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Sex Diary

Heaven

Oh my god, I have just found heaven, and this is it. If I believed in the afterlife, and knew that was what was waiting for me, I would be on my knees praying all the time. Either that, or spending a lot of time in the confession booth. Making good use of my tongue, of course.

Posted on 5/15/2006 8:17:09 AM by thegirl

Stroke

‘I want you to watch me wank’ he said and motioned for me to sit astride his legs, as he grabbed his cock in one hand and began to stroke it. Aroused by his confident directness, I shifted my weight and straddled him, ensuring that his thigh was in direct contact with my groin; knowing that it would turn me on to watch him play with himself. I find it so erotic to be privy to a man’s personal

Posted on 5/14/2006 8:16:31 AM by thegirl

Plagiarism

I am obviously angry about being plagiarised and it has tarnished my feeling towards writing on my blog, knowing that someone else is using my words and claiming them as theirs. But with all the support and solidarity I have had from other bloggers and readers over the last few days – and the fact that I still get pleasure from blogging – I guess I am not ready to stop writing, yet. Thank you to

Posted on 5/14/2006 8:15:32 AM by thegirl

Stolen

I'm at a friend's place on their computer, thought I'd quickly log on, check some other blogs and do my email. Whilst browsing, I read Anna's blog and in her comments, found this link on blogging plagiarism. After a brief google search on some random text, I am now fuming. Absolutely fucking livid. And not because I am sexually frustrated. Why am I so annoyed? Because I have just discovered not

Posted on 5/9/2006 10:26:20 PM by thegirl

Offline

Being temporarily without internet access right now, is causing me some frustration. Besides not being able to partake in my favourite online pasttimes - blogging, political reading, porn downloading - it also means I cannot post my thoughts at whim.

I am currently between providers and even though I have tried to scrounge from another wireless network whilst I wait to be connected, all my neighbours have password protected theirs. Bastards. Which leaves me visiting internet cafes. Given the subject matter of my blog I'm not going to partake in that: I am far more of a prude than people realise.

This means that during this brief electronic visit (of which I have but a moment to write something), I shall not be talking about:

1. How I got fingered in a pub recently
2. The importance of orgasms for better female sanity
3. My update on celebrities - and why I have no interest in fucking one

When I'm back on - and have some more time - I'll write more.

Until then, my hands will be rather busy doing something else.

Posted on 5/8/2006 10:15:04 PM by thegirl

Vote

If everyone does this tomorrow, I'll be a happy woman.

Happy because I'll know that someone has got fucked - even though it's not me.

Well, there are other things to use my fingers for, you know.

Posted on 5/4/2006 6:55:57 AM by thegirl

Green fingered

I do so love a man with green fingers.

I am not referring to his having stained or dirty digits. If there’s one thing that turns me off, it’s a man with dirty hands. No such man is going to get to explore the inside of me, no matter how horny I might be; if a guy can’t even ensure that his nails and fingers are clean, it doesn’t really bode well for the state of his cock-hygiene. Presentation is everything you see: stinky fingers equal a smelly cock, and us ladies do so love a man who keeps his head clean.

I digress. Green fingers: I love a man who can look after plants (otherwise known as the things with leaves that grow in soil); it makes me go all quivery inside when faced with a man that knows the difference between a Dracena and a Cordyline, rather than just the Labia Minora and Perineum.

I think it all started some years ago when I had a fling with a guy who loved plants. The first time we went back to my flat, I deposited him in my lounge whilst I went to fix drinks, and returned to find him caressing my Schefflera.

‘Ohh’ he said, stroking the leaves gently, ‘that’s a fine looking plant there, how old is it?’

‘About five years I think’ I replied, watching him fingering its fronds.

‘It’s done well’ he said. ‘You’ve clearly taken care of it for it to have grown so big’.

I felt a surge of pride and a throb between my legs as I watched him touch the leaves of my plant as if he were caressing me. His fingers seemed so light and so careful; it made me think they would feel just as gentle inside of me. And later, when I got him into my bed, I discovered I wasn’t wrong.

But it wasn’t just how he touched the plants that stirred my depths. When we went back to his place a week later, I saw that it was completely filled with plants; each one brimming with life and good health and it made me realise that a man who could look after plants so well would have to be a caring, sensitive person. To take so much care and attention over a living thing showed an ability to think outside of his own needs. Ergo, he wasn’t selfish. Thus he would be good in bed (and possibly be Potential Boyfriend Material too).

He was lovely - my green fingered, good-at-fingering man - but it didn’t work out. However, discovering his love of plants helped make me view them - and men - very differently: I came to understand that to be able to nurture something so carefully was a skill to be constantly learned and improved on, and developed over time, and that humans, like plants, need the tender touch.

So when I first visited my ex SP’s house a couple of years ago, I was very excited to find he had a whole garden of beautifully maintained plants, each one lovingly placed in the ground by him. My theory about being him being caring and sensitive because of his plant-love was spot-on. Especially when it came to giving me orgasms with those same deft green fingers.

But it also didn’t work out. Ironically, I suspected things were going badly after I bought him a new house plant. When I next visited, a couple of weeks after giving it to him, it was completely dead: he hadn’t looked after it at all.

At the time, I remember feeling sorry for the plant, that his neglect had made it suffer. It was only some months later – when my eyes were sore from continually crying about our break-up – that I realised how meaningful it was that he had left it to die, and that it was an apt metaphor for the state of our relationship.

So I don’t necessarily think that having green fingers means a guaranteed ability to be good in bed or to have a meaningful relationship, but I would bet that it is a good measure to judge the former by. In my mind, a man that is able to enjoy the process of something (other than his cock) growing, is also likely to be the sort of man who appreciates the sexual journey, rather than just the destination; a man who gets off on pleasuring a woman regardless of his achieving orgasm.

And given the amount of men I have fucked, who are - quite clearly - only interested in their own climax (the female orgasm seemingly being an obstacle preventing them reaching it as fast as they would like), I would suggest that taking some time to be a bit more sensual and learning to enjoy the process, rather than just the result it brings, would be beneficial to all.

So go and fondle a houseplant, it might just make you a better lover.

Posted on 5/2/2006 1:00:59 AM by thegirl

Response

'Guess who's here?' the unexpected email greeted me. 'Long time no see! You busy? I'm in town for a couple of days, be great to see you - feel like some fun?!'

I recalled the last time I saw him, over a year ago. He had demanded I sat on his face most of the night. It was rather delightful. Then I thought about what his cock would feel like in my mouth again and with wet pants, I emailed him straight back.

'Hey, what a nice surprise. I actually have some free time for once - let's meet.'

Figuring that his time in London would be brief, I also included my mobile number in the message: if we were going to hook up, it would have to be done quickly.

Three days later, he still hadn't contacted me back, either by email or by phone, by which point I knew that he had already left London and returned home.

I also knew I wouldn't hear from him again for a long time. And when I did, he wouldn't recall his lack of response to my email reply and would think nothing of the fact that he was the one who initiated meeting, only to not take up the possibility when it was presented to him.

I'm not particularly annoyed by this; we've been fuckbuddies for long enough for us each to deal with plans that don't happen and meetings that fall through. I know not to expect anything from him, so I am not that disappointed by his lack of courtesy in not replying.

But what I am pissed off about, is that I was this close to getting eaten out all night and being fucked rampantly, and to then have that offer removed, is not just rude on his part but very frustrating on mine.

If there's one thing that gets me in a bad mood, it's a pussy tease: it's no way to leave a woman like me, frustration is not something I deal with well.

Unless of course, it was done within the context of my being tied up in bed, licked all over without being allowed to climax, and then finally given some release after hours of build-up - which is a different thing altogether.

Posted on 4/29/2006 1:13:29 AM by thegirl

Urge

The last two days I have been going out of my mind. Frustrated beyond belief. I have been totally desperate.

It is quite clear that I have been displaying the classic symptoms of irrational horniness:

1. I have been thinking about sex all the time
2. I have downloaded porn to watch every time I’ve been at the computer
3. I have gone through three sets of watch batteries from usage of my vibrator
4. I have got repetitive strain injury in my wrist from wanking constantly
5. I have gone through my address book and considered calling old fuck buddies for a shag, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t see them again because
a) they weren’t that good in bed
b) they bore me intellectually which made the sex mundane
c) they have girlfriends now and I dislike men that cheat
6. I have considered contacting men I have recently dated and asking them to fuck me
7. I have perused Craigslist and debated contacting some random stranger for a quick no-strings-attached shag in a hotel
8. I have wondered about going to a swingers’ sauna and propositioning some bloke to eat me out in the steam room
9. I have been tempted to sit legs apart on a train whilst wearing a skirt and no knickers and hope that a cute guy will notice and then make a move on me
10. And I have considered calling a platonic male friend who I am not even attracted to and asking him to ‘do the honours’

It seems obvious that I have not been thinking straight; very worrying.

That is, until this evening, when I suddenly realised why I also had an agonising stabbing pain in my belly and my breasts were swollen and sore: I’ve just got my period.

Thank fuck for that, is all I can say. Not that I was worried about being pregnant (far from it, especially with my using condoms when I do get action), but I had feared something was wrong with me, because of my current randiness.

So it’s quite a relief to know that it’s all down to my hormones and that I will be thinking rationally again as soon as it’s all over in a few days. That’s not to say I won’t still be horny, but just that I won’t resort to any irrational or desperate behaviour to satisfy my urges.

I'll just be resorting to normal means instead, which with my high-sex-drive, is something to be thankful for.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:17:55 AM by thegirl

To do

Now that I have some free time once again, I have quite a bit of preening/self-care to catch up on; it's been many months since I've been able to do so. Here are the things I need/want to do:

List One

1. Get my hair cut. Frizzy and me don't go.
2. Get my hair highlighted. It's Summer! Yes, it is, OK?
3. Get my legs waxed. Furry and me don't go.
4. Get my bikini line waxed after I have had four vodkas, so that I don't shout at the beautician that she is a 'fucking sadist' and 'what are you doing? trying to kill me???'
5. Buy some new bras that
a) fit properly and compliment the shape of my boobs
b) actually make my nipples sit horizontally and defy gravity entirely. They do exist, don't they?
6. Buy a couple of hip-hugging, arse-shaping, pencil-line skirts that are made for curvaceous woman and not skeletal models. Easier said than done.
7. Buy some new jeans that don't advertise what underwear I am wearing to the world. Again, easier said than done.
8. Find a couple of tops whose buttons don't pop open at breast level, because they are designed solely for flat-chested women. A week-long chore, believe me.
9. Find some open-toe heeled sandals that
a) fit my big feet
b) are comfortable
c) accentuate my calf muscles so I look as good as Jodie Foster in Inside man (her legs are enough to make a girl switch sides)
10. Run at least three times a week so that I can trim up asap (and also then pluck up the courage to talk to the fit blonde bloke at my gym)

List Two

1. Try out some new sex toys
2. Go to a fetish night
3. Be a voyeur at an orgy
4. Have sex with two men
5. Fuck a bloke outdoors
6. Shag a total stranger
7. Experience anal sex again
8. Get handcuffed and spanked hard
9. Be the plaything for a hetrosexual couple
10. Have an orgasm in a public place (again)



I don't know about other women, but for me, I'm bored shitless by shopping. When it comes to how I'd prefer to spend my free time, I think having a good shag will always beat finding a sexy skirt to wear. And as for 'beauty' regimes, when you get the chance to have a cock in your mouth, who really gives a shit what your make-up looks like? Not me. I'd rather look like I've been dragged through a hedge because I'd just had a hard fuck, than worry about the state of my hair. (No wonder it's always a mess).

So I suppose that the things on the first list are just chores for me to get done; and on the second, the reward for doing them. Here's hoping I churn through them all quickly.

Though really I'd prefer number seven on the second list to be done as slowly as possible. Unless it's part of number four on the same list, in which case I'd be so excited, I'd probably forget about the pain it might cause.

Wish the same could be said for waxing.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:16:57 AM by thegirl

Reject

‘When you get a ‘no’ get happy’, someone said to me years ago, when I worked in sales. The idea being, that every rejection you experience brings you closer to acceptance; for every person that turns you down, you’ll get nearer to the one that says ‘yes’ to you.

The same can be applied to chatting someone up I think.

For years I have worked with this philosophy, since when it comes to dating or sex, it’s usually me who puts myself on the line, doing the equivalent of the cold-call. Men almost never approach me - I rarely get chatted up; to make advances in my love/sex life, I've had to rely almost wholly on my plucking up the courage to go and talk to a bloke.

I occasionally question why men don’t approach me instead; though I’m no supermodel, I reckon I’m OK in the beauty stakes, so surely some men find me attractive enough to want to take the initiative with me? Or perhaps it's not only about looks.

I questioned my friend JN about this a while ago, on one of our evenings spent moaning about our sex lives. ‘I want you to watch me as I go to buy us more drinks’ I told him. ‘Tell me what you notice; I'd like to know if any men check me out’.

He agreed and I sauntered to the long bar, ordered our drinks and tried to look relaxed amongst the thirty-something dressed-up crowd. A few minutes later, cocktails in hand, I made my way back to our seats.

‘Well?’ I asked, ‘anything?’

JN nodded. ‘Yup. About five blokes checked you out.’

I was stunned that so many might have shown interest. But I didn’t believe him till he pointed each one out to me. ‘Why didn’t any of them approach me? Is my hair a mess? Am I showing too much or too little cleavage?’

JN shook his head. ‘You look great; it’s not about that. The problem is how you carry yourself. You look too confident.’

Not the first time I have heard this, I sat there in silence and waited for JN to continue.

‘You see, that makes you unapproachable: most guys are intimidated by women who look so at ease as you do. Even the way you walked to the bar, you seemed like you owned the place. It's scary for a bloke to deal with that - far easier to talk to the timid-looking girl sitting by the door.’

‘But I wasn’t confident’ I pleaded. ‘Actually I felt very self-conscious and couldn’t wait to get back to my seat.’

‘You carry off your insecurity well then: you looked like you literally oozed self-assuredness.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’ I asked him, exasperated. ‘Pretend to be all meek and shy? Will that make guys approach me?’

JN shook his head again. ‘Nah, you’d just come over like a twit: that's just not you. Be yourself and do what you do; eventually you’ll meet a bloke who sees through all that.’

I looked down at the table. ‘And if I don’t?’

JN took a gulp of his cocktail. ‘And if you don’t, then just continue to chat guys up; with your personality and prettiness you’ll always pull.’

And of course, he had a point: of all the boyfriends/dates/shags I have had over the years, I’d say a good 95% of them were instigated by me. Clearly something about me, or something I do, works: so to coin another cliché, ‘if it ain’t broke, why fix it?’

But I don’t always have success from my approaches – far from it. I have had more face-to-face rejections than I can count; I have given out scores of scraps of paper with my number on and never been called back; typed tons of ignored emails; sent dozens of unanswered text messages – being turned down is something I am used to and accept as part of the course of being single. Let’s face it, if I was upset by every rejection I have ever had, (and there have been many) I would be a quivering wreck by now (and never get laid) which clearly is not the way to go.

Still, sometimes the snubs I get do affect me. I'm not as strong as I think I am and so take to heart the unreturned calls, the delays in replying to my invitations to meet, the excuses offered up by way of avoidance; I begin to question my approach to men: am I perhaps too aggressive? too forward? too honest?

Occasionally I wish that just once, some nice bloke would approach me and talk to me. Not some foot fetishist, or some arsehole wanting to tell me what great tits I have; but instead, some normal guy who thinks ‘she looks interesting, I want to go and talk to her and find out what makes her tick’.

And you know what they’d find out? That I am not as confident as I appear; that political issues and movies fire me up; and that I’m a hippie at heart, believing that ‘all we need is love’ and the world would be a better place. (Of course they’d also discover that I have a high sex drive, am interested in group sex and that given the chance to be spanked, I wouldn’t say no). (If they chatted to me for more than an hour, that is).

And right now – even though I'm sure that with the amout of ‘no’s’ I have had recently, I must be closer to that ‘yes’ I so wish for – I would love for a guy to make the move on me and initiate things.

So to all the decent men out there, if you see a thirty-something woman in a London bar and she seems to exude confidence and flirtatiousness, please understand how much she'd appreciate it if you could just look past that, swallow your shyness and find a way to talk to her.

Because it may just be me saying ‘yes’ to you.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:15:57 AM by thegirl

Stamina

Today, for the first time in some months, I went for a run. With my hectic schedule preventing me from being able to train until now, it was with some relief that I finally got my trainers back on and headed out in the sunshine to my local park this afternoon. I really looked forward to feeling the air on my skin, my heart beating fast and my body becoming drenched in sweat.

Forty minutes later and all I had managed to run was four miles. Ten measily minutes a mile. That’s crap. Especially so because the last time I went for a run, sixty minutes was the norm; doing eight miles was no problem.

So I was rather disappointed to discover that my stamina has, as they say, gone to shit. This is bad for two reasons:

1. I am going to have to struggle to get back to a good level of fitness again
2. If I get the opportunity to have a rampant shag, I might not be able to keep up with the guy
   

Obviously I am more worried about the latter.

The thing is, my stamina usually exceeds most men I meet. When sex is on the cards, I’m quite happy to fuck. And then fuck some more. And then fondle. And then fuck some more. Add in some more fondling and a bit more fucking and then multiply that by five and extend it over the course of a few hours and that is my level of sexual energy. Let’s just say I like to fuck. A lot.

And generally, given that I know most men do inevitably suffer tiredness at some point, I do tend to play down my willingness to constantly keep it up – as it were – in bed. Not one to want to make a bloke feel undermined or lacking, I’m more likely to cuddle up to them after a handful of climaxes, than tell them that actually, I am still throbbing between my legs and are they up for fucking me for a fifth time?

So it’s not that often that I get so shagged beyond all recognition that all I want to do is drop off to sleep after climaxing. But it is possible – even for a girl like me: I had a fling with a marathon runner for a while - damn that boy had stamina. Stamina like you wouldn’t believe. One night – eight orgasms in - I actually had to beg him to stop.

With his cock sticking out like a fucking flagpole, I told him that I couldn’t physically fuck anymore. My body was ruined: I couldn’t move. I was well and truly fucked. I needed rest. And do you know what this sadistic bastard did? Stuck his tongue between my legs, ate me out until I was on the brink of another orgasm and then fucked me hard until I had had two more, saying ‘now I have fucked you good and proper’. Bastard.

But it just goes to show that there is a correlation between fitness, stamina and endurance in training, and the ability to last all night whilst shagging. I'm not saying that being able to run 26 miles will ensure your cock stays hard when you want it to - but surely it must help.

So with the pathetic exhaustion from today’s run showing me my how crap my stamina currently is, I am left worrying how I will manage if I happen to meet another bloke who can go all night. Right now, not very well, I imagine: I’d probably collapse after just one good hard shag.

But given my normally ravenous bedroom appetite, perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:14:58 AM by thegirl

Talk

‘So, how’s your love life?’

JN took a deep swig of his beer. ‘Alright I guess.’

I reached for my martini and took a large gulp. ‘Do tell.’

‘Well there was this girl…’

‘How did you meet?’

‘She knew one of the guys at work. She seemed nice, quite pretty, a good smile, a great arse.’

I laughed. ‘Of course, and?’

‘And a few weeks ago, she gave me her number and suggested we meet for a drink.’

‘OK…’

‘And she was really keen – totally up for it.’

‘So you shagged her?’

‘No. She wanted to, but I just didn’t go for it.’

‘Why not?’

‘No chemistry; she didn’t stoke my interest at all.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘It’s fine, save for her emailing me the next day and asking to see me again.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Yeah, well I think she’s got the message now.’

‘Did she take it badly?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, how did she respond when you told her you weren’t interested?’

JN paused, a guilty expression on his face.

I groaned. ‘Please tell me you told her JN.’

JN looked down at his feet.

‘You didn’t tell her?’ I exclaimed. ‘What, you just thought she could read your mind?’

‘No. But she got the message that I wasn’t interested.’

I stared at him. ‘So you sent her a text then.’

JN shook his head. ‘Look, she knows that I don’t want to see her again, OK?’

‘Because you didn’t contact her at all, right?’

JN nodded.

‘For fucks’ sake JN, you’re such a typical fucking man, do you know that?!’

‘What?’ he said, grinning at me sheepishly.

‘Do you have any fucking idea how horrible it is – how insulting – to have a bloke do that to you?’

JN shrugged.

‘Look, let me tell you something about women. When you didn’t reply to her email, she didn’t get the message.’

JN looked at me confused.

‘No. For the first three days after she emailed you and had no reply, she would have been worried.’

‘Worried?’

‘Yes, worried. Worried that she had made a mistake showing interest; that she had acted too keen and should have played it cooler.’

‘Well, that’s not a big deal.’

‘Whatever. Anyway, when she didn’t hear from you for another three days, she would have been hurt; wondering why you weren’t replying to her email.’

JN looked indifferent and I felt my temperature rising.

I continued. ‘And after feeling hurt, she would begin to feel offended, wondering why it was so hard for you to just email her back. Three more days after that and she would be infuriated and resentful and have angrily deleted your email address.’

JN shrugged nonchalantly and I was tempted to slap him. ‘Look, I don’t see what the big deal is’ he said. ‘She got the message, that’s all that matters.’

‘No. What message she got is that you’re just like all the other arseholes out there; that you have so little regard for women that you don’t even have the decency to be honest with them.’

JN stayed silent.

‘Do you wonder why women end up so pissed off with men?’ I asked him. ‘Does it not cross your mind that perhaps if men treated us a little better, we would have more respect for you? Do you not realise that when women get drunk together and bitch about how fucking crap men are, it’s because of shit like this? You're thirty-five not thirteen - why can't you just be a grown-up and say what you really think?’

JN continued his silence, knowing me well enough to understand that it was best for him to do so until I had finished my rant.

‘JN’ I said, exasperated, ‘what's wrong with being honest? How difficult would it have been to quickly email her and say “thanks for last night; you were good company and I had fun. However, I am not interested in getting into anything more, but thank you anyway”?’

JN shrugged again.

‘It’s just a simple matter of honesty and respect’ I pleaded. ‘Common courtesy, that’s all. If more men were able to be truthful and stop all this rude ‘if I ignore them, they’ll go away’ bullshit, there would be a lot more trust between us and lead to better communication all round.’

‘I suppose that’s a fair point.’ JN said, still looking sheepish.

I nodded. ‘If we could all just be honest with each other, surely that would make relations between us better in the long run?’

‘I guess, yeah. Presumably, the shagging would be better too.’ he said, and we both laughed.

I reached for my martini and took a large gulp.

JN took a deep swig of his beer. ‘So, how’s your love life?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:13:58 AM by thegirl

End

‘What I’m trying to say,’ he said slowly, ‘is that I just don’t see us going anywhere.’

I looked at him and felt tears well up in my eyes.

He continued. ‘It’s not that I’m not attracted to you, clearly I am, and you are a brilliant person and terrific company, but I just don’t feel that chemistry – I’m sorry.’ He held my hand tightly and I tried to focus on the lipstick mark I had left on my wine glass.

‘Are you ok?’ he asked, pulling me out of my silence. ‘We’re still going to be friends though, right?’

I nodded, trying to avoid eye contact with him; knowing that if I looked into his eyes, the tears would flood out of mine.

‘I’ll be fine’ I said, somewhat unconvincingly. ‘But I need another glass of wine I think.’

He quickly grabbed the bottle and poured me another. I reached for my glass and took a deep swig; swallowing with difficulty as the now seemingly bitter taste swirled around my mouth.

I looked up at him for a moment and he smiled at me sympathetically. I realised we were still holding hands and it suddenly felt wrong to me to do so. I began to pull away, but he took my hand in his and squeezed it gently. This small gesture touched me and I relaxed for a moment.

‘Look’ I said, taking a deep breath, ‘I’m not going to lie; I know I’ve probably contradicted myself a lot, but I did want more with you. And I was hoping that you did too.’

He smiled at me again, but this time his hand was motionless against mine. I felt myself begin to blush; vulnerable, exposed.

‘But, um, you don’t – and that’s fine, it really is. I totally understand. And you know me – I don’t let stuff get me down.’ I attempted to grin at him, but looking in his eyes again threatened tears in my own. I focussed instead on the sole scarlet carnation sitting in the vase on the restaurant table; its bright colour burning into my sore eyes.

‘I think we both need another drink’ he said, emptying the wine bottle into my glass. ‘Shall we go to a pub instead?’

I agreed: I wanted to get as far away from there as possible. As far away from what had happened in there as possible.

We found somewhere close by and gulped down our drinks. A few beers later, I felt myself getting tipsy: I was glad for the alcohol – I didn’t want to deal with his rejection sober.

Somehow, like always, we ended up with our bodies touching; him with his arm around my shoulder; mine around his back. I suppose it was inevitable that we would kiss. And then slide our hands along each other’s legs. And then lift each other’s clothes to feel the skin beneath.

No longer was I hearing the quiet, sad voice inside of me of the girl who had been rejected; instead the throbbing between my legs was the only thing on my mind.

I heard myself say ‘I’d like to feel your kisses all over my body and then I’d like to slide your cock into my mouth’ as if the words coming out of my mouth, belonged to another person.

He grinned at me and then kissed me again.

My mouth continued: ‘why don’t we grab a cab and go back to yours?’

Then my uncontrollable lips found their way to his neck, to that place, to where I knew he would respond to my touch.

‘You sure?’ he asked.

‘Yes’ I heard myself say. ‘Very sure.’

We found a cab outside and hopped in it. I stared out the window and watched central London pass by.

So, this is what it means to be a sex fiend. It’s not about shagging strangers in alleyways like some kind of sex addict. It's about knowing someone doesn’t want you and yet you still offer to shag them with no strings attached. It's about being so horny that you can’t turn down sex with them. And it's about being so masochistic that you can’t stop yourself from doing something that will, at some point, hurt like hell.

We passed over Waterloo Bridge and I looked out upon the river flowing beneath it. What a tragic and yet apt metaphor for us, I thought. And how pathetically poignant too, because of the tears that kept on threatening to stream down my face. But I didn’t want to think about that; I wanted to concentrate on the warm feeling between my legs instead. I curled up to him in the cab, and with his arm around me, forgot about the knawing sensation in my heart.

When we got back to his, he immediately pushed me down onto the bed.

‘God I want to fuck you’ he said and spread my legs so that I could feel his cock up against me through his jeans.

I wanted to fuck him too. I began to pull off his top, and he mine. Within moments he was placing soft kisses all over my naked body; his lips eliciting sparks of electricity as he moved down my torso. Then he deftly pushed his fingers inside me and I gushed all over his hand as he made me come, like he always has done, with force.

He grinned at me and turned me onto my front, sliding his cock up against me and then entered me as he felt how soaked I was. He fucked me passionately from behind; we pushed back against each other with desperation and need. Finally, with an intenseness that made my head pound, we came together.

Exhausted, we lay in each other’s arms and began to drift off to sleep. Alone with my thoughts in the quietness of night, I felt numb. Not only between my legs from the rampant fuck, but inside of me too.

As his feet found mine under the duvet, I cuddled up to him and laid my head on his chest. Then I inhaled his scent deeply, knowing that this would be the last ever time I would do so. And I hoped that the next time I saw him, I would be able to find the strength to say no - to myself.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:12:58 AM by thegirl

Quickie

As I don't have time to post anything myself, I thought I'd offer up some alternative reading material.

Here are three things that have made my pants wet today:

Jizz
Pussy
Facials

Enjoy.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:11:58 AM by thegirl

Wishlist

I just realised something.

When I started this blog two years ago, I noted five men that I fancied at the time.

Since then, I have met four out of five of those men. (Working in the entertainment industry does have some advantages, it's true).

And out of those four, I managed to flirt with three, have a beer with two, and give my phone number to one. (He never called me). (Fool).

So I guess there's only one more to do on my list now: Alan Davies, watch out.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:10:58 AM by thegirl

Relief

‘What’s wrong?’ M asked.

I pointed at my stomach. ‘Cramps. Bad ones.’

‘Time of the month?’

I nodded and then grimaced from the pain, holding a heat pad against my swollen belly.

‘Why don’t you take some painkillers?’ M suggested. Seeing the angry look appearing on my face, he then quickly tried to make amends. ‘Oh, they’re not working? Bugger…’

‘Yes’ I hissed, as another muscle contraction shot agonisingly through my stomach. ‘You’d never know I took three ibruprofen, two paracetamol and one codeine tablet little more than an hour ago. Fuck!’ I bent over and tried to breathe through the cramp.

M moved toward me. ‘What you need is a man to give you a nice massage, that’ll take away the pain.’

I recovered briefly from the spasm. ‘Well, that would be nice’ I agreed, ‘but do you know what would really help with the pain right now – besides a gentle back rub?’

M shrugged. ‘What?’

‘A good orgasm. There’s nothing like a climax to help with period cramps.’

M frowned at me and I remembered a similar conversation we had when we began working together a few years before; one where he expressed disgust about menstruation and sex.

‘Oh M, you’re not still hung up about periods are you?!’ I said.

‘Look, I’m just not into that… all the blood and stuff – yuck.’

‘Yuck?!’ I almost spat at him. ‘Yuck? For fucks’ sake, it’s natural, women bleed. Are you telling me you won’t shag a girl when she’s menstruating?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I won’t.’

I thought about the men I’ve fucked; the ones who knew my body and the ways in which my appetite changed according to my cycle; the ones who liked how horny I become when I menstruate; the ones who didn’t care about getting handprints of blood on their sheets because they got off on my deriving pleasure from their touch.

I stared at him. ‘So what about your girlfriend? You’ve been together two years now: what do you do every month when she’s on?’

He grinned at me. ‘Well, I get a blow job if I’m feeling horny.’ He laughed.

‘And her? What does she get?’

M held my gaze and kept his mouth shut; knowing me well, he was aware that he was about to get a bollocking.

‘Look M, I’m telling you, there is one thing – one major thing that a woman wants when she has her period. Forget sympathy, understanding, back rubs and the rest; what she really needs is an orgasm. Aside from the huge pain relief she’ll receive, it’ll also assist her with her horniness – surely you’d want to help out with that?’

M shrugged. ‘But the blood – ugh!’

I fixed him with a stare. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never taken advantage of your girlfriend’s period-induced randiness?’

‘I’ve never really thought about it’ M replied. ‘When she says she’s ‘on’ I just give her some space and then go and have a wank if necessary.’

I shook my head. ‘You’re missing out M, you really are: a woman is at her most ravenous when she’s got her period.’

‘Really?’ he asked.

‘Really’ I said and leant in to him, lowering my voice. ‘She may be groaning from the pain, but she’ll also be climbing the walls with desire. Like I am now: I am absolutely gagging for it.’

‘Yeah, but that’s you’ M retorted. ‘You love sex. Maybe it’s not the same for other women…’

‘But you told me your girlfriend is a sex fiend; what have you got to lose by finding out just how rampant she gets from her period?’ I asked.

‘The blood’ M reminded me. ‘I don’t like the blood’.

I groaned. ‘Yeah, but if your girlfriend was lying on her back, stroking her nipples and sliding a finger between her legs, saying, “oh god, I’m so wet and horny, I need something inside me” wouldn’t you forget about that and want to go and assist her?’

M grinned. ‘Maybe…’

‘So, fucking try it; if you give her a few orgasms when she’s in pain, she’ll be so grateful, you might even get extra blow jobs out of it afterwards.’

He laughed. ‘Well, now you put it that way, it does sound a little more appealing.’

I continued. ‘I’m telling you M, you don’t even have to fuck her: just finger her gently and she’ll be in ecstasy. It’s not asking for much, just a little orgasm or three. Then you’ll get to have a horny, happy, pain-free girlfriend who’ll be less moody as a result. Plus of course, you’ll have a few extra orgasms yourself too. Win/win.’

He grinned at me. ‘You know, you’ve got a valid point. I might have to investigate some more’

‘Do. I hope your girlfriend enjoys it.’

‘She’s a lot like you; I’m sure she will. Cheers!’ M grinned at me and began to walk back towards set.

With searing pain in my stomach and now a dull throbbing between my legs, I had no choice but to quickly visit the toilet to fix myself. A quick flick later, relief was achieved, and I was practically pain-free as a result. I tidied myself before heading back and felt rejuvenated, ready to work again, my mind and my body unblocked.

As I stepped onto the set, a thought occurred to me: cheaper than drugs and more effective (not to mention pleasurable), surely it’s about time orgasms were offered as pain-relief on the health service? It's a medicine that's proven to work - and it has no side effects. Well, except for people occasionally losing the ability to have an intelligent conversation after climaxing; rather annoying at the time, but a small price to pay for the benefits of an orgasm I think.


Update: I don't normally promote porn sites, but a unique one run by a woman, that has the following in her manifesto, makes me want to support it -

"In an industry where photos of women being throat-fucked and pissed on are commonplace portrayals of human sexuality, women enjoying their bodies on their periods are viewed by most pornographers as horrifyingly obscene.

Erotic Red stands as an proud outpost of sense and sensuality in a world of internet porn gone terribly crappy. We're not here to sell menstruation as a gross-out fetish, but to show that it is a healthy, interesting, and fun part of the lives of all female-bodied folk. We're here to shake up silly old taboos and encourage every woman to love her body and sexuality- every day of the month."

Not for the squeamish, perhaps, but fuck it, we're women - we bleed.

And yes, I do currently have PMT, if anyone feels to ask.

And no, I do not currently have a man to make me feel better.

But - as ever - I am working on it.

Until then, however, it's just me and my best friend.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:09:58 AM by thegirl

Duality

I’m not sure when it was that I came to the conclusion that two men having sex together was sexually attractive to me, but I am certain of one thing: I know it turns me on – a lot.

Maybe the seed was planted many years ago, when my boyfriend T dropped it into the conversation one night:

Him (grabbing my hips, pulling me harder onto his cock): ‘Do you remember that guy at work I mentioned? The one who winked at me?’

Me (fondling his nipples): ‘Yeah - the cute one?’

Him (squeezing my arse): ‘Him. I think he flirted with me yesterday’

Me: ‘Oh, really? I bet you liked that, ‘eh?!’ I winked at him.

He looked at me for a moment as I rode his cock hard. ‘Yes, actually I did. It gave me a boner.’

For a moment, my brain flickered into gear and the reality of his statement hit me. I felt a tiny surge of jealousy, of insecurity, of anxiety. And then I became aware of another feeling; something much more overwhelming than the brief questioning in my head: the intense throbbing and wetness between my legs.

I carried on riding him and feeling his cock pulse inside me, I wondered how best I should approach this new information; whether I should coax out his feelings about it; or perhaps just tease him. ‘It turned you on, did it?’ I asked him, a slight smile on my face.

‘Yes’ he replied softly, ‘it did’. He pulled me even more deeply onto him and I was sure his cock felt harder inside me than it ever had before. Clearly he was enjoying the thought of another man. And, I was surprised to discover, so was I.

‘So’ I continued, ‘if he were here now, what would you do?’

He paused for a moment, looking unsure how to respond. I smiled at him and he visibly relaxed. ‘Well’ he said, cautiously, ‘I’d like to feel his cock against me’.

‘And then?’ I asked. ‘What would you do then?’

‘Then I’d like to stroke it’ he said, ‘maybe feel it in my mouth.’

‘Mmm’ I replied. ‘Feel it rub against your lips’.

He nodded and pumped his cock harder into me.

‘Would you like to suck it?’ I asked. ‘Run your tongue all over it?’

He nodded enthusiastically and we both ground our hips together until we climaxed simultaneously.

After we caught our breath, I tried talking some more about his desire to be with another man, but he kept changing the subject. It was only years later that he finally felt able to explore this side of his sexuality and by this time, our relationship was long over.

A few years later, I was offered a threesome with two guys that I met in a nightclub. Stupidly I told my friend K about it, thinking that she would be as excited as me by the offer.

‘Yuck!’ she exclaimed, ‘what happens if they touch each other?! That would be disgusting!’

Of course, being a twit and somewhat insecure at the time, I turned the guys down, and regretted it for years. (I still do).

But K’s response wasn’t out of the ordinary: ask any of my mates – even the ones I consider ‘liberated’; the progressive women, the open-minded men – and they’d all recoil if I suggested

1. that I would like to fuck two men, and
2. that it would turn me on if they touched each other too, and
3. that I would be happy just to watch the two men touch each other

But on the contrary, if I suggested

1. that I would like to have sex with a man and a woman
2. that it would turn me on if me and the other woman touch each other
3. that I would be happy if the guy just watched me and the other woman touch each other,

I know for definite, that my female friends would blush – and then say ‘I’ve always wanted to try that!’ and my male friends would say ‘Go for it! Can I watch?!’

Whilst I wouldn’t say no to a little girl-on-girl action in my life, you would find me eagerly shouting ‘yes, yes!’ to a little boy-on-boy. Forget lesbianism: what could be better than more than one cock? It’s twice the pleasure; double the fun.

But it seems that for a woman to admit that she likes homosexual sex – watching or participating - most people would assume that she’s talking about lesbian sex – in fact it’s almost expected: a liberated woman + healthy sex drive x open-minded sexuality = lesbian tendencies. And in straight porn, it’s all directed towards men of course, as the women smile coyly at the camera and beg the (off-screen) man to ‘cum and join us’.

Yawn.

Why is it considered acceptable for women to dabble with other women, but not men to dabble with other men in heterosexual society? Why should lesbianism be the only gender exploration in straight people’s beds? Why is it so taboo for a man to want to explore another man?

I’m not going to even begin to explore these issues: it’s misogynist heterosexist hypocrisy and unless I am plied with at least five whisky sours, I don’t think I should delve into this topic now – I’ll only get annoyed.

But aside from these issues affecting society at large, I am more concerned with how they affect me. Or in other words: will I ever find a bloke who shares the same interest in his being with another man?

I would love to meet a guy, who, in a relaxed manner says ‘sure, I’d try a bloke; I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to suck a cock’ and then fuck me hard as we talk about how we might fulfil this mutual desire.

But I’m not optimistic about finding such a guy. Whilst I am very open about sex and my sexuality, I can honestly say that having a desire for my partner to fuck another man is not something I bring up in conversation with men that I meet, with any regularity. I wish it was. But I think I would scare the majority of men off if I mentioned that

1. I think about cock all the time
2. I would love to have a threesome with two men
3. I want to settle down and have kids

Which are the three things that occupy my mind on a regular basis.

Aside from my being a sex fiend and needing a shag three times a day, but I think that can be dropped into the conversation a little bit more easily.

Especially if I’ve plied the guy with plenty of alcohol beforehand.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:08:59 AM by thegirl

How to be a good lover

Because I write about sex, people often ask me: what makes a man a good lover?

Whilst I don’t profess to know the answer to this - if I did, I’d be rich surely, with one of those ‘how to be the perfect lover’ books - I have however, built up a vast knowledge in this subject.

Or in other words: I have fucked a lot of men.

Seriously. I have. The amount, is irrelevant. Let’s just assume many.

But what I will say is that being a good lover does not depend on the following factors:

• Cock size – I have had cocks as small as my thumb and almost as large as my forearm - and everything in between. Whilst the former was hard to feel and the latter hurt like hell, the rest fulfilled their job very nicely, thank you.
• Beauty – I have fucked men that my friends thought were as ugly as dogs, as well as men that modelled for a living. In bed there was no difference: a horny man is a horny man – his skills in bed aren’t connected to his handsomeness.
• Intelligence – I have shagged guys who were so boring that I couldn’t wait to leave (after fucking them) and ones that were so fascinating, our conversation continued whilst in the missionary position. Both types were fun to fuck, (but being boring doesn’t equate to a second shag).
• Social class/career – I’ve bedded men with differing fiscal status: from a street cleaner to a multi-millionaire ambassador’s son. Their wealth, or lack of, had no connection to their abilities in bed.
• Racial/religious background – I have had men of many nationalities, both here, and abroad. The only difference between them was their ability to say ‘I want to fuck you’ with an accent (or not).
• Personality – I have slept with bold, outgoing, dynamic men as well as quiet, shy, nervous men; naked, in bed, they were all alike.
  

So if these things are not factors in what makes a good lover, then what is?

I put it down to one thing – one indescribable thing: chemistry.

That’s it.

Just the buzz you get from someone when you’re with them. They may have some of the ‘qualities’ that you find attractive, they may have things in common with you and you enjoy their company, but without that fizz - that excitement you feel in their presence going on between you - the sex ain’t going nowhere.

You see, of the men I have slept with – that made my fire burn from the chemistry – not all, even many, of them were that skilled in the sack. But they still made my pants soaked and enabled me to climax – repeatedly – when I was with them.

Given the choice between the most skilled lover in the world and one that is clumsy with his hands, but who – when he whispers in my ear ‘god you’ve got me so turned on’ – makes me drip in anticipation of his touch, I know who I would pick – and it wouldn’t be Mr Loverlover: I’m of the opinion that every man can be taught (if necessary) how to please a woman well; but if there’s no chemistry there to begin with – forget it.

This might sound harsh – ‘ladies, get rid of him if he doesn’t make your pants wet before he touches you’ – but, fuck it, it’s true. Every good lover I have had was someone I had chemistry with; the ones I didn’t (and yes, there’ve been many of those too) – even with all the best technique in the world – didn’t make me come (as hard, as much, or even, at all).

So in conclusion, I think guys (and girls) should relax about whether they are skilled enough in bed and instead, try to just enjoy the sex they have.

Because at some point – when they encounter that magical chemistry with someone – the sex is going to be so dazzling, it will knock both their socks off.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:07:59 AM by thegirl

Slow

Sometimes a girl just wants to be made love to.

It’s all very well my constantly gagging for a hard shag; faced with the right bloke, it’s not something I would turn down – I do so enjoy a rampant pummelling from a horny man.

But right now, I want to be fucked slowly.

I want to be with a guy that takes his time; someone who wants to discover and explore my body and who wants to caress every inch of me until my skin feels electric.

I want a man who will:

Slide his fingers through my hair as his lips touch mine
Softly stroke my arse, the curve of my back, the nape of my neck
Explore my belly, my hips, the inside of my thighs with soft, sweet kisses
Lightly touch my breasts, drawing circles around my nipples
See the excitement in my eyes as he lowers himself down my body
Hold my hands in his, as his mouth greets my burning desire
Pull me gently onto his face as his soft tongue pleasures me
Squeeze my hand as the first climax hits me and my body convulses
Push his hard cock against my thigh as he moves up my body
Kiss me deeply as he presses his body close to mine
Laugh, as I try to angle myself so his cock will slide into me
Smile as my frustration increases
Position himself so only the tip of his cock is inside me
Make me so desperate that I beg him to fuck me
Lie still and kiss me deeply

And when I cannot stand it any longer, when I am crying out in frustration and desperation, I want him to:

Slide into me as far as he can go
Refuse to move inside me
Make me more frustrated, as I lie there, filled, but unfulfilled
Wait until he and I can stand it no longer
Finally give me what I am begging for

And then I want him to fuck me:

Take me so slowly, the movement is almost imperceptible
Push me to the edge of orgasm, so I am on the verge of tears
Have me on the brink
Not let me come, until he is ready to come
On and on, slow, but steady
Make my heart race
Make me drip
Force my nails into his back

And when he gets near; when he finally feels his own surge approach, only then does he pummel me hard, fucking me with all his might, until our orgasms combine to send simultaneous electricity across both our bodies.

And when we'd stopped shaking and had caught our breath, then he would slide his fingers into mine, kiss me deeply, look into my eyes and smile.

It’s been a long time since I made love. I miss it.

Posted on 4/27/2006 12:06:59 AM by thegirl

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