I am being harassed.

They won't leave me alone.

Every time I pick up the phone I can hear them.

I am at my wits end and have had to invest in professional help.

That's right folks, I am being stalked.

By a fax machine.

For days now it has been calling my (ex-directory) number every few minutes with it's insane quest to send me data. It would be ok if I actually had a fax machine myself - that way this computer operated target-obsessed machine would feel like it had fulfilled it's duty and give me some peace. But instead, it fills my answerphone with annoyingly loud beeps and ties up my line with it's persistent ringing.

So I've had to have strong words with my telecom company and get the big boys out to try to end this electronic nightmare. Since I pay a lot of money for the service, I am quite happy to let the responsibility fall into their laps, and let them get on with it; today I was actually able to do some work at home, amongst the occasional texts on my mobile from the telecom company informing me of the progress of the case.

But I had to put my foot down this afternoon. There I was, happily getting reaquainted with a long forgotten vibrator, when a call came through on my mobile - my absolute private line. I had to answer it - it might have been work. Having to then maintain the most mundane conversation known to human-kind, with a telecom operator explaining the action they would take on my behalf to prevent any more nuisance fax calls, kinda took the edge off the sexy mood I was in: I had been moments away from orgasm, and after the call, it took me the best part of an hour to be able to climax.

Outrageous I know. I should make a complaint. There must be a department for that. A 'who to speak to if our service provider has prevented you from enjoying your self-servicing'. I reckon they should give credits on bills too; a good-will gesture for all the orgasms they have prevented by their telephonic coital interuptions. Or, if they don't want the hassle of people like me phoning up to complain, perhaps they should offer one of these as a gift? It'd certainly shut me up for a few hours...

There are a few lessons I have learned over the years with regards to the internet:

1) Only look at porn on your own computer
2) Restrict blogging to your own computer, or whilst in an internet cafe
3) Do not leave erotic photographs of yourself on your father's computer

The last one on the list came as a short sharp slap on the face today.

My dad decided to download the new Picasa photo organizer; the software that sorts and displays every picture on your computer into nice neat little folders. Very helpful.

Unless that is, a erotic picture of me that had been lying dormant and long forgotten about, suddenly decided that now would be the time to come out of hiding and present itself in its full colour 17" glory onto the screen for my father to view.

He called me into the room.

"Girl, I think you should see this". He motioned towards the screen.

There I am, half naked, dressed in stockings, a thong and no top on, facing the wall. My arse proudly displayed for all to see, my hair ever flowing - a dead give-away as to who the semi-clad model in the picture was.

I had a sudden flashback of the night. DK ripping my clothes off, seeing my lingerie, begging me for him to be able to capture the moment on camera. Me hiding my face out of shot. Him snapping me until the film ran out, then removing my thong, eating my pussy for half an hour and finally fucking me hard on the kitchen floor. God it was a good shag.

Oh shit. My dad is looking at a picture of my arse. Fuck. I couldn't deny it. That butt was mine.

"Erm. Oops. God I didn't even know that was on there. Er... ha ha?"

He carries on facing the screen. "What's that doing on my computer? Who took it?"

I racked my brain to come up with the most valid and feasible answer. Nothing sprang to mind.

"A mate took it. I forgot he sent it to me. Thank god it's just my arse eh?" I tried to laugh it off.

My mother then walks into the room.

Oh great. Both my parents looking at a picture of me wearing stockings and a thong, sticking my butt out sexily. Fabulous. I couldn't wish for a better moment.

"Why have you got a pornographic picture of yourself on this computer?" my mum asks me.

I get defensive: "It's not pornographic, it's my arse! Just a bum. It's harmless, a bit of fun. It's not like you can see my face!"

My mum looks at me, her face goes a little crimson.

"I hope you're not using it on one of those sites to... you know.... get men", my dad stutters.

"Nope I'm not", I grinned at my mum, "at least... not anymore".

My mum grinned back, and for a moment I'm sure she beamed at me, with what seemed like a little pride. Here was her daughter, brought up to respect her own sexuality and be proud of her desires and wants, being her own woman, and carrying on with what she had fought and struggled for in the 60's. She smiled at me and I felt she understood me; it was a brief but powerful moment between us.

My dad however stayed po-faced and silent. Then he stood up and started to walk out, with my mum following closely behind.

"Perhaps you might want to get rid of it?" he said, as they left the room.

I immediately sat down and deleted the photo. And then searched through his entire computer to see if there was any other remnants of my using his computer years ago. Thank god there were none. (At least I couldn't find any pictures of erect cocks, maybe I was more careful back then than I recall). So the damage limitation was minor: my shame survived another day.

But I have been left with the awareness that my parents know a little too much about me now, more than I want them to. It's not that they are at all prudish or old fashioned, or even disapproving of my having a sexually active lifestyle; the opposite in fact. But having them see the evidence of my sexuality thrust in their face leaves me (and I am sure them too) feeling uncomfortable.

I am happy to be a liberated Noughties woman and I know they are proud of me for doing so; I just would have preferred my arse to have stayed out of the picture. (Fine butt that it is, if I say so myself - it's not a view I often get to see).

Still, I have learned my lesson here: if you are going to have erotic pictures of yourself (or others) sent to you, either ensure you download them directly onto your own computer, or just erase all traces of them after viewing them if you are on someone else's. This obviously does not apply to viewing erotica at work: you do this at your own risk. Happily there is a answer wherever you might be: the Delete History button. It is your friend - make sure you use it...

It strikes me that of the men I have met - where sex has been on the agenda - they tend to fall into 3 categories:

1) Wanting to shag me senseless on a one-night-fuckathon now

2) Want me to be their girlfriend now

3) Wants to be with me until they meet the right woman


I have had my fair share of number 1's in the past; although they can be massively fun, I don't tend to have them nowadays since I find they make me feel emotionally empty in the long run.

I have also encountered quite a few number 2's and tend to steer clear of these too. Whilst being very complimentary having such interest from someone, I feel very uncomfortable with their being absolutely certain that we "are made for each other" after having only known me for 24 hours.

As for the number 3's, well let's just say that I have met many of these. I seem to represent the perfect ‘in-between’ woman, the one to follow on from a messy break-up and to use to prepare him for another proper relationship. I have spent time caring about a man/shagging him rotten/making him laugh, and the immortal words "I'm just not ready for a relationship yet" have rung in my ears many times, only to be followed with the "and now I've met someone else, you understand, right?"

It can get annoying investing energy into a situation that is destined to go nowhere, even if the end result is another woman getting a 're-worked man'. But I don't resent her getting him; on the contrary, if I can send a more emotionally connected/better pussy eater/happier man onto another woman, then great. Spread the love I say.

And in my search for a partner, I have of course had the in-between guy myself, where I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be in a relationship, but quite happy to enjoy being with someone in the meantime. It can be fun, not too emotionally heavy and who wants to turn down great sex on a regular basis?

Sometimes though, being the in-between can be a little annoying, especially if the other person is in denial about how they feel about their last relationship. This happened to me recently and got a little messy:

This guy and I had known each other a little while and had finally agreed to meet up one night to shag. I made sure all bases were covered: see-thru basque, stockings, tiny g-string, knee high boots, condoms and lube. Let's just say I like to come prepared.

It started off well: we kiss, clothing is removed, I go down on my knees and suck his cock. He puts a condom on, pushes me onto my front, slides his cock into me and begins to fuck me from behind.

I climax.

He grabs my hips and pushes himself deeper into me.

I climax again.

He fucks me a little harder.

I climax again, this time utilising my cock-eject squeeze mode ™ as I shudder all over the place pushing his cock out simultaneously.

Then he tries to enter me again, but instead, goes soft, and then proceeds to tell me that I remind him of his ex and that he is too upset to shag.

No matter how horny, how sexy, how hot the moment was, there is nothing like the passion killer of the ex being brought into the bed too; we lay there for an hour or so talking about how broken hearted he was – not exactly the aphrodisiac one wants in this type of situation.

I did wonder what I was doing there listening to some guy pour his heart out to me about his ex, whilst I should have been getting a good rodgering.

But I felt bad for him – he was obviously missing her, and being with me just reminded him of how much he still wanted to be with her.

And I am not such a bitch as to take my pleasure and leave: he deserved to be treated with respect and dignity, even if I found the whole thing quite sad.

Plus of course I had had three orgasms, so I felt it only polite to listen to him.

Three things The Girl needs to remember the next time she goes jogging in her local park:

1) Take 3 x Ibruprofen at least an hour before exercising: having painful period cramps during a run is no fun. (Note, The Girl continued on regardless, such is her dedication to having sculpted muscular thighs)

2) Make sure i-pod batteries are fully charged before leaving the house: missing the end of Otis Redding's Try A Little Tenderness whilst only 25 minutes into the run and then having to spend the next 25 minutes running along with silent headphones is horrible. (And somehow more difficult to run when there is no beat)

3) Ensure all horniness is dealt with prior to going running: needing to have a fiddle whilst running at speed across an open space is frustrating. (And no, there was going to be no outdoors-daylight-frigging: it's one thing to be masturbating on a country lane in the middle of nowhere; it's an entirely different matter doing it in one's local park. Indecent exposure springs to mind)


And for those Paula Radcliffe devotees about to ask: The Girl always uses the toilet prior to going on a run: she is a lady.

Want to stimulate your mind a little?

Some of us are having a debate over here.

Come over, have a read, and join in...

*Update*

This is where I stand.

Find out where you stand too.

Whilst I sat on the train travelling back to London, watching the greenery zooming past me, the fresh air leaving my lungs and the sunshine battering my eyes, I had some kind of epiphany.

I felt like I finally understood why a relationship with SP could not happen. Why it has taken me till now to fully accept and appreciate this I don’t know. But what I do know is that there was nothing I could have done to change how things have worked out between us, and I have come to terms with the knowledge that I must accept this.

It was SP’s birthday a little while ago; 3 months since we had last spoken, 4 months since we had last seen each other, 5 months since we were an ‘item’. I decided that I should give the ‘friends’ thing a try: I am an adult as is he, there was no animosity between us - surely with the time that had passed, we could now be friends?

So I posted him a birthday card. Inside there was no overt or covert sexual innuendo, no deep hidden meaning; just a friendly ‘hello’, ‘happy birthday’ and ‘lets catch up soon’. I figured maybe this would jump start things and get us back in contact again; I hoped that it would.

I didn’t hear back from him. Now, normally when I send someone a birthday card, I do not expect a response. The joy of sending a card to someone is to make them feel special and wanted and remembered, and it gives me pleasure to know that maybe, in some small way, my card has done that. But SP not contacting me struck me as odd: it was the first contact between us for months; surely he would want to respond?

So after a few weeks I got anxious: perhaps he had taken it the wrong way? Could he be angry with me for contacting him? Or maybe thought I was trying to get back with him?

After another week or so, I felt disappointed. Surely good mates who have been out of contact for months would reply back upon receiving a card? Why wouldn’t he respond? Was he really that thoughtless?

Another week passed. Then I got angry. What an immature thoughtless selfish fucker, I thought to myself. There I am, putting myself on the line, reaching out to him and he ignores me. And it’s not like he has to even call me, surely he could email or text me to just say ‘thanks’?

I was pretty mad. So mad that I erased him from my bank of play material: I ignored the heat emanating from between my legs when I remembered the first time I did anal with him; I changed my train of thought when I recalled the night of endless orgasms; I tried to think about someone else when using my vibrator the way he used to use it on me. Not thinking about him sexually was hard, because so many of my recent sexual discoveries had been with him. But I had to be able to masturbate not thinking about him; to do so was my own private way of cutting off someone that’s hurt me.

And that’s when it struck me.

I felt hurt. Why?

I spent a lot of time pondering that and realised that it had nothing at all to do with my sending him a birthday card: it was instead about him not contacting me. That he didn’t want to speak to me. And that I wanted to speak with him.

I don’t know if it is because there is a part of me that still wants to be with him; or whether it’s because he was the last ‘meaningful’ person I was involved with; or just that I feel lonely sometimes and miss sharing myself with a partner, but I understood that all my feelings I had over sending the card were to do with me and my wants and wishes, and my unresolved feelings towards him, rather than anything about him not being in contact.

And I guess even with the months that have passed I have still been asking myself ‘why’? Why didn’t it work out? Why didn’t he want to be with me? What did I do wrong?

I have looked back at his alcoholism, his sleeping with someone else, his emotional distancing, my issues with intimacy, my anxieties, my demands; I have wracked my brain trying to understand what happened, but none of this explains why we didn’t and couldn’t work.

You see, even with our fantastic sexual connection, our chemistry, our intimacy and our feelings for each other, the one factor which prevented our being together was this: he didn’t want to be in a relationship.

There.

Simple.

I can’t believe it took me so long to figure out.

The one determining factor: he didn’t want to be in a relationship. It’s not like he didn’t tell me:

SP: You know I care about you

Me: I care about you too

SP: When I am with you, I feel so good, it reminds me…

Me: What?

SP: I just can’t… I’m sorry. I can’t be with anyone…

Me: Why?

SP: I guess I am scared of getting hurt again…

Me: I can understand, but I am not like her…

SP: But being with you reminds me of what it was like to fall in love… I just can’t go through that again.

Me: But surely it’s worth it to fall in love? Don’t be scared of falling. I promise I’ll be here to catch you if you do.

SP: I just can’t. I don’t know when I can. But I can’t now. I’m sorry…

And I would cuddle him, and we would make love and I would convince myself that he was just scared, that given time he would be ready to try things again, that we could work.

And all that happened is that I ignored what was really happening: he didn’t want to be in a relationship with me.

Like seeing a flashing traffic light when you’re tired and can’t recall what colour it has changed to, I didn’t see what was before my eyes: he was saying one thing, meaning another, and I was hearing and seeing what I wanted to believe.

Now it all seems so clear – how could I have been so blind? But of course, I was clouded by my feelings; the time that has passed now has enabled me to see clearer now.

It has helped me to realise that sometimes people just aren’t ready to be involved in a meaningful way with another person – for whatever reason. And that that is ok. That although I may be gutted, or hurt, or frustrated by this, there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. And now I can accept that.

I want to be with someone who wants to be with me; someone who wants to be in a relationship. Not someone who is trying to find himself through me. Or someone who is trying to fix my problems because he can’t fix himself. Or someone who wants to change me into being someone I am not.

I want a mature, adult partner; one who wants to take the plunge to be with me; one who will embrace my and his sexuality; and one that wants to be in a relationship with me because he feels both our lives would be enriched by our being together.

If I can just hold on to these thoughts – make sure that I hear, understand and remember when they have made it clear they don’t want to be in a relationship – then I reckon I’ll be in a much better position for when I do meet the person who is ready. For when that does happen, it won’t be about ‘falling’, more about rolling down the hill with them on a bright sunny day, landing on each other in fits of giggles and ripping each others’ clothes off to shag each other senseless.

Yup.

Had a wonderful time out of the city:

The sun shone.

The air was fresh.

The hills were lush.

And the orgasm I had whilst sitting in the middle of a field was amazing.

Not that that was what I had expected or planned even. My aim was to go for a refreshing walk; clear my head and breathe in some oxygen. The last thing on my mind was outdoors masturbation in broad daylight.

It had started off so well:

I strolled lazily along the beach, taking in the rolling waves and soft sand.

I climbed the sand dunes and surveyed the surroundings: green hills behind me, the ocean in front of me, clear blue skies all round.

I followed a little path that led between the fields and discovered a bench on it, that allowed me a view of the local houses, the ocean, and the back of the sand dunes.

I sat there, with the sun beating down on me, the wind whistling in my hair and the sound of a buzzard overhead looking for prey.

It was absolutely gorgeous.

I felt relaxed.

I felt calm.

I felt... horny.

Bugger.

What's a Girl to do?

I tried to ignore how I was feeling, and instead attempt to focus on the beautiful surroundings, rather than on the throbbing sensation between my legs.

No luck. It was as if sex was imprinted on my brain: when I looked at the fields, I imagined sitting on top of a guy, riding him, our nakedness contrasting with the lush greenness; when I looked at the ocean, I imagined being shoulder deep in the water, my legs wrapped around a guy's hips, his cock thrusting inside me; when I looked at the sand dunes, I imagined a guy standing before me, his jeans undone, me on my knees, his cock in my mouth.

I sat on the bench and my pussy throbbed: something had to be done - and fast.

I unzipped my jeans, slid my hand between my legs, and not caring who could see me on this narrow country lane, I frigged myself into oblivion, resulting in an explosive climax a minute later.

After I stopped convulsing, I relaxed back and watched the rest of nature continue. The buzzard gave up hunting. The waves continued pounding the shores. The sun carried on beating down on me.

I felt like I was blessed: there's nothing like an outdoor wank in broad daylight amongst the green hills to make one feel alive.

Call it getting to know nature more intimately; I plan on doing this with much more regularity...

Broadband is EVIL.

After spending years on dial-up internet access, I have for the last few weeks, had broadband, and I can honestly say it has changed my life.

Now I can research for information at super quick speed; check out famous works of art in all their glory without having to wait half an hour for the picture to appear; and download new music from unknown artistes in a matter of minutes.

Oh yes, and spend every fucking free second I have looking at porn: it's just everywhere, and for a sex fiend like me, it's like setting me loose in a sweet shop - so much selection, so much to taste, my appetite is never sated.

And not only that, if anything, having access to free/quick/good quality sexy images just makes me even hornier than I normally am (if that is possible).

So, I am trying to limit the time spent online right now. Trying, anyway. But faced with -

This sexy guy sensually pleasuring himself on video (ladies, look how slowly he strokes himself - so sexy - I challenge you not to climax simultaneously at the end of his 5 minute play);

A selection of male masturbatory techniques (ladies: watch and learn, men: there may be new ones in here for you to try);

Various ways men climax (again, a few lessons for all in there)

- well, it is easy to see how I might get sidetracked.

So with that in mind, I am going away for a while, partly to get out of the inner city grime, and partly to be somewhere without internet access, phone reception, or pornography so that I might look out my window, see some greenery and be inspired to fill my laptop with words, and not any more moving images.

I'll be back in a few days; in the meantime I have a favour to ask of you, my readers:

Can every person that visits my site, when you arrive, please scroll to the bottom of this page and have a look at my hit counter. If you are the 400,000 person, please could you make a screen-shot of it, save it and email it to me. I haven't mentioned this to appear arrogant or to brag about my stats; this is just about my getting a little (ego) stroke of my own - I never in my wildest dreams thought that my little blog would have that many hits.

So thank you in advance to whoever manages to snap the milestone figure, and to those that don't, thank you for visiting anyway.

xx

There are various things I miss about not having a partner:

Lying face to face looking at each other.

Talking until the early hours of the morning.

Cuddling up together and getting snuggly.

And of course, being able to watch him masturbate.

So I was rather pleased to discover this fantastic site, where one gets to see, on video, a few men sexily pleasure themselves with the aid of a Fleshlight; something I find utterly sexy and would love to watch my partner do in front of me.

Not forgetting the Robosuck 2 of course, another favourite of mine in the viewing wishlist cock-stroking arena.

Or perhaps even the Fukuoku massage glove; I would love to see my partner rub one off with one of these.

All these possibilities I miss. I long for being able to actively watch my partner pleasure himself; the most intimate and erotic act a Girl like me can be privy to.

And of course, at the same time, have him enjoy my utilising the Rock Chick, something I have recently (happily) discovered and am now dying to share in the pleasure with someone special...

*Thank you to the person who recommended I check out Show it 4 me. For anyone that likes looking at cocks and especially hard bulges underneath clothes,, this site will not disappoint. Some really beautiful photographs*

Things I recall:

Eating a lovely meal he cooked for me
Laughing as I spilt red wine on my top
Making a joke about using my tongue piercing to scoop out the inside of a Crème egg
Drinking glass after glass of red wine
Downing two double shots of Absinthe
Playing footsie under the table with him
Seeing my other friends smoking cigarettes out the living room window as he sat there, with his hard cock in his hand and said to me, “Suck my cock. Please. Suck it. Now.”
Everyone else going home or to bed.
Our knocking everything off the kitchen table as we kissed
Us moving to the couch
His fingers inside me
My climaxing
Putting a condom on him
Him asking me whether I liked to be submissive
Him fucking me from behind
My waking up
Running to the bathroom to vomit violently
Lying down
His fingers in my arse
My climaxing
My attempting to put a condom on him, but he already had one on
His fucking me up the arse
My begging him to “fuck me harder” as I held on to the couch arms
My climaxing hard
Waking up with the sunlight burning my eyelids and him smiling at me
Feeling like a woman again after months of nothing
Having the most intense throbbing agonising pain in my head
Rubbing my hands over his cock trying to get him to slip it in between my legs
Falling asleep again
Upon waking, telling him that I felt I had to explain my doing Anal with him.
a) That I had only done it with one person before
b) That I was in love with them, and it was a special intimate thing for me
c) That I had only done it a couple of times with them
d) That I was amazed that the alcohol had made me so enthusiastic about his doing it
e) That I was going to blog about it, to try to understand why I had done something so intimate with someone I hardly knew

Things I don’t recall:

How I got all the bruises on my arms and legs
Whether or not I sucked his cock at the table
Taking off my or his clothes, but leaving my stockings on
Sucking his cock
Playing with his cock
His licking my pussy
His playing with my pussy
What he felt like inside me
Whether he climaxed
How many times and when, I blacked out
How long we had sex for
What time we fell asleep

Things I regret:

Drinking so much. Never again will I:
a) Drink 1.5 bottles of red wine
b) Drink 2 doubles of Absinthe
c) Mix wine and Absinthe
Not remembering the events of the night
Not knowing whether he climaxed (though I am pretty sure he did)
Doing something as intimate as Anal with someone I had no feelings for
Shagging him under the influence
Ruining my friend’s lovely white tablecloth with red wine


Things to look forward to:

Limiting the drinking, especially if sex is on the cards
No longer feeling ill, days later
Shagging him in daylight with no alcohol involved
Being able to remember everything
Eating some more delicious meals
Getting to know him a bit more



[The list will have to wait]

I've been thinking a lot recently about whether my expectations are too high with regards to what I look for in a partner. Occasionally I find myself comparing my 'list of necessary and desirable attributes' with those of my friends, and wonder whether I should lower my standards - perhaps I expect too much?

Even though I am quite happy with who I am and feel content with doing my own thing and not needing a partner to make me happy, I wonder sometimes about my single status (worrying that I will end up an old spinster surrounded by cats), and feel a partner would be a positive addition to my life and that I have a lot to offer someone in return.

I am going to make a list of what things I look for, expect, and hope for in an 'ideal' partner, in the hope that by writing all this stuff down, it may help me to realise the things that are necessary, realistic and important. And in fairness, I shall do two lists, the latter of which shall be an honest and open account of my own good and bad qualities, in a post to follow.

Perhaps by comparing the two, I will be able to see the crossover, thus helping me come to some conclusions about what is fair (or not) to expect from a partner.

List 1.

(i) Necessary qualities:

Male
28-42
Single
Intelligent
Honest
Trustworthy
Emotionally articulate
Ability to laugh at oneself
Wants to be in a relationship
Enjoys wide variety of activities/socialising
Isn't an alcoholic
Doesn't smoke too much
Keeps reasonably fit
Eats reasonably well
Taller than me (5'6+)
Likes animals/pets
Independent
Kind
Affectionate
Tactile
Loving
Sensitive
Non-sexist
Non-racist
Non-homophobic
Non-violent (to me and others)
Left wing
Not threatened by an assertive woman
Open minded
Good sex drive
Not threatened by a woman with a high sex drive

(ii) Preferred qualities:

Male
32-38
Single, no kids, never been married
Wants kids at some point
Great sense of humour
Educated
Atheist (or at least non-religious)
Feminist
Pacifist
Socialist
Environmentally aware
Reasonably politically active (ie goes on demonstrations)
Enjoys film, gigs, theatre, galleries, walks in the countryside
Is an occasional drinker
Doesn't smoke
Does regular exercise
Enjoys cooking good food
6' or more in height
Large hands (bigger than mine)
Large feet (bigger than mine)
Likes buxom women
Likes cats
Self motivated
Has varied (and of both gender) friends
Emotionally supportive
Ability to receive emotional support
High sex drive
Sexually adventurous
Enjoys a woman with a high sex drive
Ability to express his sexual needs and wants

(iii) Ideal qualities:

Loves frequent and random sex
Gets off on a woman with a high sex drive
Wants to explore his fantasies
Will regularly tell me his masturbatory fantasies, whether or not they involve me
Interested in being kinky -
a) Threesomes (FFM and MMF)
b) Group sex
c) Voyeurism
d) Light bdsm
e) Role-playing
f) Anal play (for him, as well as me)

(iv) Unrealistic qualities, but I can always hope:

Has a higher sex drive than me
Ability to dominate me and occasionally submit to me
Interested in exploring his sexuality -
a) MMF threesomes including MM playing
b) Exploring his fetishes
c) Incorporating bondage into playing
d) More intense bdsm
e) Full dress-up (rubber, costume etc)
f) Allowing me to fuck him with a strap on


It is clear that of (i) the basic, necessary qualities a man must have, surprisingly sex is not at the top of the list. I suppose that is because I have come to the conclusion that even the best sex in the world is inevitably unfulfilling in the long term if the two people involved do not love each other. Saying that, sex is very important to me - I have been with partners where it was not a priority for them, and left me feeling very unhappy - so as a bare minimum, my partner has to have a good sex drive and not be put off by mine being high:

When faced with a man who says,

"I'm far too tired to shag, but why don't you play with yourself and tell me all about it in the morning, when you are sitting on my cock",

or a man who says,

"You're horny again? God, what are you, some kind of nymphomaniac?" and then turns away from me and goes to sleep,

I would go with the former man every time. And yes, I have had both, and needless to say the latter made me depressed as hell. So with that in mind, sex is important. Or rather, a man's attitude to sex is what is important, and it is this - the other genders mindset - that I am trying to put into context with my own decision making processes right now.

Next blog will be the pros and cons of my own attributes. Gulp.

One of the sexiest things in the world is seeing the outline of a man's erect cock pressed up against the material of his trousers.

It's just so hot.

Any fabric works for this delightful treat: denim, corduroy, cotton, or if you are feeling slightly daring, some pvc or leather. And if the guy isn’t wearing underwear, even better. Is there anything sexier than being able to trace the full, unrestricted outline of a hard cock through a pair of jeans with no underwear in between? I think not.

Don't get me wrong; I am a huge fan of the erect naked member, as much as, if not more than the next girl. I've been known to worship a few gorgeous specimens of manhood in my time, giving as much love, adoration and attention as I can to this most wonderful part of the man's body.

But I adore seeing a hard straining cock pushed up against the guys’ clothes. I love that the material ends up being a type of mini-prison for him, his cock aching to get out from behind the ‘bars’ of the his trousers. Seeing that bulge – that unrestricted growing shape, battling for space in the trouser department - is like a drug to me.

I suppose it gets me off that the fabric of his clothes prevents my having immediate access to his cock; it makes me want him all the more because of the restriction there. To know, to see, to feel, that a guy is hard, but not be able to immediately touch him - flesh to flesh - against me, makes me crazy.

When a guy I'm seeing, shows me his own personal appreciation of his attraction to me, by whispering in my ear,

"I'm so hard for you";

or he looks down at his crotch smiling, showing me his hard form;
or he presses himself against me, so I can feel his hardness;
or he takes my hand and gently presses it against his growing bulge,

well, I just can't help myself. Like a participant in Pavlov’s conditioning experiment, I begin to salivate, a miniature waterfall begins to flow from down below, and I am filled with an uncontrollable desire to eat: to slide his cock into my mouth and gobble it all up hungrily.

So you see, with this in mind, when I think about some of the qualities I enjoy in a man, I am quite happy for him not to bother with the same tried and tested boring flowers, chocolate and underwear when he is trying to get in my pants/apologise/impress me (delete where applicable): all he needs is a sharp intellect, the ability to make me laugh, and have a dirty enough mind to know that his half-hidden hard cock will have me begging to be fucked by him pronto.

I wasn't expecting a three-some that night. In fact I wasn't even expecting a two-some. My hope was to get well and truly slaughtered on cocktails and my friend and I had achieved this objective to the best of our abilities. The last thing on my mind was to end up in bed with a total stranger and a professional dominatrix, and yet a few hours later, that was where I found myself.

F and I had been out celebrating something or another in an almost empty bar. It had got to that point of the evening where both of us were wobbling unsteadily, giggling madly and talking nonsense. We ended up discussing my sex life and the frustrated lack of adventure within it: there I was, with an experimental mind and eager to try out new things, and yet I still hadn't had a threesome. I was gutted about it to say the least - surely everyone had had a threesome by this point in life?

So I'm moaning about it, and F asks me what I think of this guy at the end of the bar. Through my cocktail tainted shades he seemed alright, and I responded to F, with a drunken, "yeah, I would". She grinned at me, and (being a generous sort of girl) asked me whether I wanted her to pull him for me. I was a little confused; I mean, if I wanted to shag him, I could have asked him myself: I wasn't sure why she was offering to initiate the process so I questioned her. She looked at me, with a glint in her eye, and said that I was going to have a threesome tonight, and that she was going to invite him to join her and I.

Now F was my friend - we weren't lovers. Nor was I interested in being sexually involved with her. It wasn't that she was unattractive (the opposite), nor that she wasn't sexy to me (again, she was), but I have a little rule that I like to stick to, which is not to fuck my friends.

I have learned the hard way, that at best, shagging your mates always results in some kind of confusion and complications. At worst, someone gets hurt or feels too uncomfortable to continue the friendship. This results in having one less friend in one's life - a sad sacrifice to make for a night (or nights) of passion.

Real life is not like a porn movie, where two female best friends make out and then suck and fuck a man together until everyone has wonderful orgasms. Real life is embarrassment and nervousness and insecurity and waking up the next morning and realising your friendship may never be the same again. Real life is losing your best friend of more than a decade because you got drunk together and fooled around. Real life is where you are nervous being alone together even though you've spent your childhood sharing a bed with this person. Real life is where you're not sure whether your friend is looking at you because they want to rip your clothes off, or because they think that skirt doesn't suit you. Real life is about making sure boundaries don't get crossed and keeping sex and friendship separate.

So it was with some hesitation that I responded to F's suggestion that we have a threesome together. But she assured me that it wasn't some unrequited love she had for me (phew - been there, fucked that friendship up), that it wasn't because she had been fantasising about being with me and was dying to get in my pants (thank god - again, been there, lost that friend); no, she was offering to have a threesome out of charity to me: being well practiced in these matters, she was going to show me the ropes and allow me to finally tick this particular sexual act off my list; it didn't need to mean anything and she didn't fancy me, she was just offering to help me out (nice friend that she is).

And being drunk, I said, "yeah, whatever" and left F to work her magic with the Stranger. Not many people say 'no' to F; she is the most assertive woman I know, plus her personality is so magnetic that even if you found her point of view to be most disagreeable, you soon find yourself agreeing with her, just because she leaves you no other option. Which was what happened to the Stranger: he never stood a chance saying 'no' to F (and neither did I). One might argue that 'what kind of man turns down the possibility of having sex with two women when offered?' and to some extent I agree. But faced with the ballsy sexually aggressive F, and the upfront cheekiness of me, I would not have been surprised if the Stranger had turned us down: even I found us both to be intimidating. To his credit though, he said yes, and a while later I found myself in his bedroom with F, stripping off his clothes.

So the Stranger is standing there naked, looking at F and I, somewhat cautious. I wasn't quite sure what to do. Is there some kind of etiquette I should know about: who goes first; who touches whom where, who is the 'toucher' and who is the 'touchee'? Aargh, I suddenly felt very muddled. But F brought me back in to the reality: she had a game plan about how it was going to work - she suddenly became Mistress F - and the Stranger and I were going to follow all her orders, or else.

When F first started spanking the Stranger's naked arse, I thought it was just a little bit of fun. It wasn't until she bent me over the bed and spanked me too, that I realised she was being serious. F had gone into 'work' mode and the Stranger and I were going to be her 'slaves' for the evening.

I have to say I didn't expect this, and it terrified me. Not only was I trying to get my drunken head around the fact that I was in a room about to have sex with two other people, and these people consisted of a close friend and a total stranger, but also, I was about to have my first experience in the submissive role of BDSM. Gulp. My heart pounded. I was very nervous; I had seen F at work and she scared the hell out of me: now I was about to experience her skills firsthand.

So, F tells me to get undressed and lie on the bed. I take off all my clothes except my bra and panties and lie down. I don't do it quick enough: it warrants a quick sharp snap on my arse from F. Ouch, it hurts. But the sting feels good somehow. I feel my arse cheeks tingling and lie on my front. Obviously this is not to F's satisfaction: she snaps against my arse again, but this time I feel something crack and the pain seems more direct, more focused. I turn my head and see that she now has the Stranger's belt in her hands and it is still swinging from being whipped against my poor bottom. The pain in my backside changes from an intensely sharp sting to a warm soothing throb. I rub where the pain is and it feels sensitive to my hand, the skin tingling as I caress it. Nice.

F crawls up onto the bed with me and whispers in my ear, "Are you ok, do you want to play like this?" I look at her, my friend, and know that I can trust her. I reply "yes" and that is the last F/Girl conversation we have with each other until the whole episode is over.

F turns me over and grabs both of my hands above my head. In a matter of seconds she has them both expertly tied together with the belt, and strapped to the bed. My wrists hurt and I grimace slightly at the pain. This warrants a quick slap to my face, the Stranger's t-shirt stuffed in my mouth as a 'gag' and the pulling apart of my legs.

Before I knew it, F had removed my panties and my bra and was hovering over me grinning. She pulled off her own top and bra and sat on my stomach so I could barely breathe.

"Are you a good girl?" she asked me.

I nodded. She slapped my face.

"I said are you a good little girl?"

I nodded enthusiastically, scared of what F might do next.

She said to me, "Good little girls don't make a noise when I do this", and then she grabbed my nipples so hard I thought I would scream. But I just bit down on my gag and tried to endure, thinking to myself that it would all be worth it.

F moved down my body and knelt between my legs.

"Spread them" she said, and I opened my legs as far as they would go.

"Mmm, nice pussy", she remarked, "good girl, you keep it nice and trimmed" and she pressed her fingers against my labia.

I wondered if she was going to do something painful to me and I flinched as she stuck her fingers inside me.

"Good, you're nice and wet" she said and removed her fingers, "Come here, Slave" she then called across to the Stranger.

Now, all this time the Stranger was just watching, whilst busily stroking his cock, probably thinking he was going to stand on the sidelines and get some girl-on-girl action. He hadn't reckoned on F though, and her plans.

"I said come here Slave. Now." F stood up and walked over to the Stranger. "Bend over you little slut" and he did as he was asked. F whacked him so hard even I could feel his pain: my spanks were nothing in comparison to what the Stranger was getting from F. She carried on spanking him for a while and when she felt he was becoming too vocal with the pain, she slid a hand between his thighs, gripped his testicles hard, and whispered in his ear,

"You little piece of shit, you don't make a fucking sound unless I tell you to, you don't move unless I tell you to, you do everything I tell you to. Do you understand?"

The Stranger nodded.

"And you call me Mistress, got that?"

He nodded again.

"Right, now you're going to go over there, lie between Girl's legs and eat her pussy until I tell you to stop. Do you understand?"

He nodded once more.

"And don't even think for a minute about letting this get soft" - she gripped his cock tightly - "We'll be using this shortly, I want it hard all the time. Got that?"

The Stranger had no choice but to nod - she had him by the balls. When F let him go, he got onto the bed with me and ate my pussy so hungrily it was as if there was a pussy shortage and he had just been given a years ration all at once. [It was only later that he admitted to me that he had fantasised about being 'forced' to eat pussy, and that we had realised his dream for him. It also turned out that he was most definitely a sub and that this wasn't the first time he had been with a dominatrix (F can spot a sub a mile off)].

So the Stranger has his head between my legs, whilst getting occasional slaps on his arse from F. Then she moved over to me and removed the gag from my mouth, replacing it with her breasts, which she stuffed forcefully into my mouth. It was strangely un-erotic - not that I dislike sucking on some nice breasts (far from it, especially large ones like hers) - but having F's in my mouth just felt odd. And I think it did to her too; she removed them after a brief period and resumed hard slaps on the Strangers arse instead.

After awhile, F grabbed the Stranger and pulled him up over me, so that his cock was parallel with my mouth. She bent over to me and grabbed my face hard.

"You're gonna suck his cock now, like a good little girl. Do as I say and I won't punish you".

I nodded meekly. The Stranger looked very excited at the prospect of some oral action and began to move towards me.

F almost ripped the guys arm out of his socket and dragged him backwards.

"I didn't give you permission to move did I? No. You'll start when I say. And don't even think about coming yet, I don't want to see any spunk on your cock, do you understand?"

The Stranger nodded nervously once more.

F grabbed hold of his cock and pulled him by it until his cock was pressing into my cheek. She gently wiped it against my face and across my lips, and then slowly slid it into my mouth, before standing back and alternating between spanking the Stranger on his arse and slapping me on my face.

I was choking a little; it was only natural, sucking hard on a cock stuffed into my mouth whilst I was lying on my back. But it wasn't displeasurable. I felt trapped and yet free. Scared and yet safe. Simultaneously freaked out with what I was doing and yet amazed and delighted at the same time.

I was tied up, unable to move, gagging on a mouthful of cock, and yet I felt unbelievably horny. It was the weirdest feeling to be so passive, and yet still be able to pleasure someone else. To be able to be active in doing, without being 'on top' - literally. For the first time, I felt like I understood what it must feel like to be able to allow yourself to be there for someone else's pleasure, and yet derive so much pleasure from that act itself: I realised that I liked it. And I also realised that this night was not about my having a threesome for the first time. It was about my discovering the pleasures of being submissive and that had been F's plan all along.

So when F pulled the Stranger's cock out of my mouth and shoved in into my pussy and 'made' the Stranger fuck me, I laid back and let myself become part of the surroundings, part of her, part of him. I didn't think about whether or how it was getting me off, I wasn't bothered by who, what or when an orgasm was going to happen: I was focussed on the calmness of my mind, the physical freedom that I felt and the pulses of energy that were surging through my body. I don't know whether I climaxed or not. I was too drunk and too far gone to care: my whole body felt like one big climax and the sheer power of what was taking place in that room was enough for me.

When it was all over, F and I left the Stranger to sleep and we went to have a good old English fry up breakfast in a greasy spoon cafe. We laughed about what had happened and I thanked her. It had taken me a while to realise that she had set the whole thing up to be pleasurable for me, that she wanted me to know what being with a woman was like within the confines of a safe friendship, and that since the Dungeon session, she had been wanting me to experience submission. That night I had discovered what those things were like. Plus I learned that I loved to be submissive, that it wasn't something to be ashamed of and that a little light playing never hurt anyone.

Well, my arse hurt for a few days, but it was worth it...