the mood, may as well stop, I reckon", and he moved his hand away.

Me (grabbing his hand and replacing it between my wet thighs): "Please! Carry on"

So he continued lightly caressing me, getting me hot until I was almost on the brink. And then he stopped again. I looked at him confused. He just grinned cheekily at me, and then slid his hand back in between my legs. I reached in towards him and tried to undo his fly to release his hard cock from the prison of his clothes, but he grabbed my hand and said:

"Not until I think you're ready".

I groaned. I was ready. I wanted him now. I reached in again, rubbed his erection through his jeans. T closed his eyes and moaned softly. Great: now I could have what I wanted. I pulled on his zipper, managed to tug it halfway down, until he got hold of my hand and stopped me, once more.

I thought that maybe he wasn't in the mood and I didn't want to pressurize him in any way, so I let go and just continued kissing him.

T carried on playing with my pussy, alternating between stroking, rubbing and pressing down. He had me on the edge constantly, about to come, but then he would pull back just before I climaxed. My pussy felt hot, heavy and filled with a terrible ache. All I wanted was for him to rip off my panties and stick himself inside me. I was so hot, so horny, so desperate, that I soon heard myself saying,

"Please"

T stopped: "What was that?"

Me, quietly: "Please"

T: "Please, what?"

Me, even quieter now: "Please, I need it"

T, acting confused: "Need what?"

Me, frustrated: "You know what! Please!"

T: "I really have no idea what you are talking about, do explain"

Even though I was embarrassed by my craven desire, I grabbed his hand, stuffed his fingers into my wetness and said,

"That. Come on, it's not fair. I need to come"

T looked at me, grinning again: "Oh really, so you think you deserve to come then do you?!"

Me, desperate now: "Yes. Come on, stop teasing me, it's mean"

T: "You're easy to tease. You'll come, don't worry. But only when I say you can"

Me, angrily: "What? What're you talking about??" I turn away from him annoyed.

T: "Now now. None of that. You're going to come very soon, don't worry. Are you ready to though?"

I looked at him. Was he mad? I was lying there soaking wet, more desperate than I could ever recall being and he was asking me if I was ready?

Me, sulking: "I am ready, more than ready, I want to, now"

T: "Say it again then"

Me: "What?"

T: "You know". He sits back on his ankles, unzips his jeans, pulls down his briefs, grabs his hard cock in one hand and looks at me. "Do you want it?"

Me: "God yes. Please"

T: "Ah, there you go. Aare you sure you want it now?"

Me: "Please. Oh god I want it. Now."

T: "Are you really sure you want it? Say it"

Me, shyly and quietly: "I want it. God I want your cock. Please give it to me, please"

T moved closer to me, so that the tip of his cock was nestling on my labia.

T: "Say it". He pressed down so that his cock rubbed against me slowly.

Me, shifting my hips trying to get his cock to 'accidentally' fall into me: "Oh god, please. Please give it to me. I need your cock. Please. Fuck me. I can't stand it. Fuck me please"

T: "Well, since you asked so nicely", and with that he pushed himself into me.

If there was a prize for the quickest and most intense orgasm upon insertion of a cock into a pussy, I would have won it, believe me. As soon as T entered me I was convulsing and as he thrusted, my entire body was spasming off the bed. I actually cried from the sheer intensity of it, the release I so needed, was finally upon me, the waves of pleasure so intense, my whole body felt like it was on fire.

Worth the wait. So worth the wait. I never knew that delaying an orgasm could make the final climax so intense. All of T's teasing had paid off. I may have hated him during the process - turning me on, not allowing me to climax - but the payoff at the end was better than any orgasm I had ever had before, and I loved him for giving me that.

The only drawback from such an intense climax was the amount of blood that ended up on his sheets: my orgasm seemed to manage to eject everything I had in me. Nice for me and him (oral back on the cards, yippee), not so good for the dry cleaners whom we left the task of removing the stains: it looked like a murder had been committed...

Next Episode: Learning To Love Blow Jobs

I was barely 19. Still sexually inexperienced, naive and eager to learn. I was living life as if there was no tomorrow, working all day, partying all night on a daily basis.

Throughout the day, various people would pop into our office and say hello and come hang out. And this was how I met a guy I shall call J. He was in his 20's then, quite charming, reasonably cute. We used to chat about music and clubs when he came to visit and I guess we flirted a little.

Anyway, one night, after a local gig, he came over to say hi. No-one else was left in the office, just me finalising a days work. I recall us smoking a few joints and maybe having a beer or two. There was talking and laughing. And, at some point, kissing.

I remember his kisses to this day. No-one forgets a good kisser. This guy must've taken a degree in kissing or something: he was that good. We're standing up by the window, and he is, ever so gently, leaning in towards me and kissing me so lightly, it was almost like a feather dancing on my lips. They tingled. And it made me want to devour his mouth. But I just returned his lip-seduction, mirroring his moves, pace and depth. And he kept up the light kissing for a long time. By the end of it, I was very turned on and I realised there was a lot to be learned from this man.

He started running his fingers up and down my neck and back, lightly caressing me, whilst continuing with the kissing at the same time. He then slid his hands around to my breasts, grazing my nipples ever so gently with the back of his hand, before he rested his fingers on my hips, pulling me in towards him. Everything he was doing was so little, so light, but the sensations he was inducing were so intense. I could feel myself getting breathless: I was more and more turned on, more than I had ever been before and I knew that it was only going to get better. And it did.

I recall him pulling me against him and feeling against my thigh, his hard cock. It felt amazing. And then he lifted my leg slightly so that his cock was better placed to rub me between my legs. Oh my god. It was like magic. Feeling this thing, this hard hot thing pressed up against me was better than I could imagine. And he didn't rush to dry hump me at 60 miles an hour like the guys I had been with previously. No. He slowly rubbed me. So slowly in fact that I was pressing myself against him, trying to get more, and faster stimulation. (There is a lot to be said in teasing a woman and making her beg for more. I shall cover this in the next Episode). And DJ just went with whatever pace I chose: if I rubbed slow and hard against him, he would rub me back the same. And if I wanted fast, light rubs, he would follow suit too.

It wasn't long before I could feel it coming. That is to say - me coming. All the slow stimulation had paid off: I was having an orgasm, and no-one was going to stop me. There I was, fully clothed (but with totally drenched panties), vertically dry-humping a guy and having my first ever shared (ie non-masturbatory) orgasm. Lovely. I shook and trembled and he held me tight to stop me from falling over. It was a wonderful moment.

And I never really thanked him for it. Nor apologised for not returning the favour: I was so overwhelmed with my own pleasure, that I left him with a stonking hard-on and jumped on the tube home to bask in my glory. Selfish I know. But we shagged some months later, so I think he forgave me.

I think I shall begin blogging some episodes of my early sex life in coming posts. This'll hopefully give some context and understanding to being The Girl.

Here's the first:

The Bad Lover

I was remembering today about one of the worst lovers I ever had. He was a beautiful man and wrongly I had assumed that his skill in bed would similarly be as glorious as the looks he had. How wrong my opinion proved to be.

I was 18, naive, sexually inexperienced, but curious all the same. Working in a different but similarly glamourous industry, mingling yet again with the rich, famous and beautiful. I enjoyed my social life, the attention I got from men, I was open to new experiences.

So when this outgoing, funny, handsome man from the USA office joined our department briefly, I eyed him up with some interest. Not that I was the only one: I noticed how all the women preened themselves when he walked into the room, flirting with him and laughing outrageously at his jokes. Here was a fantastically sexy handsome charming man, and he was single: every woman was out to bed him.

Not me though. He was 36, I figured he would never be interested in a young girl like me. (In my naivete and ignorance, I never thought he would be interested in me for that very fact). So, when he flirted with me, I just took it as friendly work banter, thought nothing of it. And when he asked if I would show him round the city, it just seemed an innocent request, albeit one that flattered me immensely.

It only struck me that he was attracted to me after his arm (that had been placed around my shoulder in the cinema we ended up in), slowly travelled down my neck and began fondling my breast. Just like a bad teenage sex-move. But it felt nice, so I didn't complain. And when his hand wandered down my back and ended up caressing my arse, I didn't stop him doing that either. It was only when he fingers slid in between my bottom cheeks and began sliding against the crotch of my tights that I pulled his hand away. I felt embarrassed, self-conscious, dirty. We were in public after all. (So much has changed since then, ahem).

But I liked what he had been doing. Even with my inexperience, I knew how horny he had made me: my pants were soaking wet. So when he suggested going somewhere private, I agreed, and we left the cinema pronto.

We ended up at his friends house and found ourselves in a beautiful bedroom, complete with a four-poster bed, white drapes on the large floor to ceiling windows, and candles on the oak floor. A recipe for romance one would think. Wrong.

It all started off well: sensual kissing, some gentle breast fondling. But as if he suddenly pressed his foot down on the accelerator, he went from caressing me one moment, to ramming his fingers in and out of my pussy as hard and fast as he could. And I wasn't even wet. It hurt and I tried to get him to slow down, play with my clit a little. But he just fumbled and pushed and tried to ram his fingers inside me again and I got more and more turned off.

Looking back, I am a little surprised at how bad he was. I mean, not only was he 36 (should know better, surely), but it was the fact that when I tried to guide him, show him what I liked, how he could turn me on (and obviously, get me wet enough for his cock to fuck me), he just wasn't interested. It was as if he had a preconceived idea about what sex between us should be like - and he wasn't going to alter his plans no matter what - even if that meant I didn't enjoy myself at all. And of course I was too inexperienced then to either insist on a different course of action, or to try to switch the attention onto him, so that his lack of skills wasn't so apparent.

So after much fumbling he put a condom on and attempted to enter me. I say 'attempted' because it was pretty obvious it wasn't going in: I was as dry as a bone at this point (not something I can say happens with any frequency in my life, anymore) and the last thing that my pussy wanted was a big cock forcefully rammed inside it with no lubrication. So, my pussy shut it's doors and put up it's 'Closed' sign: no entry to you matey. He did try - most of the night - but to no avail. No sex was had, though he begged me to stick my tongue inside his arsehole and jerk him off. I am pleased to say I politely declined. The very thought! (From what I understand Tromboning is very popular nowadays, but I have yet to be persuaded to do it).

In the morning we left for work together, but agreed to enter the office seperately, so that people 'wouldn't talk'. We carried on our jobs as normal, no-one guessed anything, and we barely spoke again. I didn't feel any animosity towards him, more like pity I suppose. So when the other women in the office were drooling over him, I just shut my mouth and kept quiet: no need to ruin their fantasies, or destroy his reputation or ego.

But thinking about it now, I realise how ignorant I was about the whole thing. Here was a man twice my age, who tried to pressurize me into having sex when I didn't want to (and not the first one to do this, I might add). And I thank my 18-year-old lucky stars for a few reasons:

1) That I stood my ground and told him that no intercourse was going to happen
2) That I insisted on his using condoms
3) That he finally gave up, and let me sleep

I got away lucky.

It's certainly one of the chapters in my life I would be more than happy to forget, but content that it is up there with the 'Lessons to be learned from' parts of my life: after being with him I realised that not only was it important that I knew how to pleasure myself and my partner, but that if need be, I would be able to teach my partner how to pleasure me too - something which I lacked the skills in at this point, but made it my priority from then on.

Soon: The Man Who Made Me Climax

I know that I have, in this blog, talked about how much I like funny men.

That I enjoy their outlook on life and their take on the world.

That their humour turns me on.

But, I've never expressed my appreciation for musical men. (Well, apart from the odd mention of Graham Coxon that is).

I don't know whether it is because I come from a musical family, whilst myself am not blessed with any musical talent (my skills lie in other areas), but possibly a quality that I find can make a man extraordinarily sexy, is his ability to play an musical instrument.

Being able to express oneself through the medium of music enthralls me. It excites me. It turns me on. (And sadly, being unable to do this myself, I envy it too).

I was at an ex-boyfriends' gig tonight, pretending to be a groupie for his hard-rock band. (Which, for the record can just involve lots of cheering and clapping: no clothes items need to be removed for this particular job).

I digress.

So I'm watching my ex playing away - a very skilled guitarist - and I remember why I found him so sexy in the first place. Not because of the fact that he is a very handsome man, but because of his passion about his guitar playing.

There's something about seeing a man be passionate about what he's doing that is an immense turn on for me. It's not the same as a guy passionately shouting at the tv as his football team win a match; playing an instrument, expressing oneself wholeheartedly, not holding back - that is passion for me. And hearing the result of this passion is like the aural equivilent of great sex.

And, like I've said before, watching a man strum his guitar is like watching him masturbate. Like being a voyeur in his bedroom and getting the (wonderful) opportunity to watch him play with himself: seeing how he uses his hands, what pace, rhythm and pressure he chooses and being priviledged to seeing him experiencing immense pleasure. God, so sexy.

So, anyway, I'm watching my ex play, noticing how with each song, the buttons on his shirt get slowly undone: at the start of the gig, just his chest hair poked through the (1 x button undone) top (any men reading this: this is a FUCKING SEXY look, trust me), and by the end of the gig, his shirt was wide open, revealing chest, nipples and abs to the world. His trademark now, it seems, and one that appears to be bringing in the ladies, so good on him.

But (with regards to him anyway) it's not the chest, the shirt, the sweat that I find attractive: it's the musical talent. And with his thrashing and wrenching, all I could think of was a cute guy grabbing me the same way as the guitar: pulling me toward him, gripping my arse firmly, pressing his hard cock against my body and fucking my mouth with his tongue.

Hard.

Rampant.

Passionate.

Jesus I'm horny. (And a little drunk too, if I am honest)

Think I'd best get to bed...

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?

After much deliberation today, with my good friend Rentboy, I have come to some (admittedly limited) conclusions about men and their approach to a particular type of woman.

Not based on any scientific research mind.

Just my experience, the opinions of my mates, and the honesty of some total random strangers I have met and who allowed me to grill them about their thoughts on sex.

So, when faced with the possibility of having sex with a woman that has had a lot of lovers, it seems men generally tend to fall into three categories:

1. The intimidated Man

Although perhaps turned on by the woman's sexual confidence, these men are essentially put off by the woman's sexual history, because they find it daunting that she might have more experience (read, better skills) in bed than them. They might want to be the one with the sex tricks, not be the one learning them. They worry (quite unnecessarily so), that they won't be able to satisfy her in bed, so they back away from exploring any intimacy with her, both physical and mental. (That's not to say they don't frantically masturbate thinking about her though).

2. The confident Man

These men are not intimidated by the woman's previous sexual history. Rather they are turned on knowing that the woman has had a lot of lovers. They equate this as her having a high sex drive and assume that they are then almost guaranteed a good fuck with her, feeling relaxed about their own sexual ability in bed at the same time. Being driven by their focus to shag her, rather than connect with her mentally, means they may not achieve any intimacy with her. Also, since their expectations of her sexual prowess might be unrealistic, quite possibly they will end up being disappointed, because the reality doesn't match their fantasy. (Again, some frantic masturbating involved, but it usually occurs prior to the sex and rarely continues after it).

3. The Man who wants to 'tame' her

These men are neither put off by, or highly turned on by the woman's previous sexual history. Instead their challenge is to try to make the woman become monogamous - with them - thus proving that their own sexual prowess was enough to make the woman 'settle down'. Again, their expectations might be unrealistic: if a woman is in no hurry to enter a long-term relationship, then no amount of devotion to her pussy will make her give up her lifestyle. (I am assuming some regular masturbating occurs here too, but most likely involves the addition of a picture of a white picket fence and a dog).

In my experience, most men fall into the (1) group, when faced with a sexually confident/experienced woman. Next in line are the number (2)'s, and lastly the number (3)'s who are only a couple in number and I've only bumped into a few times.

I have nothing against any of these men I have described - in fact I have occasionally, (wistfully) wished that a few more number (1)'s would give me a chance - but I am still hoping that a man would say to me:

"How many partners? I really don't care actually. Let's just get to know each other, and see if we have a connection, ok?"

So, which one of the above are you/ is your partner?

I'm not sure if it's because of the raging hangover that I presently have, or whether it's the come-down from the 'high' that I was on earlier this week, or even, whether I am just emotional from being pre-menstrual right now, but whichever it is, I feel like crap today.

My mood can best be described as 'low'.

Not the me I like to be.

Strange that last night I was the outgoing, vivacious Party Girl; I don't feel like I recognise her today - The Girl is not in a partying mood now:

Party Girl last night confidently walks into the pub wearing a low cut fitted top, body-hugging hipsters and four-inch heels. Men stare at her as she passes. She smiles at them and then joins her group of friends. She feels confident about her sexuality, knows that she looks sexy in what she wears.

The Girl today sits in her apartment in sweat pants and a t-shirt. She feels body-awkward, uncomfortable in her own skin, unattractive. Even a 20 minute fiddle doesn't make her feel sexy. She feels nervous about going out, thinks it's better to stay in and hide.

Party Girl last night gets hit on by a bunch of guys. Men at the bar try to chat her up, friends of the party group attempt to get her attention. Even her friends flirt with her, tell her how "fucking great" she looks and pinch her arse.

The Girl today wonders why the phone doesn't ring. Maybe she is only attractive to people when they are inebriated. Maybe she is ugly. She ponders going out to get drunk again, so she will get hit on, hoping it will make her feel better.

Party Girl last night flicks her hair back flirtaciously and puts people at ease with her infectious laugh and her gentle playful squeezing of their arm. She gives each person talking to her maintained eye contact, responds with interest to their conversation, and buys rounds of drinks for the whole crew.

The Girl today is nervous that she cannot maintain a decent conversation if she is not drunk. That her dynamism isn't real. That she is not an interesting person to be with. She looks in her purse and realises that with the little money she had, she used it to buy appreciation.

Party Girl last night was told by more than a handful of people that she was "beautiful". People debated openly why she haven't "been snapped up yet". Everyone thought that she has a handful of men at her disposal, begging to be part of her life, only to be chucked when she got bored of them.

The Girl today feels lonely and introspective. Wonders why people think she is a 'man-eater', when she actually has no man in her life. Worries that she will always scare off the men she likes, either with her sex drive, her opinionated views on life, or by showing too much interest in a man that has impressed her.

Party Girl last night felt like life was good. Fresh work was surely round the corner. Old friends were still in her life. A man she liked had shown an interest recently in getting to know her. Life was exciting.

The Girl today is unsure how good life is. There's little work on the horizon. The old friends she has are too into drugs to hang out with often. The man has lost interest in her. Life seems to have stalled.


I know that things can and will get better. I don't stay low for long, generally.

But today, this moment, right now, is not emotionally inspiring for me.

Even watching the birds feeding at my window isn't cheering me up.

And before anyone suggests it in the comments box: a shag is not the answer either.

Hopefully I'll be in a better place tomorrow folks.

x

I think I must be ovulating: my body seems to be screaming at me to,

"Go forth, procreate! Now! It'll be good for you!!!"

I've barely been able to concentrate on anything else in the last few days.

Not that I am in a rush to have children of course.

But the only thoughts occupying my mind recently have been of a sexual nature. Driven in part, I am sure, by the hormonal horniness caused by my body being at the height of it's fertility when it releases an ovum.

Sometimes when you really crave a food, it often turns out to be the thing that your body is actually lacking in (ie, craving an orange when you need vitamin C). Likewise, my body seems to be telling me that I need a hot hard cock stuffed inside me, fucking me hard, because I am lacking in something. I haven't figured out yet what it is, but suspect a vitamin deficiency of some sort (zinc, magnesium and protein spring to mind).


So rather than:

(A)
updating my cv
phoning old work contacts
contacting my union
visiting a film studio

in order to spec out new work,

I was instead thinking of:

(B)
kissing his sweet lips
running my fingers through his hair
nibbling his earlobe softly
parting his mouth with my wet tongue
stroking the chest hair poking out the top of his shirt
pressing my body against his
his hands gently gripping my arse, pulling me in towards him
hearing our breath quickening in sync
sliding my hands underneath his shirt along his lower back
his fingers stroking my nipples gently through my bra
feeling his cock grow against me
and wondering what it would be like to feel him inside me


Obviously none of (A) got done today: I am easily distracted.

Which means my day wasn't as productive as it might have been.

Though I had 5 orgasms, so I guess it's not all bad...

Ok, I admit it.

I've been very busy today.

Not working.

No prizes for guessing what's been occupying my time. (Well, what's a girl expected to do with herself?)

Anyway, incessant playing aside, I have actually been doing some research over the last hour and a half.

Yes, that's right:

In the name of science, The Girl has been busy looking at this site.

Not because it's particularly erotic, more out of curiousity: who are these men?

And of course, I've been trying to see if there are any on there that I recognise.

(I haven't spotted any yet, but that's not for want of trying)...

Anyone out there prepared to claim ownership for an item on display?

Women who get laid are hot, according to Philip:

"If she is getting quality action, she must be in possession of some seduction skills. Which definitely increases her appeal in my eyes."

Aside from the fact that this Girl's world is pretty much actionless right now, who am I to argue with that?

You wanna know how drunk I am right now?

How about if I tell you that I got on the bus, got all the way home, got the keys out to open my door and then realised: I wasn't supposed to stay in my place tonight, (I am currently house-sitting for a mate, local to me (and with easy-access-to-porn-via-broadband, haha)). So when I got back to my place, I had to then bloody jump in a cab to go 'home', again.

Dammit. I must be reading too much Unluckyman, or something, his misfortune seems to be rubbing off on me.

But thankfully not totally, it seems, as I had a wonderful rest of the evening.

A lovely friend invited me to an 'alternative' type party tonight. All the people there were open minded: a few sex-industry types, some media-whores, lots of cool-laid-back people. So much so, that they thought nothing of my writing a sex-blog.

It was so liberating to be able to tell people, it was wonderful.

Noone judged me, or thought I was peverted or obsessed, or was threatened by my talking about sex. They were interested in what I had to say: I was a normal girl to them.

I felt like I was home.

And I got hit on too. Boy oh boy. (Well, girl oh girl as well, considering that two women also gave me their numbers and made me promise I would call them). Which makes, er, 4 or 5 new numbers in my phone? I dunno. Too drunk to remember. All good fun though.

But, more importantly, for the first time in a public (ie. non-web-based) situation, I 'came out' about what I write about, and the world didn't collapse around me.

Which makes me think that perhaps I am not so different, maybe I am not as weird as I worry I am, and that perhaps I should relax a little and give people a little more credit. [Although I should state that I didn't actually tell anyone what my blog was called, or my real name for that matter: I still have to be careful about such things].

But maybe a point will come where I can be who I am, be able to say what I feel, feel safe to express my desires and not be scared that other people will run a mile, (or, perhaps more worrying, be malicious with their knowledge about me and try to use it against me).

If the positivity I felt tonight is anything to go by, then this moment is not far off.

I can't wait.

I have come to the conclusion that there is more to life than sex.

Yes, this is still the blog of the Girl with a one-track mind, relax. But let me explain how I have arrived at this judgement:

I do believe that sex is a good indicator of how healthy a relationship is: being able to be open with your partner, openly express what your likes and dislikes are, and have regular enjoyable sex are all pointers to the relationship being a good one I think.

The key to good sex with your partner: honesty, trust and an open mind.

And likewise, the key to a good relationship is being open minded, accepting your partners wants and needs, and being trusting enough of them to be honest about what makes you happy - both in and out of the bed.

Ok, enough of the relationship spiel.

Why am I, the supposed sex fiend writing about sex not being the 'be all and end all'?

Here's why:

It occurred to me today that great sex does not equal a great relationship: good sex can cloud your vision and make you think that the relationship you are in, is a good one.

Don't get me wrong, I am sure there are many men out there that are seeking the 'perfect' blow job (or women seeking the 'perfect' pussy eater, but for arguments sake, there are fewer of us looking for this) and think that when they find it, then they'll 'settle down' and be happy forevermore.

And maybe they will, but I doubt it. Even infinitely-mind-blowing-cock-sucking would get dull after a while, if you have nothing to talk about when you're not shagging.

'Aha!' you might cry, 'but I don't want to talk, I just want to go to sleep!',

well then you are a shallow git and you should stop reading my blog now.

In all seriousness, talking is the new sex. It IS. The most attractive part of a man, in my opinion, is not his cock, but his mind. I have, in the past, fucked stupid men, boring men, men who couldn't maintain more than ten minutes of conversation with me. I would go out of my mind with the inanity of their monologues, which drove me to immense boredom, resulting in my sucking their cocks just to shut them up so I could get some peace.

To be able to talk with someone, have a connection, to find yourself glancing at your watch when they go to the loo and think,

'Fuck! Where did those 5 hours go?! We've been talking for ages! It went so quickly!'

well, that's chemistry, that's passion, that's sexy. Not hardcore, multiple orgasms.

I realised today that SP and I never properly talked. We spent 5, 6, months together last year, and he never really knew me. We fucked, furiously, regularly, with a passion, but we never shared ourselves with each other.

SP may have been able to:
Give me multiple orgasms
Know where my g-spot was, even when I didn't
Ensure I was always pleasured first
Give me my first oral and digital orgasms
Make me feel comfortable and safe enough to try things for the first time (spanking, handcuffs, Anal etc.)
Show me I could trust him when we experimented with him dominating me
Be open about what turned him on
Trust me with his sexual fantasies
Not be threatened by my sexuality

But SP never knew that:
I adore the colour turquioise
But I am more likely to wear chesnut brown to match my hair
My favourite flowers are lillies
But faced with some freesia, I am in seventh heaven
The smell of lavender is almost an aphrodisiac to me
But I need freshly brewed coffee to get me out of bed
I could watch the film Blade Runner over and over again without ever getting bored
But when I feel low, I watch A Night At The Opera to cheer myself up
I am superstitious about flying and spend flights gripping my hands against the armrests
But I have accepted that my fate might be dying in an aircraft, so I try to relax as much as I can
I get pleasure from watching the Bluetits and Robins feeding at my window
But wish I could get a cat in my flat instead
I have a slight photographic memory and when I go shopping I scan the memory of my cupboards to make sure I replace the items that need restocking
But I buy everything I need in bulk, to make sure I don't ever run out
I sometimes use sex to distance myself from my emotions, which doesn't make me feel better about myself in the long run
But I enjoy a good hard shag as much as the next person

So, I realised that although SP and I had some awesome sex, we never really had that connection. At the time I thought we did, but now I understand that my vision of him was clouded by the orgasms I was having.

Looking back at the 'relationship' in the cold light of day now, I can see that we were just two people quite literally coming together; the intimacy we shared was restricted to the nakedness of our bodies, our emotions cut short by the intensity of our orgasms, our intellects stimulated only by the passion we shared in the bedroom.

Not a good relationship.

It has taken me some months to realise this, to be in a place where I can truly say I have moved on. And I have. I have learned some valuable lessons, about myself, about men, about sharing myself with someone.

And as much as I am still driven by my red-hot desire for furious rampant sex, I am also aware that it is not the answer. An orgasm feels nice, sure, but sex isn't everything: I want to make love with my mind.

Is this inevitable for all of us who blog anonymously?

Somewhere a clock seems to be ticking loudly...

The answer to Valentines Day?

Just brilliant

I don't normally find anything related to celebrity gossip interesting at all.

I avoid the usual suspects (Heat magazine, any tabloid you care to mention), like the plague, and excuse myself from conversations my friends have where they discuss, 'who has shagged who', 'ooh, look what she's wearing!' and 'he's lost it now, but if he asked me out, I wouldn't say no'.

It's bad enough working in the entertainment industry, alongside 'famous' people all day and having to put up with their strops, ego-trips and high wages, so when I am grilled about the latest gossip on set by friends/aquaintances/strangers, I try to change the subject and move onto more interesting topics, like world peace and environmental awareness.

Mostly.

But when I read that our very own drug-addled, weekend-prison-sentenced ex-Libertines frontman Pete Doherty used to work as a food delivery-boy for Sashinka a few years ago, I just had to share the news.

Because it is fucking funny: supposedly he wasn't very good. And he nicked £20 off her. Some things never change...

I have no idea what brought it on yesterday, but for some reason I was absolutely fucking mad-crazy horny.

Insanely horny.

To the point of having wet knickers ALL day.

And of course, being on a film set the whole time didn't help matters. Being rushed off my feet for the best part of 12 hours made daylight playtime impossible.

So, it was with some relief, that during my drive home after work, I was finally able to slide my hand in between my legs and feel the part of me that had been aching to be touched all day.

Not that this was easy -
1) I had three layers of clothing to get through: waterproof insulated trousers, thermal leggings and a black lacy lycra thong
2) I had to steer the car on the motorway at 70 miles an hour with only one hand
3) I was interupted by calls and texts whilst I was driving/playing and had to keep removing my hand to check my phone

For almost an hour (!) I was on the brink, but not actually able to finish myself off due to the safety risk involved (orgasm-induced-temporary-blindness resulting in lack of steering control of the vehicle).

So when I finally got home, it was with no lack of rushing that I bolted into my bedroom, threw off my boots, dragged off my trousers, pulled down my thermals, and ripped off my panties.

And you know what happened? I fell asleep.

For all my horniness, the early hours, long(ish) day and lack of sleep finally got to me: my desperate play turned into a Bully Wank and I passed out before climaxing, awakening 4 hours later, with my right hand still between my legs, the pulsating throbbing emanating from there, a reminder of what I had not been able to pacify.

I was robbed! How dare I?! Not even to have the decency to complete the task at hand, not give myself the pleasure I had been dying for all day. Outrageous.

So, (with some determination it has to be said), I dragged myself out of my slumber and forced myself to endure a few minutes of extreme pleasure. Of course I tried to argue with myself, but I can be very persuasive sometimes, and when my climax was close, I gave in to the more forceful side of myself and relented.

Resulting in an orgasm that really was nothing to write home about. I am convinced it would have been spectacular had I not fallen asleep on myself earlier, but either way, it was long overdue and much needed.

Still, I haven't yet figured out if there's a link between sleeplessness, tiredness, long hours and horniness - I wonder if it is just me that gets the most ravenous when I am suffering from all the above?

I have a problem.

I've been aware of it for some time.

I know I need help.

I have an addiction and I am unable to resist the temptation.

I tell myself I won't let it get the better of me, but it is out of my control:

I now have almost 100 items of underwear in my drawer.

I know it is not normal to make regular purchases of sexy panties, lacy basques or satin suspender belts, but I can't stop myself from buying them. Every time I am in a clothing store, I find myself in the lingerie department, fondling some soft, sensual material, thinking how cute it would look outlining my arse, or enveloping my breasts, and before I know it, my credit card is being swiped and said item is being whisked into a bag and taken back to my flat. (If only bedding cute guys were as easy).

I digress:

Underwear. I know I have too much of it because I regularly find a new sexy pair of panties in my drawer that I don't even recall buying. They usually still have the price tag on. There are pants of every style you could imagine: tiny g-string triangles, hipster hotpants, fitted briefs, tie-string, shorts; and every material you can think of: satin, silk, lycra, cotton, lace, mesh; and every colour they could come in: black, brown, dark and light blue, pink (varying shades), purple (and lilac), red, white, cream, the list goes on. And I haven't even started on the basques, teddies or suspenders.

I'm not sure when this addiction started. For years I wasn't into wearing anything 'sexy', feeling that I would just be perpetuating a sexist objectified view of femaleness that was shoved down my throat via the covers of magazines. Lingerie = female sexual availability represented through male fantasy. How could a feminist like myself wear something that seemed to exist just to turn a man on? I didn't want to feel like a piece of meat, viewed as a sexual object, so my early relationships were spent wearing 'comfortable' knickers and 'sensible' bras; the thought of my partner getting off on lingerie - the male pornographic fantasy - made me extremely uncomfortable.

A lot has changed since then. I have no idea when it happened, but at some point, I began to find lingerie sexy. I liked to look at it. I enjoyed touching it. And when I held it against my skin, it made me feel sexy. But that wasn't the biggest revelation for me. No. What came as the biggest shock was when I slipped a pair of lacy panties over my thighs and saw the curve of my arse through the material. I not only looked good, but I felt good. Actually, to be more precise, I felt sexy. And seeing myself feeling sexy turned me on. Looking at myself in the underwear began to get me hot. It made me want to play. So I did. I would have a new thong on and look at myself in the mirror (the narcissist again) enjoying how the garment felt and looked against my body. And my hands would begin to stray, following the curve of the thong as it reached down between my legs, disappearing between the cheeks of my bottom. Just feeling the silky material against my skin would make me wet; my fingers didn't take long to 'break in' each new pair of panties.

Hence my enjoyment of lingerie. I began to wear it for me, to feel sexy: only I knew what I had on underneath my clothes. At some point, this appreciation of underwear was shared by a partner, and I realised that there was nothing wrong with him enjoying me in it, as much as I enjoyed me in it. In fact, I love it when my partner gets off on what I wear: it turns me on to know that I am turning him on. And of course I view what I wear with less cynicism now: I don't feel degraded wearing sexy lingerie (plus I also enjoy looking at porn); I feel like me - empowered, sexy and horny, the opposite to how I thought I would feel all those years ago.

So I have taken to lingerie like a fish to water: I cannot stop myself from purchasing more and more of it. I already have too much: most of my panties don't even see the light of day, let alone get the chance to be fondled by another person, so I have no idea why I keep on buying more. Like I said, I am an addict.

Purchases in recent days include:

Baby blue satin low rider shorts with black piping
Black lacy low rider hipsters with a v-slit in the front and a drawstring to (semi) close them
Bright pink satin thong
See-thru black mesh hipster shorts with a pastel pink trim
Lilac shorts with black lace trim
And my favorites: Black satin low rider hipsters with a cut-out slit in the rear held together (just) with three pink bows

Yummy. But I'm not going to try any of these on in front of my mirror: that'd be a waste of perfectly clean panties, given how easily my hand would wander between my legs to 'test out' how silky the material felt against my skin. No, I think I shall save these for a 'special' day. Until then, I'll just have to find some 'normal' panties to wear. That is if I have any...