About Me


Subscribe: RSS for blog RSS for comments

Facebook icon and link Twitter icon and link Flickr icon and link Qik icon and link Dopplr icon and link
MySpace icon and link MyBlogLog icon and link Technorati icon and link Tumblr icon and link Blogger icon and link

friend me on Facebook
follow me on Twitter
view my photos on Flickr
watch my videos on Qik
find me on Dopplr
join my MySpace
check my MyBlogLog
my Technorati profile
view my Tumblr
my Blogger profile
Blog RSS feed
Comments RSS feed

Recent posts

Twitter 10
Love's Language's Lost

Places to shop and visit

My Top 10 Toys - Women
My Top 10 Toys - Men
My Top 10 Toys - Couples
Fleshlight UK
Durex's Ora!

Monday, July 30, 2007

Bravery II 

As she arrived at the table, she bent down and rested her hand on my shoulder. She was so close to me, her silky blonde locks grazed my face and I could smell the arousing, yet subtle, perfume of her skin. Her large breasts, tantalisingly, were just an inch from my face and I fought off the temptation to lift my hands and cup them gently.

“Hello again,” she breathed and leaned in closer so her ear was against my mouth. Electricity rippled through me. Didn’t she know what effect she was having on me? As if she read my mind, her hand, still resting on my shoulder, travelled smoothly to the nape of my neck; I could feel each of her fingers delicately pressed into my skin. I took this as a sign it was OK for me to touch her too: I rested my fingers on her hip and as I began to whisper in her ear, I lightly traced a small circle into the exposed flesh with my fingertips.

“You know before, when you said you would do anything for a cigarette?”


“Well there is something I would like you to do.”


“My friend: he likes you.”

She pulled back from me slightly and fixed her eyes on mine, searching my face for clues. “I thought you said he was your boyfriend?”

I shook my head. “No. We’re just friends – good friends.”

“Oh. I see.” She seemed relieved and she readjusted her position closer to me, once again allowing me a whiff of her delightful aroma.

“Yes. And, well, he thinks you’re really sexy.”

She giggled. “Oh really?!”

“Really. I do too: you are very sexy.”

“Well so are you.”

“Um, thanks… Would you kiss him?”

“Kiss him?”


“Just a kiss?”

“He’d really like that, yeah.”

“I don’t want to do anything else.”

“No, of course not. Just a kiss, that’s all.”

“Well…” She shifted back and hooked me with her smile. “If I get to kiss you too, then I will.”

“Of course, that goes without saying.”

The words came out my mouth before I even had the chance to think them. And a split second later, her lips were on mine and her fingertips were softly caressing my face. Time stopped and all I was aware of was the faint taste of mint from her mouth.

Fuck, I thought, I’m actually kissing her: it’s this easy. This is how you get to kiss a sexy girl: you just proposition them!

As her soft mouth pressed up against mine, my mind raced. What exactly did I want her to do? I mean, I knew what my objective was, but faced with it actually happening, I suddenly questioned why I wanted it to happen in the first place. That I fancied her there was no doubt, but why on earth was I proposing that she snog Blog Boy? Was it because he was my mate and I was doing him a favour? Was it because some part of me wanted to witness his pleasure? Or, perhaps, I wanted to turn him on for old times’ sake?

My conscience ached. I worried that I had taken advantage of her drunken state to fulfil my own wants. I also felt like I was objectifying her, for my and Blog Boy’s titillative enjoyment. With her kissing me too, I wondered if I was colluding in some way with society’s sexist expectation of women to ‘lez it up’ when in the presence of men: she and I putting on a performance to please Blog Boy. Was this who I have become? Another woman perpetuating the male gaze?

With these thoughts spinning around my head, she moved away from me and over to Blog Boy, planting a large, brief kiss on his bemused smile, whilst I watched, equally confused and aroused.

Suddenly she resumed her position in front of me and in one move, leant down to kiss me deeply again. All anxiety I had was immediately dispelled by the intense throbbing between my legs. This wasn’t about exploitation, or sexist objectification, or even, pleasuring Blog Boy. This was about me and her and how turned on I was, and at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck about anything else: I could have very happily kissed her all night.

But the kiss ended as it began: swiftly. Grinning at me, with a glint in her eye, the blonde woman turned and left our table. I found myself in a state of shock, looking over at Blog Boy, whose face clearly matched my own stunned expression.

“What just happened there?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

He laughed. “You just made a girl kiss me!”

I slowly nodded.

"And you!"


Blog Boy and I continued musing on the events of the evening and drinking our beers until closing time. Then we said our goodbyes and separated with a smile: the perfect way to end an evening with an ex-lover.

It wasn’t until I was on the night bus that a sudden, frustrated thought struck me: something more might have happened that night – but this time, not with Blog Boy. If only I didn’t have such shit Gaydar, perhaps I wouldn’t have been making my way home alone...

Thursday, July 19, 2007


“I think it’s great that we’re not having sex anymore,” I remarked nonchalantly, sipping my beer.

Blog Boy* took a swig from his pint, a bemused expression on his face.

“What I mean,” I clarified, “is that with all that happened, I’m relieved about our managing not to have sex but still remaining friends over this last year.”

Blog Boy nodded in agreement.

“But,” I continued, “I think the sex thing between us will always be there: I’ll probably always feel attracted to you.”

He smiled at me. “Yep; and me too with you. You can’t just switch that off…”

“We just have to make sure we don’t act on it, not give in to our desires; that way our friendship will be fine.”

He grinned and we raised our beers in a mock toast. At that exact moment, a pretty, thirty-something blonde woman approached us. A little tipsy, she grabbed the table for stability and leaned in towards me.

“Is he your boyfriend?” she said softly, with a suggestive wink.

I looked over at Blog Boy. “He might be,” I replied, grinning back at her flirtatiously.

“How long have you been together?”

I paused, trying to think of an accurate answer. “We’ve known each other a few years...”

“You look very happy,” she said, wobbling slightly in her high heels.

“We’re just fine, thanks,” I replied, stifling a laugh and throwing Blog Boy a look.

“Well then, I don’t want to interrupt your evening,” she said, smiling, “but could you please spare a cigarette? I’ll pay – whatever it costs. Anything you want for it, I’ll give you.” She swayed a little in Blog Boy’s direction and I raised my eyebrow at him to see what his response would be.

Unlike me, because he’s sweet-natured, instead of stating a reasonable demand, he simply reached into his packet of cigarettes. “Here you go,” he said, offering her one. “Enjoy.”

“Oh, it’s not for me, it’s for a friend,” she replied, but took the cigarette anyway. She stroked each of us on the arm, thanking us profusely as she did so. Then she bade us farewell and wished us a pleasant evening together, squeezing us both on the shoulders as she left. At this, Blog Boy and I exchanged a brief look of surprise; instinctively I knew we were both thinking the same thing.

I quickly turned to watch her shapely figure move away from the table and felt the blood rush into my head and my heart begin to thud loudly. I wasn’t sure if it was the excitement of having just seen The Bravery live not even half an hour before; or if it was due to the large amount of beers I had drunk; or whether it was being faced with a sexy voluptuous woman quite obviously flirting with us both, but whatever it was, I suddenly felt impulsive.

“Do you realise you could have asked her to do anything for that cigarette and she probably would have?” I said, smirking at Blog Boy mischievously.

With a stupefied grin on his face, Blog Boy laughed. “Yeah, I guess…”

“I mean, honestly, she would be up for it, I'm sure.”

Blog Boy smiled again, but this time more hesitantly.

“Seriously, she is. I know it.”

I swung another peek at the woman and turned back to Blog Boy. “Jesus,” I whispered to him conspiratorially, “if I had noticed what nice breasts she had when she was standing next to us, I would have asked her to press them into my face in return for that cigarette.”

I turned to look at her again.

“Actually,” I continued, even more enthusiastically, “I would have asked her to rub them against your face. She’s got great boobs, look at them!”

We both fixed our gaze on the woman: her tits were indeed great. In fact, she was great: just my type actually. Rubenesque; a big bum, buxom: the exact kind of woman I go for. (Given I only have Sapphic leanings about 2% of the time, I am extremely fussy and quite shallow about the type of women I find sexually attractive.) With her voluptuous figure etched onto my eyes, all sorts of sexy thoughts entered my head and the pounding in my chest became almost unbearable.

“I could get her to do it,” I said to Blog Boy, eagerly and with sudden confidence. “I know I could. If you want me to, I will. Honestly, if you want her tits in your face – and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t mind seeing that – I bet you she would do it if I asked her.”

Boy Boy shifted in his seat a little. “No, don’t. It’d be embarrassing.”

“You don’t want me to ask her? Don’t you think she’s sexy?”

“It’s not that. I mean… She’s very nice, yeah. It’s just, well, oh I don’t know…” He trailed off and I knew the potentially heated moment would be lost unless I acted on it quickly.

“I won’t embarrass you, I promise,” I reassured him. “I tell you what: how about a kiss instead? Would you like that? I know she’d be up for it; I guarantee it.”

He smiled shyly at me and bit his lip. “OK, I suppose…”

Before he had even finished speaking I had turned to look at the blonde woman who was now standing just a few feet from our table. I observed as she chatted away with her friend and I tried to think clearly, but my mind was racing with adrenalin and excitement. A few seconds later, she saw me staring at her and smiled. I gestured to her that she should come over; as I watched her curves sashaying in my direction, I took a deep breath and hoped for the best…

To be continued...

*The people who have read the book will know to whom I refer in this post.

Thursday, July 12, 2007


Want to know where all the fit thirty-something men are?

Apparently they are all jogging in my local park of an evening.

Which is rather convenient.

True, a (possibly large) proportion of them are likely to be gay (and sadly not up for a MMF threesome were I to suggest it) (probably). It's also true that not many of them are likely to be single. But doing the maths (a girl needs to know the difference between probability and chance), the fact that I spotted over twenty sexy men jogging last night, would lead me to calculate that out of those, at least three might be available: more than enough for any girl (simultaneously, one-on-one, whatever).

Problem was, it's a little bit difficult to stop and chat to a guy when:
1) You're running in the opposite direction to them
2) You're red-faced and hot and sweaty (only a good look when you're riding a guy's cock)
3) You're plugged into your ipod, listening to the upcoming single from your current favourite band The Departure (touring soon, hurrah) and are so captivated by the music that you fail to notice the handsome man who crosses your path until it's too late.

So, to the sexy dark-haired bloke with glasses and the cute blond guy, sorry I didn't pause to chat: I was a bit preoccupied with finishing my run. But thank you both for stopping to smile at me and continuing to do so, even when I was some way in the distance: that boosted my ego a lot.

And now I know just how many of you fit men are out there running in the early evening, I think you'll be seeing rather more of me. Same time next week gentlemen?

Sunday, July 08, 2007


L-R: Me, Yasmin Whittaker-Khan, Natasha Walter

Three years ago, I was working on a feature film and secretly writing this blog under the veil of anonymity.

Two years ago, I was working on a different feature film, secretly writing this blog and in talks with a literary agent about adapting the blog into a book.

One year ago, I was secretly writing this blog and awaiting delivery of copies of my book which was about to be published.

Last night I was on a panel at the Southbank, part of the London Literature Festival's 'Say the Unsayable' season and talked about my blog, (no longer secret), my book, (no longer anonymous due to my being 'outed') and the film industry, (no longer have a career in). Believe me when I say that this was very surreal...

It was also terrifying. It's only the second time I have spoken in public (bar my book signing) and even a stiff whisky prior to getting up on stage didn't calm my anxiety. I'm sure many writers become a bit panic-stricken when having to talk to an audience - it was extra nerve-racking for me: a wanted-to-remain-anonymous writer who never expected anyone to know her real name, let alone have to talk to people face-to-face about her sexually and emotionally explicit autobiographical writing.

But sharing the stage with such amazing women - the playwright Yasmin Whittaker-Khan and the writer and journalist Natasha Walter - was a brilliant experience and made all the fear worthwhile. The debate we had about sex, politics and censorship in our writing was very stimulating and also, very enjoyable. I was most impressed by the challenging questions the audience posed us; and I'm thankful too, that the audience was so warm and sympathetic, coming up afterwards to chat informally and debate the issues further.

And to my friend, whom I haven't seen for three years and whose presence there was hugely appreciated because I was so scared, thank you. Knowing that our friendship is unaffected by everything that's happened, or the time that's passed, means more than words can say. And I do sincerely hope that your wife likes the book - even if I am a little gutted that she took you off the market for good.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007


This isn’t a regular blog post: this is a request for assistance from my readers. (If you were just hoping to read about some cock-sucking, I suggest you scroll down to the final paragraph*.)

Here’s the thing: I’m seeking a clothing designer to provide me with a couple of outfits to wear in the next 3-4 weeks, for a project that I am involved with. Rather than approach established big names to loan me their clothes, I would prefer to obtain garments from a creative person who is unknown or new on the scene and for whom the publicity and recognition that I can assist with providing would be of benefit. I can’t guarantee fame or fortune through my wearing your clothes, but I can promise that your designs would be seen by hundreds of thousands of people.

I’m not looking for anything extravagant or particularly attention-grabbing to wear; just some unique and – for my curvy, buxom figure – flattering, fitted garments that will photograph well, make me look good - and you look brilliant.

So if anyone reading this either knows somebody, or is a designer themselves, who would like to take up this challenge/opportunity, then please do get in touch via email, attaching picture examples of your work if possible. You will need to be UK-based (to be able to meet and fit me) and have a variety of clothes ready to be fitted, altered and finished for me within the next 3-4 weeks. I know this is very short notice, but I am hoping that someone out there has a small completed collection, is raring to go and would like to make use of this potential to launch their designs/ideas.

I will provide more detailed information about the project and the potential promotion for the clothes to those whose designs and flexibility meet my requirements. All serious approaches will be responded to, so please do drop me a line in the first instance: girlwithaonetrackmind AT gmail DOT com

Thanks in advance – I really hope someone can help me out and vice versa.

(*I haven’t sucked a cock for a while because the last time I did, it was covered in smeg and that pretty much has put me off for the time being.)

Huge thanks to those people who've contacted me so far; do keep the emails coming in. Please note that because I am on holiday (supposedly, but still having to work) abroad at the moment, I will be responding to everyone's emails when I return to the UK at the weekend (give or take the security alerts/airport troubles). I appreciate your patience, thanks.

Monday, July 02, 2007


If anyone has a burning desire to discover which famous person's tongue I would choose to have lapping at my arsehole, the answer is in this interview I did with Friday Cities.

designed by one man