A huge number of city workers return from their Christmas family canoodles adamant to find a better job. By this they mean, of course, better hours which will enable greater time to be spent with the family, equal money, for they can now tap into the resource that is their 'experience' and a different challenge (Note - A mince pie has the ability to make people believe they are invincible, that they could do absolutely anything).
Now, I fit quite neatly into this pool of people. Only with me, it's less talk and more action. I have handed my notice in and have a month of late nights and tedious tasks before I'm free. The job hunt for something 'better' started a few weeks ago and there are a few things in the pipeline. Speaking more generally, people should always have things in the pipeline. Remaining stagnant in any shape or form curtails progress and makes you boring. At least, this is what I've always thought.
The friends I have who are 'settled' in their lives will undoubtedly fling a hammer over my head in response to this last comment - but hey, it's Christmas and I'm not one to mince my words.
So, if things work out, and why shouldn't they? I'll have some time in between jobs in which to let myself run wild.
This means writing some more of my novel, applying for other interesting jobs and, perhaps most importantly, fulfilling my ambition of becoming, in some capacity, an escort or sex worker.
Those of you who have read a lot of this blog will realise that the whore theme, and my desire to partake in it, has been there from the start. Getting paid to do something others do for free is something I have no problem with. Placing myself in a position where the desire to fuck for money is replaced by the reality of actually doing it is something that excites me. And for this reason alone my task over the next few days is to shortlist some agencies that fit my bill.
Let me be honest from the start
I'd prefer to escort women on a completely non-sexual basis. The reason I say this is because, although certain women turn me on, the chances of my not being able to perform are increased. Fundamentally, this would be a waste of my time and their money - things we could both do without.
I'd happily fuck men for money - the only difficulty i have, or point i find interesting, is how I'd manage to get and maintain an erection for somebody for whom I felt little or no desire. This is where I imagine the business kicks in. My service is in demand and I have to supply. I can work to deadlines, make small talk pretty persuasively, say the odd filthy word and even string a sentence of thirty if pushed, and most importantly, I'm well endowed. My penis is in good shape and usually attracts gleams of pleasure from those who have seen it.
The policy will be to protect myself in any way i can, through sexual health visits and the ferocious use of condoms. That said, many people i know seem to harbour under the delusion that gay men nearly always have Aids. This is not true. And often, fucking occurs only occasionally. The power of a blow job and foot wank will always surprise people. If I decide to become a sex worker, I must ensure that it is done safely. That said, the person who goes on the pull every Friday night and sleeps around with a vast array of people is much more likely to catch something than sex workers are. This is because sex workers are faced with these risks every day.
The only thing I'm unsure about, in the grander scheme of things, is whether I'd like to write about my experiences knowing that some of the people reading this blog will be pointing their judgemental fingers. Rather a lot of people know who I am and that I write this blog. One things is for certain, there are certain people in my life who'll never know about any sex work I undertake. And this is reason enough not to write about it.
But, as far as you're concerned, the idea is there. The idea that I'd sell my body for money. I suppose it's up to you to imagine whether I have the guts and ability to follow my ambitions.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Festive
Alright, so I've had a little holiday. Nothing exotic, just a week where I ate myself, fairly comfortably, into a coma. And, not that I need to say it, Ho Ho Ho.
Over the Christmas period I spent an awful lot of time eating. In some capacity we all do. This is the one truth that most people accept once Christmas is over: 'I should have eaten less! If I'd have eaten less I'd still be looking closer to Kate Moss and less like Lilly Allen.'
But let me tell you something: That feeling one gets when the roast potato, coated in gravy, hits the roof of your mouth is pretty much an orgasm, if cooked correctly, in itself. That taste of tender crunchy sprouts, of moist roasted turkey, makes this meal worth every ounce of misery we go through in the week following.
Alas, tell yourself it's Christmas. If you don't enjoy yourself now, you probably never will.
Most families have a Christmas film don't they? A film they watch with the family, the fire blazing in the living room, the box of Thorntons gracing the old mahogany table. Most families watch films like 'Oh what a Wonderful Life', or, dare I say it, The Sound of Music'. Not us. This year, we replaced Octopussy with Titanic. THAT was our family film. The tale of a sinking ship, of love between the lower and upper classes. Of a man freezing to death in the Atlantic whilst his lover lies on a broken shelf, which, I'm convinced, would have fit them both had she only moved up a little.
And then, as it's Christmas, we act it out. The family and I. The hitting of the iceberg, the 'dance of commoners' that takes place in the lower deck, and of course, perhaps most importantly, 'Jack, Jack...don't leave me Jack'. Me being me, I prefer to lay on the leather sofa and tell one of my cousins to 'paint me like one of your french girls, wearing this and only this'. Alas, my cousin is no artist.
And then there's all the alcohol. Mulled wine, red wine, any wine. Sherry, Brandy, Gin, Whiskey. All of a sudden, every alcoholic spirit appears festive and fit for the occasion.
My Christmas Shocker occured when I learnt that my brother, in a drunken fit at uni, stripped down completely on stage at a club earlier this year. He seemed to remember a lot of what happened mind. How people were cheering him on and shaking his hand. At the moment he told me, my desire to cry took a full twenty minutes to simmer. It was then that I realised that in fact, we were all stupid on occasion. That he was in fact having the good time at uni that I'd never really had. That we were all sexual beings. Although, the thought of your sibling doing anything that involves their privates parts is something I'd rather deal with when drunken enough to forget about it. When he told me, my cousins and I were sitting in a Shisha Cafe smoking a wild berry and mint flavoured Shisha and (me) eating a slice of overpriced strawberry cheesecake.
'When I get drunk' I declared, for no particular reason, 'I start to giggle at everything and anything. I'm not the only one however, and I've come to realise that I'd much rather be a laugher than one of those people who cries over a playground breakup every time the gin gets a little too much.
And as the alcohol wears off, people face the reality of what they've done. You know, shoving their hand down the secretary's panties during the Christmas party, or going in for a whisper but instead licking the Secretary's ear dry. Or, if you're female, coming to terms with the tit-flash that you gave to the boys over in Accounts. And then there's the sex. How many people who work together will have, by now, have slept together? Far too many to count. I use the word slept lightly. Some people do it standing up, others, legs perched into the sky, torso thrust into the air. And some people just can't remember exactly how it all happened.
All in all it's been a good week off. Doing very little, relaxing and finding that, given the chance, I could sleep far more than I'd ever imagined.
On the relationship front - it's been as dry as a baron dessert without a well. Whenever I come oop north, that's part of the deal. My sordid sex life is something that stays well and truly down south. Up here, it's all about the family, isn't it? Isn't that what Christmas is all about?
That and receiving an awful lot of money with which to buy cock rings on my return.
I wonder - how wrong is it to spend Christmas money on something the donor would have a heart attack over? Is any right to the money lost once the envelop passes hands?
Over the Christmas period I spent an awful lot of time eating. In some capacity we all do. This is the one truth that most people accept once Christmas is over: 'I should have eaten less! If I'd have eaten less I'd still be looking closer to Kate Moss and less like Lilly Allen.'
But let me tell you something: That feeling one gets when the roast potato, coated in gravy, hits the roof of your mouth is pretty much an orgasm, if cooked correctly, in itself. That taste of tender crunchy sprouts, of moist roasted turkey, makes this meal worth every ounce of misery we go through in the week following.
Alas, tell yourself it's Christmas. If you don't enjoy yourself now, you probably never will.
Most families have a Christmas film don't they? A film they watch with the family, the fire blazing in the living room, the box of Thorntons gracing the old mahogany table. Most families watch films like 'Oh what a Wonderful Life', or, dare I say it, The Sound of Music'. Not us. This year, we replaced Octopussy with Titanic. THAT was our family film. The tale of a sinking ship, of love between the lower and upper classes. Of a man freezing to death in the Atlantic whilst his lover lies on a broken shelf, which, I'm convinced, would have fit them both had she only moved up a little.
And then, as it's Christmas, we act it out. The family and I. The hitting of the iceberg, the 'dance of commoners' that takes place in the lower deck, and of course, perhaps most importantly, 'Jack, Jack...don't leave me Jack'. Me being me, I prefer to lay on the leather sofa and tell one of my cousins to 'paint me like one of your french girls, wearing this and only this'. Alas, my cousin is no artist.
And then there's all the alcohol. Mulled wine, red wine, any wine. Sherry, Brandy, Gin, Whiskey. All of a sudden, every alcoholic spirit appears festive and fit for the occasion.
My Christmas Shocker occured when I learnt that my brother, in a drunken fit at uni, stripped down completely on stage at a club earlier this year. He seemed to remember a lot of what happened mind. How people were cheering him on and shaking his hand. At the moment he told me, my desire to cry took a full twenty minutes to simmer. It was then that I realised that in fact, we were all stupid on occasion. That he was in fact having the good time at uni that I'd never really had. That we were all sexual beings. Although, the thought of your sibling doing anything that involves their privates parts is something I'd rather deal with when drunken enough to forget about it. When he told me, my cousins and I were sitting in a Shisha Cafe smoking a wild berry and mint flavoured Shisha and (me) eating a slice of overpriced strawberry cheesecake.
'When I get drunk' I declared, for no particular reason, 'I start to giggle at everything and anything. I'm not the only one however, and I've come to realise that I'd much rather be a laugher than one of those people who cries over a playground breakup every time the gin gets a little too much.
And as the alcohol wears off, people face the reality of what they've done. You know, shoving their hand down the secretary's panties during the Christmas party, or going in for a whisper but instead licking the Secretary's ear dry. Or, if you're female, coming to terms with the tit-flash that you gave to the boys over in Accounts. And then there's the sex. How many people who work together will have, by now, have slept together? Far too many to count. I use the word slept lightly. Some people do it standing up, others, legs perched into the sky, torso thrust into the air. And some people just can't remember exactly how it all happened.
All in all it's been a good week off. Doing very little, relaxing and finding that, given the chance, I could sleep far more than I'd ever imagined.
On the relationship front - it's been as dry as a baron dessert without a well. Whenever I come oop north, that's part of the deal. My sordid sex life is something that stays well and truly down south. Up here, it's all about the family, isn't it? Isn't that what Christmas is all about?
That and receiving an awful lot of money with which to buy cock rings on my return.
I wonder - how wrong is it to spend Christmas money on something the donor would have a heart attack over? Is any right to the money lost once the envelop passes hands?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Opening up
Over dinner with Katerina and Belle-de-Bengal (Who, it transpires, is more lovingly referred to in the workplace as 'The Voice of Doom'):
'I've got a lot of men interested in me. Everything's complicated. They all earn less than me and a lot of them have long terms girlfriends. I'd never come between a couple as I have morals'
And now for the science:
A) I've got a lot of men interested in me - This is nice. It's nice to have a selection of men whom you could sleep with. What's not so nice is that, of the men she described, one of them was..ugly, another couldn't get it up or two separate occasions and one of them was, as much I love them, a born again Christian who, Belle de Bengal was positive, wouldn't give her the pounding she so deeply desired. Both Katerina and I agree that a pool of men is better than a couple. Having said this, you might have ten 'minging spags' and three 'romeos', in which case, quality should prevail over quantity.
B) Everything is complicated - It always is. Perhaps because most of these men work alongside her in the same company. Mixing business and pleasure is perfectly doable but more often than not, it's the sluttiest, most uninhibited who can pull this off successfully. Belle de Bengal isn't one of these. She thinks about morals where other people simply think about the cleanest surface, the largest empty office room and their quivering, dripping lady garden.
C) They all earn less than me - Granted, high-flying men are more attractive than milkmen. Hot shot city types, of which the Belle de Bengal has many experiences, are not difficult to find. The trouble is, if they earn much more than her, they ask her to stay at home and plant a few marigolds in between bouts of Loose Women. This, she won't do. When considering a full term relationship I can fully appreciate why somebody might consider salary to be a factor. Indeed, I would. But really, when all we want is a shag. When all we want to do is to feel some body's body up close to ours, their hot breath against our neck, their dirty words in our ears, does it really matter how many zeros come at the end of their salary? I don't think so. And, when considering some body's shagabililty, I for one am not swayed by the size of their wallet. It's more about the size of their bulge. And, if truth be told, anybody can dress up in a suit and look important. I'm more of an overalls man myself.
D) A lot of them have long terms girlfriends. I'd never come between a couple as I have morals - This moral card is played far too many times by far too many people. As humans it's our right, our fundamental right, to try and do things that make us happy. If this means sleeping with a man who has a wife, or a long term 'steady' girf, then so be it. I'll tell you why this is; if you say no, some other girl will say yes, either way, your refusal to engage in infidelity won't save their marriage, for the marriage is well and truly in the well of misery by now. The moment he considered being unfaithful, the deed was more or less done. Therefore, be a good girl and look after yourself will you? When you 'come between' a couple, it's not your fault, remember, it's the person's fault who is being unfaithful. You owe no moral obligation. Let me be clear.
Yesterday I saw a slightly different, more open side to Belle de Bengal, in what she said, what she heard without cringing or looking pale, and the way she behaved. I believe my whoretanical friendship may have had some impact.
'I've got a lot of men interested in me. Everything's complicated. They all earn less than me and a lot of them have long terms girlfriends. I'd never come between a couple as I have morals'
And now for the science:
A) I've got a lot of men interested in me - This is nice. It's nice to have a selection of men whom you could sleep with. What's not so nice is that, of the men she described, one of them was..ugly, another couldn't get it up or two separate occasions and one of them was, as much I love them, a born again Christian who, Belle de Bengal was positive, wouldn't give her the pounding she so deeply desired. Both Katerina and I agree that a pool of men is better than a couple. Having said this, you might have ten 'minging spags' and three 'romeos', in which case, quality should prevail over quantity.
B) Everything is complicated - It always is. Perhaps because most of these men work alongside her in the same company. Mixing business and pleasure is perfectly doable but more often than not, it's the sluttiest, most uninhibited who can pull this off successfully. Belle de Bengal isn't one of these. She thinks about morals where other people simply think about the cleanest surface, the largest empty office room and their quivering, dripping lady garden.
C) They all earn less than me - Granted, high-flying men are more attractive than milkmen. Hot shot city types, of which the Belle de Bengal has many experiences, are not difficult to find. The trouble is, if they earn much more than her, they ask her to stay at home and plant a few marigolds in between bouts of Loose Women. This, she won't do. When considering a full term relationship I can fully appreciate why somebody might consider salary to be a factor. Indeed, I would. But really, when all we want is a shag. When all we want to do is to feel some body's body up close to ours, their hot breath against our neck, their dirty words in our ears, does it really matter how many zeros come at the end of their salary? I don't think so. And, when considering some body's shagabililty, I for one am not swayed by the size of their wallet. It's more about the size of their bulge. And, if truth be told, anybody can dress up in a suit and look important. I'm more of an overalls man myself.
D) A lot of them have long terms girlfriends. I'd never come between a couple as I have morals - This moral card is played far too many times by far too many people. As humans it's our right, our fundamental right, to try and do things that make us happy. If this means sleeping with a man who has a wife, or a long term 'steady' girf, then so be it. I'll tell you why this is; if you say no, some other girl will say yes, either way, your refusal to engage in infidelity won't save their marriage, for the marriage is well and truly in the well of misery by now. The moment he considered being unfaithful, the deed was more or less done. Therefore, be a good girl and look after yourself will you? When you 'come between' a couple, it's not your fault, remember, it's the person's fault who is being unfaithful. You owe no moral obligation. Let me be clear.
Yesterday I saw a slightly different, more open side to Belle de Bengal, in what she said, what she heard without cringing or looking pale, and the way she behaved. I believe my whoretanical friendship may have had some impact.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Flirtation
'You've got lovely eyes. They're amazing eyes' - Belle de Bengal's friend said, at his Birthday do last Friday.
'Really? Thank you'.
'They're really amazing. Especially you're left eye. The other one, not so much, but your left eye, that's amazing'.
Firstly, nobody has ever said I have striking eyes, although I did put this down, quite quickly, to a drunken attempt as a chat-up line.
Secondly, the guy has told me previously that he thought I was 'hot'.
Thirdly, on the point of eye-discrimination? WTF! I do think it's hilarious, victimizing one eye to make the other one feel better; but really. Surely somebody as confident as this man is might think that this could be a mood killer.
Needless to say, he apologised the next time I saw him. It made me laugh.
Lesson to be learnt - When drunk, lower your inhibitions to a point where they still make you appear to be attractive. When flirting, honesty sometimes isn't the best policy.
'Really? Thank you'.
'They're really amazing. Especially you're left eye. The other one, not so much, but your left eye, that's amazing'.
Firstly, nobody has ever said I have striking eyes, although I did put this down, quite quickly, to a drunken attempt as a chat-up line.
Secondly, the guy has told me previously that he thought I was 'hot'.
Thirdly, on the point of eye-discrimination? WTF! I do think it's hilarious, victimizing one eye to make the other one feel better; but really. Surely somebody as confident as this man is might think that this could be a mood killer.
Needless to say, he apologised the next time I saw him. It made me laugh.
Lesson to be learnt - When drunk, lower your inhibitions to a point where they still make you appear to be attractive. When flirting, honesty sometimes isn't the best policy.
Staging a Comeback
I thought the whole point of the 'Spice Girls' was that they were each different, that you could have your favourite and that, consequently, they appealed a wider market.
So, it puzzles me, the fact that they now appear to have shed their Kappa Tracksuits, Ginger Hair, Frightening Afro, Ridiculous pink ribbon and Little Black Dress in favour of a more, conformed look.
All of the girls have now become wannabe-elegant-spice. And what a shame that is.
Aliena wanted me to accompany her to the concert, for which she has tickets, but has since ditched me in favour of another, more appreciative Spice Girls fan.
I used to like them. I used to like Gerry, I thought she was hot and rounded. I even saw that film they did, as a child. But right now, I can't seem to see beyond the money-making scheme that they seem to be a party to. And the false friendship that seems to have been forged for the purposes of further financial security. It's not because I'm jealous, it's because I think real talent is a gift to be given, not a commodity to be exploited.
And on the subject of Comebacks, The London Lite informs me that Micheal Jackson is planning a comeback early next year.
What am I? Going to run and get tickets before the world and his wife do. After all, it's about time I learnt to moon walk.
So, it puzzles me, the fact that they now appear to have shed their Kappa Tracksuits, Ginger Hair, Frightening Afro, Ridiculous pink ribbon and Little Black Dress in favour of a more, conformed look.
All of the girls have now become wannabe-elegant-spice. And what a shame that is.
Aliena wanted me to accompany her to the concert, for which she has tickets, but has since ditched me in favour of another, more appreciative Spice Girls fan.
I used to like them. I used to like Gerry, I thought she was hot and rounded. I even saw that film they did, as a child. But right now, I can't seem to see beyond the money-making scheme that they seem to be a party to. And the false friendship that seems to have been forged for the purposes of further financial security. It's not because I'm jealous, it's because I think real talent is a gift to be given, not a commodity to be exploited.
And on the subject of Comebacks, The London Lite informs me that Micheal Jackson is planning a comeback early next year.
What am I? Going to run and get tickets before the world and his wife do. After all, it's about time I learnt to moon walk.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Old people, New Opportunities
Had a call last night (night being the operative word), as I worked like a dog, from an unusual number.
By unusual I mean, of course, that it ended with four of the same number and wasn't saved already on my phone.
Having said this, receiving unusual phone calls and messages is something that happens to be with an alarming frequency these days. It's all that gumtreeing, all that gaydaring, all that...well...saunaing.
Note - I'm not a floozy or, as my brother insists, a 'phone hoe', but my number is also on my Facebook page. Perhaps removing it will give me back my pure heart.
So, back to last night's phone call. It was that guy - you know the one. The charmer, the man who wants to pay me to have sex with him. My first escorting assignment.
'Hey! it's x' he said
'Oh hi, how are you?' Let me be honest, I knew the sound of his voice straight away. It's a great voice, a truly fuckable one. He's witty and quite charming. I'm just not, well, sexually connected to him. There's none of that energy. Perhaps that's the reason I'd prefer to escort him. To be paid for my services. for there to be a visible, clean and uncluttered transaction. Money for my body. Clean and clear and under control.
After a few conversational cliches I said I'd call him once I'd finished work.
Later, in my taxi home I sent him a message asking him to call me in half an hour once I'd be home.
What did he proceed to do? Call me straight away. Here's a man who doesn't waste any time, I thought, and answered.
'You keep pushing the goal posts back another half an hour' he continued.
'Yes, I do, because I've just finished work and I'm on my way back as we speak'.
A few other conversational cliches
'so, what are you doing over the next few days?' he asked.
'Um, I might be free on Saturday during the day. We could meet for a drink'.
'Well I was thinking about booking a hotel room.'
'Oh were you?'
'Yes, you could drink as much as you want'. At this point i wondered whether the man was substituting hard cash with alcohol. Nu-uh I'd happily give away alcohol for a Michelin starred meal (paid for by myself), any day.
'Hmm, let's see. Anyhow, I need to go now because I have a million friends trying to get through to me who I need to speak with' - It's true, The Dame was on the blower at that exact time. And so was somebody else. Okay, so not a million, but two.
'Why don't we speak tomorrow?'
'Sure.'
And he'll call me later I'm sure. Positive.
All that remains is to decide how to play my cards. Might this be the sexual experience I'm after? Might the man, as he has suggested previously, hire a few other boys too and have himself a merry orgy? Let's hope so.
Fucking somebody you don't really desire is no new thing, let's be honest. Millions of girls and boys do it every Friday night. Oh, some people also refer to this state of being as succumbing to 'beer goggles' and being 'desty'. The only difference between them and me is that I'd take money up front for something they'd happily do for a shot of tequila.
By unusual I mean, of course, that it ended with four of the same number and wasn't saved already on my phone.
Having said this, receiving unusual phone calls and messages is something that happens to be with an alarming frequency these days. It's all that gumtreeing, all that gaydaring, all that...well...saunaing.
Note - I'm not a floozy or, as my brother insists, a 'phone hoe', but my number is also on my Facebook page. Perhaps removing it will give me back my pure heart.
So, back to last night's phone call. It was that guy - you know the one. The charmer, the man who wants to pay me to have sex with him. My first escorting assignment.
'Hey! it's x' he said
'Oh hi, how are you?' Let me be honest, I knew the sound of his voice straight away. It's a great voice, a truly fuckable one. He's witty and quite charming. I'm just not, well, sexually connected to him. There's none of that energy. Perhaps that's the reason I'd prefer to escort him. To be paid for my services. for there to be a visible, clean and uncluttered transaction. Money for my body. Clean and clear and under control.
After a few conversational cliches I said I'd call him once I'd finished work.
Later, in my taxi home I sent him a message asking him to call me in half an hour once I'd be home.
What did he proceed to do? Call me straight away. Here's a man who doesn't waste any time, I thought, and answered.
'You keep pushing the goal posts back another half an hour' he continued.
'Yes, I do, because I've just finished work and I'm on my way back as we speak'.
A few other conversational cliches
'so, what are you doing over the next few days?' he asked.
'Um, I might be free on Saturday during the day. We could meet for a drink'.
'Well I was thinking about booking a hotel room.'
'Oh were you?'
'Yes, you could drink as much as you want'. At this point i wondered whether the man was substituting hard cash with alcohol. Nu-uh I'd happily give away alcohol for a Michelin starred meal (paid for by myself), any day.
'Hmm, let's see. Anyhow, I need to go now because I have a million friends trying to get through to me who I need to speak with' - It's true, The Dame was on the blower at that exact time. And so was somebody else. Okay, so not a million, but two.
'Why don't we speak tomorrow?'
'Sure.'
And he'll call me later I'm sure. Positive.
All that remains is to decide how to play my cards. Might this be the sexual experience I'm after? Might the man, as he has suggested previously, hire a few other boys too and have himself a merry orgy? Let's hope so.
Fucking somebody you don't really desire is no new thing, let's be honest. Millions of girls and boys do it every Friday night. Oh, some people also refer to this state of being as succumbing to 'beer goggles' and being 'desty'. The only difference between them and me is that I'd take money up front for something they'd happily do for a shot of tequila.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Hard facts
Back on 'Confessions' earlier this afternoon and look what I came up with:
I'm not getting off by saying this, i'm not being childish and NO, im not horny (which admitedly is rare for me) but I just wanted to make this confession to all women of all shapes and sizes, the world over.
I personally love to go down on a girl and I love to tease her there for as long as possible until she is dripping all over the sheets and is gagging for the whole thing to go inside... at which point i tease her still!
I'm a tease!
But what is absolutely essential is to ensure that you are "well kept" down there. I.E. its vital to keep hair down there to a very low minimum. If you want it to feel great, then all we ask is for you to clear the way a little. If there is no hair there (ideal situation), or if there are very very few hairs down there, then it just looks amazing, more hygienic anyway, smells better and makes for a better session and better sensation for all concerned.
What is just as important, cannot stress how important this point is, but i assume all you women do this anyway, is to ensure you wash that region well before engaging in sexual acts (ideally via a shower/bath) because if it doesn't smell "nice" then it becomes a "No-Go Zone" which kills the whole mood, entirely! After all, this is all common-sense and very basic manners.
Apologies ladies for having made this confession and forgive me if you do all this anyway, but some of your counterparts really need reminding about this.
So do your husbands, your boyfriends, your lovers, your shag buddies all a favour and either do this for them or ask them to lend a helping hand. I'm sure they will be more than happy to groom that area of yours which we men adore and love so much.
Peace, and happy love making.
Well, it made me smile.
I'm not getting off by saying this, i'm not being childish and NO, im not horny (which admitedly is rare for me) but I just wanted to make this confession to all women of all shapes and sizes, the world over.
I personally love to go down on a girl and I love to tease her there for as long as possible until she is dripping all over the sheets and is gagging for the whole thing to go inside... at which point i tease her still!
I'm a tease!
But what is absolutely essential is to ensure that you are "well kept" down there. I.E. its vital to keep hair down there to a very low minimum. If you want it to feel great, then all we ask is for you to clear the way a little. If there is no hair there (ideal situation), or if there are very very few hairs down there, then it just looks amazing, more hygienic anyway, smells better and makes for a better session and better sensation for all concerned.
What is just as important, cannot stress how important this point is, but i assume all you women do this anyway, is to ensure you wash that region well before engaging in sexual acts (ideally via a shower/bath) because if it doesn't smell "nice" then it becomes a "No-Go Zone" which kills the whole mood, entirely! After all, this is all common-sense and very basic manners.
Apologies ladies for having made this confession and forgive me if you do all this anyway, but some of your counterparts really need reminding about this.
So do your husbands, your boyfriends, your lovers, your shag buddies all a favour and either do this for them or ask them to lend a helping hand. I'm sure they will be more than happy to groom that area of yours which we men adore and love so much.
Peace, and happy love making.
Well, it made me smile.
The Office Christmas Party
Well, we've all had one, or are about to have one, or aren't old enough to have one. Either way, the Christmas party at the office is the highlight of the working calender. That and any form of annual leave.
So, had mine last Friday. And it was at a very plush hotel near the Strand. If I told you the name of it, I'm sure you'd all say Ooooh, and so I won't.
Just for the record, plush venue may equal plush service but seldom does it equate to plush food. I've had plenty of better roast dinners in my time. In fact, just the other afternoon Katerina and I had lunch at our favourite roast joint here in Central London. And it was bloody marvellous.
I should and do consider myself fortunate to be working for an company that pays for pretty much everything. A mini-cab to the venue, all the alcohol I could possibly consume once I arrived, all the food and the DJ, and then a plush taxi (with Heat magazine tucked firmly into the magazine rack and bottles of water) back once it was all over.
But it's funny, working at such a low level and seeing all the office elite get bladdered at the first downpour of mulled wine. To see them run riot after a few glasses of bubbly and to see my HR manager plastered over the dance floor, gyrating to the rhythm of a song by fifty-cents.
Coming from an Indian family, it surprises me just how quick non-Indians are to jump onto the dance floor at the first sign of any music. Indians are so much more reserved. I'd much prefer it if they were as candid about their desire to boogie as they were about their desire to see me have an arranged marriage.
Don't get me wrong, once people are up on the dance floor it's difficult (and occasionally not worth the effort) to drag them away, but getting them there in the first place is often very difficult. That's when the local vamp has to intervene and titillate their taste buds, so to speak, with a shimmer of her chiffon sari beneath the disco lights.
So, back to my Christmas party. Why is it always the 'admin staff' who have the most fun. I'm sure this is true of any organisation. The man who works in our library was plastered even before he'd finished his turkey. And once the bar was open there was no stopping his head as it hit the table, or his legs are they hit the table, or indeed any part of his body as it hit the table.
And secretaries dance so well, don't they? Well, most do. And the occasional loud mouth who insisted on trying to pull my black tie off!
Now this year I was really looking forward to seeing sexual acquaintances develop or reveal themselves during the course of the evening. Alas, nothing. Not one tongue in one ear! Perhaps because we have recently merged, or perhaps because we are small enough to avoid the possibility of people fancying one another (something I doubt).
Sexually it was a dud, the food was also a semi-dud but all in all I had far more fun than I'd anticipated.
I wonder where I'll be at this time next year. Perhaps locked up in a posh cubicle with a fellow work colleague at another office party. Here's hoping!
So, had mine last Friday. And it was at a very plush hotel near the Strand. If I told you the name of it, I'm sure you'd all say Ooooh, and so I won't.
Just for the record, plush venue may equal plush service but seldom does it equate to plush food. I've had plenty of better roast dinners in my time. In fact, just the other afternoon Katerina and I had lunch at our favourite roast joint here in Central London. And it was bloody marvellous.
I should and do consider myself fortunate to be working for an company that pays for pretty much everything. A mini-cab to the venue, all the alcohol I could possibly consume once I arrived, all the food and the DJ, and then a plush taxi (with Heat magazine tucked firmly into the magazine rack and bottles of water) back once it was all over.
But it's funny, working at such a low level and seeing all the office elite get bladdered at the first downpour of mulled wine. To see them run riot after a few glasses of bubbly and to see my HR manager plastered over the dance floor, gyrating to the rhythm of a song by fifty-cents.
Coming from an Indian family, it surprises me just how quick non-Indians are to jump onto the dance floor at the first sign of any music. Indians are so much more reserved. I'd much prefer it if they were as candid about their desire to boogie as they were about their desire to see me have an arranged marriage.
Don't get me wrong, once people are up on the dance floor it's difficult (and occasionally not worth the effort) to drag them away, but getting them there in the first place is often very difficult. That's when the local vamp has to intervene and titillate their taste buds, so to speak, with a shimmer of her chiffon sari beneath the disco lights.
So, back to my Christmas party. Why is it always the 'admin staff' who have the most fun. I'm sure this is true of any organisation. The man who works in our library was plastered even before he'd finished his turkey. And once the bar was open there was no stopping his head as it hit the table, or his legs are they hit the table, or indeed any part of his body as it hit the table.
And secretaries dance so well, don't they? Well, most do. And the occasional loud mouth who insisted on trying to pull my black tie off!
Now this year I was really looking forward to seeing sexual acquaintances develop or reveal themselves during the course of the evening. Alas, nothing. Not one tongue in one ear! Perhaps because we have recently merged, or perhaps because we are small enough to avoid the possibility of people fancying one another (something I doubt).
Sexually it was a dud, the food was also a semi-dud but all in all I had far more fun than I'd anticipated.
I wonder where I'll be at this time next year. Perhaps locked up in a posh cubicle with a fellow work colleague at another office party. Here's hoping!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Queen Camilla
OMG. Have just discovered that a guy I work with (who I thought was Polish, but who is, in fact, very very English) is second cousin to Camilla Parker-Bowles.
What am I? Blissfully ecstatic. And, as you can imagine, my mouth simply wouldn't close.
At the end of the Spanish Inquisition, I simply couldn't control myself:
'Arrange a luncheon will you?' I added.
'Yes, alright' he said, in a very blase fashion.
The trouble is, tomorrow is his last day at work.
Sod's law, in't it!? Just as I discover a stepping stone that'll lead me quite firmly to Camilla, it threatens to sink beneath me.
And I just had to show him the book I'm presently reading (and thoroughly enjoying), 'Queen Camilla' by Sue Townsend.
Well...he smiled. And then went on to tell me that she had read it and really enjoyed it.
See, the ideas I had about her weren't based on misplaced lust after all. That she is a dignified, intelligent lady with a great sense of humour is truth. TRUTH.
What am I? Blissfully ecstatic. And, as you can imagine, my mouth simply wouldn't close.
At the end of the Spanish Inquisition, I simply couldn't control myself:
'Arrange a luncheon will you?' I added.
'Yes, alright' he said, in a very blase fashion.
The trouble is, tomorrow is his last day at work.
Sod's law, in't it!? Just as I discover a stepping stone that'll lead me quite firmly to Camilla, it threatens to sink beneath me.
And I just had to show him the book I'm presently reading (and thoroughly enjoying), 'Queen Camilla' by Sue Townsend.
Well...he smiled. And then went on to tell me that she had read it and really enjoyed it.
See, the ideas I had about her weren't based on misplaced lust after all. That she is a dignified, intelligent lady with a great sense of humour is truth. TRUTH.
Hair removal
'So, you're telling me that there's no difference between having a hairy arse crack and a smooth one?'
'Whether it's hairy or not, it's still the place from where shit emerges.'
'But I would imagine a smooth/Imaaced arse crack to feel so much nicer. I mean, when you're rimming a guy, it must just be nicer to be rid of all the hair.'
'You do realise, once you do it, there's no going back. It'll grow back thicker and faster. And who'll do it for you anyhow? It won't just fall off in the shower if you use Imaac, you'll have to scrap it all off.'
'Oh.'
[Desdemona and I discussing my desire to use hair removal cream over my arse crack in a bid to facilitate the rimming process which is, as yet, untested.]
'Whether it's hairy or not, it's still the place from where shit emerges.'
'But I would imagine a smooth/Imaaced arse crack to feel so much nicer. I mean, when you're rimming a guy, it must just be nicer to be rid of all the hair.'
'You do realise, once you do it, there's no going back. It'll grow back thicker and faster. And who'll do it for you anyhow? It won't just fall off in the shower if you use Imaac, you'll have to scrap it all off.'
'Oh.'
[Desdemona and I discussing my desire to use hair removal cream over my arse crack in a bid to facilitate the rimming process which is, as yet, untested.]
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Date #1 - Failed Actor
It started with a random poke. I think I've written about this in an earlier entry. He poked me, we chatted, I sent him a few dirty texts and he kept referring to me as a 'horneyfucker'. (Just for the record, it should be spelt horny)
Had a date with a lawyer-cum-actor-cum-novelist-cum-returned lawyer, last night.
Before I even got there, let me be honest, there were a few things about him that really riled me:
a) all over his facebook profile he referred to himself in third person - whether it be quotes from broadsheets stating what a wonderful performance he delivered in one of the two (as far as I can count)crummy plays he's starred in. I just happen to have seen and been unimpressed with both of them. In fact, I told him I hadn't liked them, to which he replied
'yes, they were badly written, but I liked my part and my performance was appreciated'. I HATE this! I hate how people sever themselves from something as soon as it's declared a failure. All of a sudden it's about their role and their performance and nothing to do with the play.
'x has written a novel which his agent is trying to sell at the moment' reads his facebook profile. Big sigh.
b) As you are probably aware by now, he is also somewhat narcissistic. And, as I came to quickly realise, here was a man who had given up his job as a lawyer to pursue creative interests, failed in the five years that he has been trying, and was now returning to the lawyering in order to satisfy his longing for an' ordinary and routine' filled life.
Now, it's not the fact that he failed which pissed me off. No, I think there are great guts in biting the bullet and taking the plunge like he did. It shows verve and ambition. But then, to give up because you fail, that's what pisses me off.
I thought creative people (much like myself) wouldn't give up for fear of being unfaithful to the gift of creation they have been given. I always imagined that if your ambitions were true enough and your dedication was unwavering, that you would push until you had achieved what you set out to. You see, this was my problem with the lawyer-cum-actor-cum-novelist-cum-returned lawyer; He wasn't able to really justify his departure from his passion and refused to 'be taken back to something I've blocked in my mind'. 'Stop trying to convince me, it's all over now' he said at one point. In no way was I trying to persuade him. I was merely engaging in a discussion, the aim of which was to get to know him a little better.
c) I don't find many Asian men attractive, regardless of where in Asia they are from. It's not something I control, my cock simply says no. Mind you, this time around, I gave the lawyer-cum-actor-cum-novelist-cum-returned lawyer a chance. I told myself to stop being silly. But the first sight of his aged skin (for he's 29) and what was clearly dyed hair, was enough to seal the envelope before the letter had even been inserted.
'So tell me about your seedy life' he said, over dinner. In his defence, I should say that he picked a plush Chinese restaurant for our meal and is somewhat well connected to the Indian High Society.
I think he wanted details about my sauna affairs and all matter of other sordid goings on, but I was adamant not to give everything away. This was my attempt to 'play hard to get'.
I told him what I had to.
'Those texts you sent me...they were soo...explicit...and...you didn't even know me' he said. Clearly this was his way of saying ' you're a slapper and I was shocked by your attitude'.
'Listen', I said, 'I don't think of sex as something taboo, or a term that should be banded about lightly. I have sex with different people because I want to. And I talk about sex in a very candid way. It's just the way I am. And if people don't like it, they can close their ears or turn the volume up on the Pavarotti.
'You are funny' he continued.
'So, what is your fetish? I ventured.
'I thought I mentioned that on a text. You said we could explore our sexuality together. And I have a thing about feet too'.
Right, so a foot fetish and somebody who hasn't had a blowjob or been fucked.
It's true, I would have explored my sexuality with him, had there been more of an energy between us. Had I wanted to crawl under the table and eat his cock whole. But this didn't happen.
Unsurprisingly, at the end of our meal, it was fairly easy to get away with a promise that we'd 'stay in touch'. I hope to, don't get me wrong. But that's it. Meeting him to explore our sexuality together is something I think I could do without.
Had a date with a lawyer-cum-actor-cum-novelist-cum-returned lawyer, last night.
Before I even got there, let me be honest, there were a few things about him that really riled me:
a) all over his facebook profile he referred to himself in third person - whether it be quotes from broadsheets stating what a wonderful performance he delivered in one of the two (as far as I can count)crummy plays he's starred in. I just happen to have seen and been unimpressed with both of them. In fact, I told him I hadn't liked them, to which he replied
'yes, they were badly written, but I liked my part and my performance was appreciated'. I HATE this! I hate how people sever themselves from something as soon as it's declared a failure. All of a sudden it's about their role and their performance and nothing to do with the play.
'x has written a novel which his agent is trying to sell at the moment' reads his facebook profile. Big sigh.
b) As you are probably aware by now, he is also somewhat narcissistic. And, as I came to quickly realise, here was a man who had given up his job as a lawyer to pursue creative interests, failed in the five years that he has been trying, and was now returning to the lawyering in order to satisfy his longing for an' ordinary and routine' filled life.
Now, it's not the fact that he failed which pissed me off. No, I think there are great guts in biting the bullet and taking the plunge like he did. It shows verve and ambition. But then, to give up because you fail, that's what pisses me off.
I thought creative people (much like myself) wouldn't give up for fear of being unfaithful to the gift of creation they have been given. I always imagined that if your ambitions were true enough and your dedication was unwavering, that you would push until you had achieved what you set out to. You see, this was my problem with the lawyer-cum-actor-cum-novelist-cum-returned lawyer; He wasn't able to really justify his departure from his passion and refused to 'be taken back to something I've blocked in my mind'. 'Stop trying to convince me, it's all over now' he said at one point. In no way was I trying to persuade him. I was merely engaging in a discussion, the aim of which was to get to know him a little better.
c) I don't find many Asian men attractive, regardless of where in Asia they are from. It's not something I control, my cock simply says no. Mind you, this time around, I gave the lawyer-cum-actor-cum-novelist-cum-returned lawyer a chance. I told myself to stop being silly. But the first sight of his aged skin (for he's 29) and what was clearly dyed hair, was enough to seal the envelope before the letter had even been inserted.
'So tell me about your seedy life' he said, over dinner. In his defence, I should say that he picked a plush Chinese restaurant for our meal and is somewhat well connected to the Indian High Society.
I think he wanted details about my sauna affairs and all matter of other sordid goings on, but I was adamant not to give everything away. This was my attempt to 'play hard to get'.
I told him what I had to.
'Those texts you sent me...they were soo...explicit...and...you didn't even know me' he said. Clearly this was his way of saying ' you're a slapper and I was shocked by your attitude'.
'Listen', I said, 'I don't think of sex as something taboo, or a term that should be banded about lightly. I have sex with different people because I want to. And I talk about sex in a very candid way. It's just the way I am. And if people don't like it, they can close their ears or turn the volume up on the Pavarotti.
'You are funny' he continued.
'So, what is your fetish? I ventured.
'I thought I mentioned that on a text. You said we could explore our sexuality together. And I have a thing about feet too'.
Right, so a foot fetish and somebody who hasn't had a blowjob or been fucked.
It's true, I would have explored my sexuality with him, had there been more of an energy between us. Had I wanted to crawl under the table and eat his cock whole. But this didn't happen.
Unsurprisingly, at the end of our meal, it was fairly easy to get away with a promise that we'd 'stay in touch'. I hope to, don't get me wrong. But that's it. Meeting him to explore our sexuality together is something I think I could do without.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Baby
It always surprises me just how much interest a baby can generate on the underground, simply through existing. Oh, and with the odd hearty chuckle.
A baby, so small and unassuming, so free of prejudices and, yes, so adorable (yes, you arrrrre, yes you arrrrrre...).
And I was amazed at the number of people who looked directly at the baby (who was incidentally sitting beside me) and smiled, or began to click their fingers in the air, or to simply stare and look amused at the child.
Perhaps it's because they know that the baby won't judge them. That the baby doesn't really know anything about them, that the baby is free of all illusions, all the clutter of life.
And to think, deep inside, each one of these people knows exactly that the baby will, one day, have to go through all of the same shit we all do. All of the saddnesses, the loss of our virginity (in all respects), the arguments with our lover when we discover he's been shagging that girl at Tescos for four months, whilst telling us he was going to visit his sick mother.
And despite this, we smile. Because in the child we find hope. And, above all else, we find forgiveness.
In which case, perhaps children aren't such a bad thing after all. At least, not the ones under the age of 3.
A baby, so small and unassuming, so free of prejudices and, yes, so adorable (yes, you arrrrre, yes you arrrrrre...).
And I was amazed at the number of people who looked directly at the baby (who was incidentally sitting beside me) and smiled, or began to click their fingers in the air, or to simply stare and look amused at the child.
Perhaps it's because they know that the baby won't judge them. That the baby doesn't really know anything about them, that the baby is free of all illusions, all the clutter of life.
And to think, deep inside, each one of these people knows exactly that the baby will, one day, have to go through all of the same shit we all do. All of the saddnesses, the loss of our virginity (in all respects), the arguments with our lover when we discover he's been shagging that girl at Tescos for four months, whilst telling us he was going to visit his sick mother.
And despite this, we smile. Because in the child we find hope. And, above all else, we find forgiveness.
In which case, perhaps children aren't such a bad thing after all. At least, not the ones under the age of 3.
Slag meeting
Last Friday, Ophelia, Desdemona and I conducted a slag meeting after, what seemed to be, an era.
It's always so good to see them. To have dinner and to discuss the latest antics.
It seems that Desdemona's relationship is 'dead serious' and that she and Othello couldn't be happier.
Neither could her puppy, however, judging by the photo of his erect penis we passed around the table. It was huge. And for such a small puppy.
'Has he, you know, stopped trying to provide you with oral sex?' I asked.
'Oh yes, he's over that now, he prefers to fuck his teddy bears now. In fact, he was mid hump when I took this photo', came Desdemona's reply.
Definitely a move in the right direction I thought.
Then the conversation shifted to a photo of one of our tutors at university, whose cock we'd only recently managed to see on the web!
'It looked awful' we all agreed, even though it was huge. I know I shouldn't say this, but he looked like a pedophile. A cross between a grisly bear and a head teacher.
'Who would actually stand there and let somebody take photos of them looking like that?' pondered Desdemona.
I wasn't so sure, I mean so many people take filthy photos of themselves don't they? Some propping themselves up against the head board, bribing the GirlF with promises of Dairy milk. Others take full blown videos of themselves ejaculating over black suede shoes. And some, some take pictures of themselves inserting various household objects into their various orifices.
It's true, this tutor of ours was by no means an attractive male, but to imagine that he allowed himself to be photographed with a semi erection, is somewhat unsettling. Surely you'd imagine tutors to exercise a little more caution. The only way I got a hold of the photo was through a friend of mine who he'd sent it to and who was, in fact, one of his past students.
On the subject of sleeping with students, I wondered how long this particular doctrine lasted. Even once the teaching period has ended, are teachers forever obliged to keep their students at arm's length? Or can they follow their desires unashamedly.
Anyways, so, after dinner the slags and I went for cocktails and bumped into Desdemona's ex. Yes, he of the handjob in the lecture theatre when they were an 'item'.
Now, Desdemona is a very hot chick. Super hot. But this boy, when we saw him, had totally lost his spark. He looked pathetic, in a very uncharming way. And, from the way he spoke, we were quickly able to ascertain that, given the chance, he's have tried it on with Desdemona all over again. We were out of that cocktail bar pretty quickly, needless to say. This surprises me as Desdemona, of all people, isn't overly good at running away from her ex boyfriends.
Ophelia, on the other hand, is off to 'the homeland' over Christmas. As a result, any further slag meeting will have to take place in the new year.
Note - The Dame was duly missed.
It's always so good to see them. To have dinner and to discuss the latest antics.
It seems that Desdemona's relationship is 'dead serious' and that she and Othello couldn't be happier.
Neither could her puppy, however, judging by the photo of his erect penis we passed around the table. It was huge. And for such a small puppy.
'Has he, you know, stopped trying to provide you with oral sex?' I asked.
'Oh yes, he's over that now, he prefers to fuck his teddy bears now. In fact, he was mid hump when I took this photo', came Desdemona's reply.
Definitely a move in the right direction I thought.
Then the conversation shifted to a photo of one of our tutors at university, whose cock we'd only recently managed to see on the web!
'It looked awful' we all agreed, even though it was huge. I know I shouldn't say this, but he looked like a pedophile. A cross between a grisly bear and a head teacher.
'Who would actually stand there and let somebody take photos of them looking like that?' pondered Desdemona.
I wasn't so sure, I mean so many people take filthy photos of themselves don't they? Some propping themselves up against the head board, bribing the GirlF with promises of Dairy milk. Others take full blown videos of themselves ejaculating over black suede shoes. And some, some take pictures of themselves inserting various household objects into their various orifices.
It's true, this tutor of ours was by no means an attractive male, but to imagine that he allowed himself to be photographed with a semi erection, is somewhat unsettling. Surely you'd imagine tutors to exercise a little more caution. The only way I got a hold of the photo was through a friend of mine who he'd sent it to and who was, in fact, one of his past students.
On the subject of sleeping with students, I wondered how long this particular doctrine lasted. Even once the teaching period has ended, are teachers forever obliged to keep their students at arm's length? Or can they follow their desires unashamedly.
Anyways, so, after dinner the slags and I went for cocktails and bumped into Desdemona's ex. Yes, he of the handjob in the lecture theatre when they were an 'item'.
Now, Desdemona is a very hot chick. Super hot. But this boy, when we saw him, had totally lost his spark. He looked pathetic, in a very uncharming way. And, from the way he spoke, we were quickly able to ascertain that, given the chance, he's have tried it on with Desdemona all over again. We were out of that cocktail bar pretty quickly, needless to say. This surprises me as Desdemona, of all people, isn't overly good at running away from her ex boyfriends.
Ophelia, on the other hand, is off to 'the homeland' over Christmas. As a result, any further slag meeting will have to take place in the new year.
Note - The Dame was duly missed.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Friction
Ermmm....I just expected fucking a guy to be...more fun, I guess.
So, went to a different sauna over the weekend. Chariots in Vauxhall.
Perhaps just as seedy as Pleasuredrome over in old Waterloo, but the talent fluctuated just as much as anywhere else to be fair.
Yes, there were a number of men who brushed their fingers over my nipples or went straight for the plunge down below and quite a few of those should have ideally been sat at home watching The Antiques Road Show (not for fear of seeing themselves on it you understand), and yes I'm still fairly uneasy at the sight of a pensioner laying on a wipeable mattress, legs spread, shrivelled cock in hands, moaning and groaning as young men pass by him.
A string of saunas and steam rooms, one darkroom and many many private cubicles together form this particular sauna in, i must admit, a particularly seedy area of London.
A plus point for the evening was perhaps the heaving orgy that formed in the darkroom over the period of an hour. I Can honestly say there were cocks swinging form every direction. The trouble was, on occasion you weren't sure what sort of face was attached to the soft and that gripped your cock like a vice. And that can be dangerous. Especially so if somebody flashes a torch in your direction at the wrong time.
And there was a man who simply wouldn't leave me alone.
'So...where are you from?' he asked.
'London'
'Noo, where are you from originally?'
This conversation was, as a matter of fact, taking place in a midst of a semi-orgy in the darkroom.
'Well my parents are Indian' I offered.
'Well, in that case, so are you then, unless of course, it's all about passports'.
'I'm really not getting into this discussion whilst we're in a gay sauna', I said.
For fucks sake!
I go to saunas for a reason. Discussions on immigration and the resulting identity crisis suffered by many non-resident Indians is NOT one of these.
And then there was the Australian man who wanted me to fuck him.
Fine, I thought, how hard can it be. Inside, praying that:
a) there was no visible sign of shit anywhere; and
b) the hole was easy to find and that I didn't come across as a novice.
There was no way whatsoever that I could have cum, fucking him. No way at all. There just wasn't enough...friction. Sort of like throwing a baton into a well. Thankfully mine came out still in tact.
Now, I don't have the faintest idea what expectations I should have had regarding fucking a man in the ass, but the experience fell so below them that I questioned whether I was doing it correctly. His moans did appear give off an air of satisfaction however and I came to realise that it was in fact his gaping crater that was the problem and not my cock.
Making up an excuse to do with the heat was all I could do to rid myself of any further embarrassment. Thankfully he was alright about it and declared it unnesccessary to come in order to have a good time.
And I was gone.
For the first time I came to realise how appauling it must be for a straight man to be fucking a girl who's pussy just isn't tight enough. No wonder so many heterosexual men harass their girlfriends to submit and offer up their ass. No wonder!
So, went to a different sauna over the weekend. Chariots in Vauxhall.
Perhaps just as seedy as Pleasuredrome over in old Waterloo, but the talent fluctuated just as much as anywhere else to be fair.
Yes, there were a number of men who brushed their fingers over my nipples or went straight for the plunge down below and quite a few of those should have ideally been sat at home watching The Antiques Road Show (not for fear of seeing themselves on it you understand), and yes I'm still fairly uneasy at the sight of a pensioner laying on a wipeable mattress, legs spread, shrivelled cock in hands, moaning and groaning as young men pass by him.
A string of saunas and steam rooms, one darkroom and many many private cubicles together form this particular sauna in, i must admit, a particularly seedy area of London.
A plus point for the evening was perhaps the heaving orgy that formed in the darkroom over the period of an hour. I Can honestly say there were cocks swinging form every direction. The trouble was, on occasion you weren't sure what sort of face was attached to the soft and that gripped your cock like a vice. And that can be dangerous. Especially so if somebody flashes a torch in your direction at the wrong time.
And there was a man who simply wouldn't leave me alone.
'So...where are you from?' he asked.
'London'
'Noo, where are you from originally?'
This conversation was, as a matter of fact, taking place in a midst of a semi-orgy in the darkroom.
'Well my parents are Indian' I offered.
'Well, in that case, so are you then, unless of course, it's all about passports'.
'I'm really not getting into this discussion whilst we're in a gay sauna', I said.
For fucks sake!
I go to saunas for a reason. Discussions on immigration and the resulting identity crisis suffered by many non-resident Indians is NOT one of these.
And then there was the Australian man who wanted me to fuck him.
Fine, I thought, how hard can it be. Inside, praying that:
a) there was no visible sign of shit anywhere; and
b) the hole was easy to find and that I didn't come across as a novice.
There was no way whatsoever that I could have cum, fucking him. No way at all. There just wasn't enough...friction. Sort of like throwing a baton into a well. Thankfully mine came out still in tact.
Now, I don't have the faintest idea what expectations I should have had regarding fucking a man in the ass, but the experience fell so below them that I questioned whether I was doing it correctly. His moans did appear give off an air of satisfaction however and I came to realise that it was in fact his gaping crater that was the problem and not my cock.
Making up an excuse to do with the heat was all I could do to rid myself of any further embarrassment. Thankfully he was alright about it and declared it unnesccessary to come in order to have a good time.
And I was gone.
For the first time I came to realise how appauling it must be for a straight man to be fucking a girl who's pussy just isn't tight enough. No wonder so many heterosexual men harass their girlfriends to submit and offer up their ass. No wonder!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Sauna buddy
So, I thought it might be a larf to attempt to find a sauna buddy as I plan on attending one this coming weekend. In light of this, I posted an AD on gumtree (for where else would I advertise vacancies for men harbouring kinky desires?)
It went something along the lines of this...
I'm looking for a few guys with whom I can visit a Sauna with this coming weekend.
Fit men who are between the ages of 19-33 and who have an open mindedness regarding their sexuality.
Email me as soon as you can, if you're interested so that we can arrange a date and time.
I'm a fit, 23 year old British born Indian, very horny and always looking to meet new people who are just as horny as I am.
I await your responses.
Click and off it went.
8 hours later I received five responses.
Task for this evening (alongside the cinema with Belle-de-Bengal) - How exactly does one choose a Sauna Buddy?
It went something along the lines of this...
I'm looking for a few guys with whom I can visit a Sauna with this coming weekend.
Fit men who are between the ages of 19-33 and who have an open mindedness regarding their sexuality.
Email me as soon as you can, if you're interested so that we can arrange a date and time.
I'm a fit, 23 year old British born Indian, very horny and always looking to meet new people who are just as horny as I am.
I await your responses.
Click and off it went.
8 hours later I received five responses.
Task for this evening (alongside the cinema with Belle-de-Bengal) - How exactly does one choose a Sauna Buddy?
Playing 'Hard to Get' and other relationship theories.
Theory #1 - Playing hard to get
The last time I spoke with Cassandra, she described what she calls a 'blanket policy' - whereby, upon giving her number to somebody, she will never instigate the first form of communication.
'I just never do it. If they want me they can text or call me. It's playing hard to get and works a lot of the time'.
Katerina nodded away in total agreement at this policy. She too has never 'called a guy first'.
Now, the more I speak to people about dating and such like, the more I come to realise that this 'playing hard to get' policy is slowly becoming an unwritten law.
If somebody wants you they can bloody well make the first move.
Fair enough; unless you happen to be two people who both adopt the blanket policy, in which case either you'd never meet OR one of you would have to, godforbid, cave in.
Alright, so I can understand that everybody wants to be wanted more than they want to want themselves (yep, you may have to re-read that last sentence for purposes of clarity), but really...why must we be so stubborn so as to kill the flower before it's even sprouted?
I'm of the belief that life is too short and that if we like somebody, it's our prerogative to make some sort of move in their direction. If it's not returned you can move on, if they text back - Hoorah, if they put you down for being 'too clingy and keen' - fuckem.
After all, when everything is said and done, who really cares who it was that sent the initial text message or made the initial telephone call?
What worries me is the number of people who may have simply drifted apart from each other just because neither of them 'could be bothered' to make the first move.
What also worries me is that none of the Speed Dating 'yess' have returned my messages. I always imagined men who would go to these sorts of events might be a little more ...organised. A little more, willing to send a message back to the guy who you said yes to. You gets me? - but this is another blog entry in it's own right.
I still find myself believing that there is nothing wrong in making the first move. If we don't go out there and take what we want (or at least try to), what will we be left with? Nothing but our stubbornness.
Having said this, there are certainly far more heterosexual females who adopt this policy than men. Back to the middle ages on this one it would be appear.
I'm sure some gay men are just the same however. Waiting for the world and his wife to declare unconditional love before they type the first message.
Big Sigh.
Theory #2 - Sex is plaster
So, Katerina and The Boy, after the latest attempted break up, rekindled the romance with sex, yet again.
I know it's not uncommon, this sort of behaviour, but surely it really slows down process.
Lots of people indulge in Ex-Sex (Juno being a prime example - the last time we spoke he said that he'd had sex with his Ex and that now he'd had his 'fix' he wouldn't need him until mid to late December), and this probably because it cuts all the initial fumbling and awkwardness of a new found lover.
But really, does it have to be this way?
So the sex, once the relationship is over, is always friggin good. But you broke up with him/her FOR A REASON.
Using sex to plaster over the cracks of your relationship doesn't mean that those cracks will disappear. All it means is that nobody will be able to see them for a while. Until, through the passage of time they begin to reappear.
So, Katerina and The Boy, break up, have sex and it's all back on, until a few days later they break up again, have sex and fall back into the mould.
I wonder - how long before the sex isn't enough? How many guts will it take to break it off one and for all. To never look back?
I suppose the answer is simply too many to deal with.
The last time I spoke with Cassandra, she described what she calls a 'blanket policy' - whereby, upon giving her number to somebody, she will never instigate the first form of communication.
'I just never do it. If they want me they can text or call me. It's playing hard to get and works a lot of the time'.
Katerina nodded away in total agreement at this policy. She too has never 'called a guy first'.
Now, the more I speak to people about dating and such like, the more I come to realise that this 'playing hard to get' policy is slowly becoming an unwritten law.
If somebody wants you they can bloody well make the first move.
Fair enough; unless you happen to be two people who both adopt the blanket policy, in which case either you'd never meet OR one of you would have to, godforbid, cave in.
Alright, so I can understand that everybody wants to be wanted more than they want to want themselves (yep, you may have to re-read that last sentence for purposes of clarity), but really...why must we be so stubborn so as to kill the flower before it's even sprouted?
I'm of the belief that life is too short and that if we like somebody, it's our prerogative to make some sort of move in their direction. If it's not returned you can move on, if they text back - Hoorah, if they put you down for being 'too clingy and keen' - fuckem.
After all, when everything is said and done, who really cares who it was that sent the initial text message or made the initial telephone call?
What worries me is the number of people who may have simply drifted apart from each other just because neither of them 'could be bothered' to make the first move.
What also worries me is that none of the Speed Dating 'yess' have returned my messages. I always imagined men who would go to these sorts of events might be a little more ...organised. A little more, willing to send a message back to the guy who you said yes to. You gets me? - but this is another blog entry in it's own right.
I still find myself believing that there is nothing wrong in making the first move. If we don't go out there and take what we want (or at least try to), what will we be left with? Nothing but our stubbornness.
Having said this, there are certainly far more heterosexual females who adopt this policy than men. Back to the middle ages on this one it would be appear.
I'm sure some gay men are just the same however. Waiting for the world and his wife to declare unconditional love before they type the first message.
Big Sigh.
Theory #2 - Sex is plaster
So, Katerina and The Boy, after the latest attempted break up, rekindled the romance with sex, yet again.
I know it's not uncommon, this sort of behaviour, but surely it really slows down process.
Lots of people indulge in Ex-Sex (Juno being a prime example - the last time we spoke he said that he'd had sex with his Ex and that now he'd had his 'fix' he wouldn't need him until mid to late December), and this probably because it cuts all the initial fumbling and awkwardness of a new found lover.
But really, does it have to be this way?
So the sex, once the relationship is over, is always friggin good. But you broke up with him/her FOR A REASON.
Using sex to plaster over the cracks of your relationship doesn't mean that those cracks will disappear. All it means is that nobody will be able to see them for a while. Until, through the passage of time they begin to reappear.
So, Katerina and The Boy, break up, have sex and it's all back on, until a few days later they break up again, have sex and fall back into the mould.
I wonder - how long before the sex isn't enough? How many guts will it take to break it off one and for all. To never look back?
I suppose the answer is simply too many to deal with.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Miniature tiffs # 2
So, Katerina and the BoyF (who is suffering from a cold) had a tiff last night, this time, however, it concerned Katerina's heartless bitch behaviour which, when translated into the language spoke by the Boyf, goes something like this...
'I can't believe you haven't called me all day even though I'm ill'.
'But I was busy (with her sister and friend who was down in London at the same time), I bought you medicine and let you take my car home so that you could rest and take it easy. And I did speak to you during the day'
'I called you at x 'o'clock and that was that. The next time we spoke is now and it's been 11 hours. The one person who I thought would call me was you and you didn't'
'Ok so you were ill and I'm sure you had nothing better to do than to clock the calls I made and report back to me on the intervening time period, but really, I have been busy and out and really don't know how my calling you would have made you better!'
'You're so harsh sometimes' said the BoyF
At this point, I can imagine Katerina muttering expletives under her breath at the useless plonk of a BoyF.
She even recalls asking her sister what the correct etiquette was for dealing with a poorly BoyF.
'If it were me, I'd have said, rest, take it easy, get better and then we can talk', I said, over lunch earlier today.
Then again, i suppose the BoyF would have thought this was the verbal equivalent to the holocaust.
This relationship seems like an awful lot of hard and often unsatisfying work to me. Another attempted break up which now brings the total to five.
'I can't believe you haven't called me all day even though I'm ill'.
'But I was busy (with her sister and friend who was down in London at the same time), I bought you medicine and let you take my car home so that you could rest and take it easy. And I did speak to you during the day'
'I called you at x 'o'clock and that was that. The next time we spoke is now and it's been 11 hours. The one person who I thought would call me was you and you didn't'
'Ok so you were ill and I'm sure you had nothing better to do than to clock the calls I made and report back to me on the intervening time period, but really, I have been busy and out and really don't know how my calling you would have made you better!'
'You're so harsh sometimes' said the BoyF
At this point, I can imagine Katerina muttering expletives under her breath at the useless plonk of a BoyF.
She even recalls asking her sister what the correct etiquette was for dealing with a poorly BoyF.
'If it were me, I'd have said, rest, take it easy, get better and then we can talk', I said, over lunch earlier today.
Then again, i suppose the BoyF would have thought this was the verbal equivalent to the holocaust.
This relationship seems like an awful lot of hard and often unsatisfying work to me. Another attempted break up which now brings the total to five.
A Korean
Who would have expected Korean food to include noodles or rice?
Answer - me
What was I? Harbouring under delusions.
Last Friday as soon as I left work I was in Piccadilly Circus with Katerina, her sister and a few of her friends (two of whom are Korean). Being the sort of person who is open to new experiences all the time, I thought an experience of Korean food might satisfy the experimental appetite.
My aim was fulfiled and very quickly too. It was frigging delicious. And not a noodle in sight. Instead,we had a number of starters including miso soup, pickled chili cucumbers, pickled cabbage, chili radishes and steamed leaves. It was nice to actually eat something that contained real hot spice. Katerina was equally impressed.
And then for the mains, there was a barbecue grill bang in the centre of our table which they filled with marinated bits of chicken, beef and pork belly.
The Korean way stipulates that meat be wrapped in lettuce leaves together with a cabbage, spring onion and chili salad and fermented soy bean paste. And let me not forget the variety of dipping sauces we were provided with for each course.
I was stuffed beyond belief and thought that the food was brilliant. I couldn't help but wonder what other things might taste better wrapped in a lettuce leaf, but that's an entirely separate blog entry in itself.
Answer - me
What was I? Harbouring under delusions.
Last Friday as soon as I left work I was in Piccadilly Circus with Katerina, her sister and a few of her friends (two of whom are Korean). Being the sort of person who is open to new experiences all the time, I thought an experience of Korean food might satisfy the experimental appetite.
My aim was fulfiled and very quickly too. It was frigging delicious. And not a noodle in sight. Instead,we had a number of starters including miso soup, pickled chili cucumbers, pickled cabbage, chili radishes and steamed leaves. It was nice to actually eat something that contained real hot spice. Katerina was equally impressed.
And then for the mains, there was a barbecue grill bang in the centre of our table which they filled with marinated bits of chicken, beef and pork belly.
The Korean way stipulates that meat be wrapped in lettuce leaves together with a cabbage, spring onion and chili salad and fermented soy bean paste. And let me not forget the variety of dipping sauces we were provided with for each course.
I was stuffed beyond belief and thought that the food was brilliant. I couldn't help but wonder what other things might taste better wrapped in a lettuce leaf, but that's an entirely separate blog entry in itself.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Weekend
Alright Alright, deadlines and work have been keeping me busy. In fact, I write this from my desk.
Lovely weekend, although I didn't officially manage to leave the office until 8pm last Friday.
Anyhow, Saturday morning Katerina and I went to the Westwood studios in Battersea, in the hope of finding some cheap discounted Vivienne Westwood designed clothing.
What actually happened was this:
We got there on time and found that there was a queue outside. Fine, let's park and then wait.
It was cold.
When then got in the queue and waited like that for an hour as one person came out and they let another in in his/her place.
It was freezing.
We tried our hardest to avoid the freezing cold by playing a series of intellectual word games including:
- trying to name every single chocolate bar we could until one of us repeated something and were thrown out of the competition;
- saying a work each and trying to form a sentence (far more hilarious and silly than it sounds); and
- throwing words at people and seeing what word immediately comes to their mind.
By the end of this is appeared that we weren't really as far progressed down the line as we'd imagined. My feet were feeling numb. I repeat, I was so cold my feet were numb!
And when we finally managed to gain entry, we were greeted by a herd of frantic women who'd somehow climbed over onto the jewelery like little kittens and who left no room to move nor breathe for my friends and I. And not a single item of men's clothing. Not one.
Needless to say, I won't be rushing there again in a hurry. And if i do, I'll be wearing thick socks, four layers and a pair of ear muffs which I'll clearly have to invest in.
Katerina was right; queueing up for warehouse sale, any warehouse sale, in arctic temperatures is no easy feat and clearly a marker of some abnormality we possess.
So, that was that.
And then I went up north to spend the rest of my weekend with the family.
It was my brother's birthday and we had the usual feast of kings, family and friends. And then there were tequila shots, Gin and a giant cookie. It's always great fun when people my own age turn up and we can have a good laugh at our dads who, as the evening progressed, became louder and louder to the point of indi mosh pit, if you catch my drift.
'You email was hilarious' said a cousin of mine.
I'd sent her an email detailing my reasons for choosing wet wipes as this year's must have accessory. Convenient and clean and handy and always so time economic. AND, you always come up smelling of Aloe Vera. If you pull at a club, I told her, it's far easier to go to the toilets at the club and have a quick wipe rather than fanny about (so to speak) in his/her toilet back home.
Anyhow, it amused her.
Other than that we don't really discuss sex; my cousins and I. It's not something that interests me about them. Where they put what with whom, it all seems so little of my business.
Mind you, we don't shy away from using rude words around each other. If only for purposes of humour or repulsion and shock.
Lovely weekend, although I didn't officially manage to leave the office until 8pm last Friday.
Anyhow, Saturday morning Katerina and I went to the Westwood studios in Battersea, in the hope of finding some cheap discounted Vivienne Westwood designed clothing.
What actually happened was this:
We got there on time and found that there was a queue outside. Fine, let's park and then wait.
It was cold.
When then got in the queue and waited like that for an hour as one person came out and they let another in in his/her place.
It was freezing.
We tried our hardest to avoid the freezing cold by playing a series of intellectual word games including:
- trying to name every single chocolate bar we could until one of us repeated something and were thrown out of the competition;
- saying a work each and trying to form a sentence (far more hilarious and silly than it sounds); and
- throwing words at people and seeing what word immediately comes to their mind.
By the end of this is appeared that we weren't really as far progressed down the line as we'd imagined. My feet were feeling numb. I repeat, I was so cold my feet were numb!
And when we finally managed to gain entry, we were greeted by a herd of frantic women who'd somehow climbed over onto the jewelery like little kittens and who left no room to move nor breathe for my friends and I. And not a single item of men's clothing. Not one.
Needless to say, I won't be rushing there again in a hurry. And if i do, I'll be wearing thick socks, four layers and a pair of ear muffs which I'll clearly have to invest in.
Katerina was right; queueing up for warehouse sale, any warehouse sale, in arctic temperatures is no easy feat and clearly a marker of some abnormality we possess.
So, that was that.
And then I went up north to spend the rest of my weekend with the family.
It was my brother's birthday and we had the usual feast of kings, family and friends. And then there were tequila shots, Gin and a giant cookie. It's always great fun when people my own age turn up and we can have a good laugh at our dads who, as the evening progressed, became louder and louder to the point of indi mosh pit, if you catch my drift.
'You email was hilarious' said a cousin of mine.
I'd sent her an email detailing my reasons for choosing wet wipes as this year's must have accessory. Convenient and clean and handy and always so time economic. AND, you always come up smelling of Aloe Vera. If you pull at a club, I told her, it's far easier to go to the toilets at the club and have a quick wipe rather than fanny about (so to speak) in his/her toilet back home.
Anyhow, it amused her.
Other than that we don't really discuss sex; my cousins and I. It's not something that interests me about them. Where they put what with whom, it all seems so little of my business.
Mind you, we don't shy away from using rude words around each other. If only for purposes of humour or repulsion and shock.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Men and from Mars and Women...
Gumtree is bloody marvellous, I don't care what anybody says.
On today's trawl through the wilderness I came across two postings, one by a female and the other by a male. In these postings I believe you'll discover a certain truth about women and men and perhaps even an indication as to why certain couples break up. Oh yes, and they're both hilarious.
Posting 1 (Female)
'Nightmare Girlfriend'
Is honesty really the best policy?
Every time I start to date a guy, it all starts out fantastically.
I’m at my witty and sparkling best and the guy is (undoubtedly) thinking, ‘wow, what a cool girl I have managed to bag myself’.
However, I can’t keep up the front for more than a few weeks and once my real self re-surfaces then the bloke runs for the hills.
So, I’ve decided to lay myself bare (metaphorically speaking) and let you know what the real me is like as a girlfriend.
1. I will tell you I love you on the third date. Even if I don’t mean it, I will still find myself saying it. I don’t know why. I can’t help myself. Perhaps I secretly like to see the startled ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look on your face, and the trickle of perspiration which slides down your forehead.
2. I will analyse everything that you say. If you mention something about your very first girlfriend having been a blonde, I will interpret that as meaning that you secretly fancy all blonde females. I will dye my hair a peroxide blonde shade and anything you say to me will be cast up by me for the rest of your life.
3. I will be jealous and over-possessive. But you will only have yourself to blame for this, as you were the one who told me about your very first blonde girlfriend. You probably still think about her. You probably wish you were still with her. You’re still in love with her, aren’t you? I don’t care if you were 13 at the time, you’ve never gotten over her, have you? HAVE YOU?? I will look through your mobile phone and gain access to your email account. I will glower at any female you dare to talk to - yes, that does include your boss and the shop assistant - and yes, I will give you the silent treatment for days. I will hire a private detective to follow you if you dare to arrive home from work more than 30 minutes late. And no, there being bad traffic caused by an accident is not a sufficient excuse.
4. I will nag. Constantly. Pick that up. No, don’t put it there. Not there! There! No, there! Where were you? Who were you with? Why did it take you 5 minutes to reply to my text? Why didn’t you answer the phone before the 6th ring? Get a better job. Wear nicer clothes. Get a haircut. You need a shave. No, you’re not going out with the lads tonight.
5. I will be needy. Whereas I functioned perfectly well when I was single, as soon as I have a boyfriend I will be unable to do anything for myself. Yes, you will get a hysterical phone call whilst you’re at work and have to rush round to see me…What do you mean a spider in the bath is not a good enough reason? You will be expected to sympathise when I break a nail. You will have to come round to open the jar of peanut butter as, of course, I am a mere feeble female.
6. You will be expected to meet my family and my friends very early on in the relationship…by very early, I mean on the 4th date (just after I have told you I love you, awww). You will be expected to act like the perfect man and shower me with affection so that all of my friends are jealous and my mother is planning her wedding outfit.
7. I will talk about having your babies. Again, this will be on the 4th date. You will look scared. Nothing like planning for the future, eh?
8. You will never be allowed to fart or burp again. At least, not whilst you are within 40 feet of me.
9. I will start moving myself into your flat. One day, my toothbrush will be there, the next day I will bring over a change of clothes. The next week, you’ll be bemused to discover my collection of stuffed toys littering up a corner of your bedroom. The following week, you’ll come home from work only to find that I have screwed a new nameplate onto your front door - with both of our names on it.
10. As soon as I am safely ensconced in your flat, I will announce that that thing you used to like me to do for you, well, I’m not doing that anymore. And I’m not doing that other thing either. And you can definitely forget about that as well! In fact, I have a headache - get me 2 paracetamols.
11. I will expect you to buy me gifts, for no reason at all. But when you do buy me gifts, I will show no gratitude at all, and will take them back to the shop and get the cash instead. So, stop wasting your time and just give me the money.
12. I will ask you, “What are you thinking?” constantly. At least 5 times a day.
13. I will start an argument for no reason at all. It wasn’t the way that you said “Would you like to go out for dinner tonight, darling?” It was the look on your face when you said it. You don’t love me anymore, do you? You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?
So…that’s the real me.
Is anybody man enough to cope with me?
Posting 2 (male)
Man-Haters
Accept it. Some women just don't like men, often with good cause. The Man-Hater loves to find a nice guy like you who'll stand there while she takes out her hostility for what other men have done to her.
You'll wind up paying for the misdeeds of every man in her life, from the boy who tormented her in kindergarten to her younger brother, her father, and especially her first husband.
Man-Haters look like ordinary women when you meet them, but there are signs of incipient man-hating. Man-Haters consistently put down men and praise women. In the beginning, the Man-Hater pretends that you're different from all those other men who've treated her badly, but soon she begins to see signs that you're really not. By this time, you're in love with her, so you try to convince her by the power of your love that you're one of the good guys.
The trouble with a Man-Hater is that she doesn't recognize a good guy when she gets one. Even the smallest indiscretion, like leaving the toilet seat up or not being able to find something when it's right under your nose, will reveal the permanent unforgivable rotten core she sees lurking inside all men.
The Man-Hater often covers her basic dislike and mistrust of all men with feminist grievances. She's not putting down men, she's defending women.
No matter how much you love a Man-Hater, you won't be able to make up for the wrongs suffered by her and all the other women in the world, which she'll expect you to do. Don't even think about being the good guy who changes her mind about men.
What normal women want is:
Marriage
Children
Girlfriends
Family ties
Laughs
Sympathy
Romance
Shopping
Presents
Attention
Affection
Kindness
Sex
Agreement
...So guys be careful out there!
On today's trawl through the wilderness I came across two postings, one by a female and the other by a male. In these postings I believe you'll discover a certain truth about women and men and perhaps even an indication as to why certain couples break up. Oh yes, and they're both hilarious.
Posting 1 (Female)
'Nightmare Girlfriend'
Is honesty really the best policy?
Every time I start to date a guy, it all starts out fantastically.
I’m at my witty and sparkling best and the guy is (undoubtedly) thinking, ‘wow, what a cool girl I have managed to bag myself’.
However, I can’t keep up the front for more than a few weeks and once my real self re-surfaces then the bloke runs for the hills.
So, I’ve decided to lay myself bare (metaphorically speaking) and let you know what the real me is like as a girlfriend.
1. I will tell you I love you on the third date. Even if I don’t mean it, I will still find myself saying it. I don’t know why. I can’t help myself. Perhaps I secretly like to see the startled ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look on your face, and the trickle of perspiration which slides down your forehead.
2. I will analyse everything that you say. If you mention something about your very first girlfriend having been a blonde, I will interpret that as meaning that you secretly fancy all blonde females. I will dye my hair a peroxide blonde shade and anything you say to me will be cast up by me for the rest of your life.
3. I will be jealous and over-possessive. But you will only have yourself to blame for this, as you were the one who told me about your very first blonde girlfriend. You probably still think about her. You probably wish you were still with her. You’re still in love with her, aren’t you? I don’t care if you were 13 at the time, you’ve never gotten over her, have you? HAVE YOU?? I will look through your mobile phone and gain access to your email account. I will glower at any female you dare to talk to - yes, that does include your boss and the shop assistant - and yes, I will give you the silent treatment for days. I will hire a private detective to follow you if you dare to arrive home from work more than 30 minutes late. And no, there being bad traffic caused by an accident is not a sufficient excuse.
4. I will nag. Constantly. Pick that up. No, don’t put it there. Not there! There! No, there! Where were you? Who were you with? Why did it take you 5 minutes to reply to my text? Why didn’t you answer the phone before the 6th ring? Get a better job. Wear nicer clothes. Get a haircut. You need a shave. No, you’re not going out with the lads tonight.
5. I will be needy. Whereas I functioned perfectly well when I was single, as soon as I have a boyfriend I will be unable to do anything for myself. Yes, you will get a hysterical phone call whilst you’re at work and have to rush round to see me…What do you mean a spider in the bath is not a good enough reason? You will be expected to sympathise when I break a nail. You will have to come round to open the jar of peanut butter as, of course, I am a mere feeble female.
6. You will be expected to meet my family and my friends very early on in the relationship…by very early, I mean on the 4th date (just after I have told you I love you, awww). You will be expected to act like the perfect man and shower me with affection so that all of my friends are jealous and my mother is planning her wedding outfit.
7. I will talk about having your babies. Again, this will be on the 4th date. You will look scared. Nothing like planning for the future, eh?
8. You will never be allowed to fart or burp again. At least, not whilst you are within 40 feet of me.
9. I will start moving myself into your flat. One day, my toothbrush will be there, the next day I will bring over a change of clothes. The next week, you’ll be bemused to discover my collection of stuffed toys littering up a corner of your bedroom. The following week, you’ll come home from work only to find that I have screwed a new nameplate onto your front door - with both of our names on it.
10. As soon as I am safely ensconced in your flat, I will announce that that thing you used to like me to do for you, well, I’m not doing that anymore. And I’m not doing that other thing either. And you can definitely forget about that as well! In fact, I have a headache - get me 2 paracetamols.
11. I will expect you to buy me gifts, for no reason at all. But when you do buy me gifts, I will show no gratitude at all, and will take them back to the shop and get the cash instead. So, stop wasting your time and just give me the money.
12. I will ask you, “What are you thinking?” constantly. At least 5 times a day.
13. I will start an argument for no reason at all. It wasn’t the way that you said “Would you like to go out for dinner tonight, darling?” It was the look on your face when you said it. You don’t love me anymore, do you? You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?
So…that’s the real me.
Is anybody man enough to cope with me?
Posting 2 (male)
Man-Haters
Accept it. Some women just don't like men, often with good cause. The Man-Hater loves to find a nice guy like you who'll stand there while she takes out her hostility for what other men have done to her.
You'll wind up paying for the misdeeds of every man in her life, from the boy who tormented her in kindergarten to her younger brother, her father, and especially her first husband.
Man-Haters look like ordinary women when you meet them, but there are signs of incipient man-hating. Man-Haters consistently put down men and praise women. In the beginning, the Man-Hater pretends that you're different from all those other men who've treated her badly, but soon she begins to see signs that you're really not. By this time, you're in love with her, so you try to convince her by the power of your love that you're one of the good guys.
The trouble with a Man-Hater is that she doesn't recognize a good guy when she gets one. Even the smallest indiscretion, like leaving the toilet seat up or not being able to find something when it's right under your nose, will reveal the permanent unforgivable rotten core she sees lurking inside all men.
The Man-Hater often covers her basic dislike and mistrust of all men with feminist grievances. She's not putting down men, she's defending women.
No matter how much you love a Man-Hater, you won't be able to make up for the wrongs suffered by her and all the other women in the world, which she'll expect you to do. Don't even think about being the good guy who changes her mind about men.
What normal women want is:
Marriage
Children
Girlfriends
Family ties
Laughs
Sympathy
Romance
Shopping
Presents
Attention
Affection
Kindness
Sex
Agreement
...So guys be careful out there!
Christmas
Yet again, we're at the ready for a ho ho whorestactical time!
It's just the British weather that always adds a tinge of misery to an otherwise joyous mood.
That, and having to stay late in the Office.
So, we're fast approaching the time of year where there will be two minutes of light for every hour of darkness. Where the horrid rain will squash the autumn leaves beneath our shoes in such a way so as to render us unable to differentiate between leaves and dog poo.
That said, I have my list of wanted presents at the ready. A cock-ring for starters, a box set of Penguin's Great Loves, A movie box set of Satyajit Ray films and some unspecified clothes.
Although, one wonders whether Santa will be in any mood to give me anything considering the dark and dingy tone of this blog entry.
I am trying to remain optimistic though!
It's just the British weather that always adds a tinge of misery to an otherwise joyous mood.
That, and having to stay late in the Office.
So, we're fast approaching the time of year where there will be two minutes of light for every hour of darkness. Where the horrid rain will squash the autumn leaves beneath our shoes in such a way so as to render us unable to differentiate between leaves and dog poo.
That said, I have my list of wanted presents at the ready. A cock-ring for starters, a box set of Penguin's Great Loves, A movie box set of Satyajit Ray films and some unspecified clothes.
Although, one wonders whether Santa will be in any mood to give me anything considering the dark and dingy tone of this blog entry.
I am trying to remain optimistic though!
Back for more (The Dame)
The Dame and I spoke the other night.
'I did something you'll think is silly' she said quite casually over the phone.
She needn't have said any more, for I knew. She had messaged one of those mind-fuck ladies she'd fallen for previously, I knew it!
Why do people do it. Why don't people simply leave things alone!? Why do we always let the heart decide when really it is the brain that's going to save us from suffering heartache? Pah.
'Was it The Doctor then?'
'Yes, however, I don't regret doing it'.
'And why is that?'
'Well I text her saying that I passed her house just the other day and thought of her. I asked if she was OK'.
'and?'
'she replied saying that she was fine, working hard as usual, said she hoped I was okay and that my job was going well (which it is), blah blah. I sent one back telling her about my job situation, blah blah'. And that was the last I heard from her'.
Alright, so they have somewhat cleared the murky river that separates them. Good. But I still don't think The Dame should have given in that way. We must all remember that it was she who was done over, not The Doctor. The Doctor got the pudding and the custard.
On a positive note, The Dame does seem a lot happier these days. And her mother isn't pushing her marriage to me with quite as much force as she once did. Then again, she has said to The Dame, 'you do realise, once he's gone or found somebody else, that's when you'll realise just how good you are together'. Grin.
'I did something you'll think is silly' she said quite casually over the phone.
She needn't have said any more, for I knew. She had messaged one of those mind-fuck ladies she'd fallen for previously, I knew it!
Why do people do it. Why don't people simply leave things alone!? Why do we always let the heart decide when really it is the brain that's going to save us from suffering heartache? Pah.
'Was it The Doctor then?'
'Yes, however, I don't regret doing it'.
'And why is that?'
'Well I text her saying that I passed her house just the other day and thought of her. I asked if she was OK'.
'and?'
'she replied saying that she was fine, working hard as usual, said she hoped I was okay and that my job was going well (which it is), blah blah. I sent one back telling her about my job situation, blah blah'. And that was the last I heard from her'.
Alright, so they have somewhat cleared the murky river that separates them. Good. But I still don't think The Dame should have given in that way. We must all remember that it was she who was done over, not The Doctor. The Doctor got the pudding and the custard.
On a positive note, The Dame does seem a lot happier these days. And her mother isn't pushing her marriage to me with quite as much force as she once did. Then again, she has said to The Dame, 'you do realise, once he's gone or found somebody else, that's when you'll realise just how good you are together'. Grin.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
How to be a Merry Whore (part 1)
Secrecy is key: Hide everything. Set up a private email account (with a different password) and ensure that your name, address and any other relevant information is perfectly hidden. This is perhaps most important if you want to control who sees what you're doing and in order to ensure the BoyF doesn't catch any whiff of anything whoretastial.
Push the boundaries: The whole purpose behind creating a hidden identity is to let your whoretastical self run lose, up up over the hill and into bed. Say what you want, be forthcoming and direct. Remember, you are not here to find the Lover your mother promised you would when you were younger, you are here to test the waters and see if there exists a man who will piss into your mouth whilst his friend does you up the arse. Sexuality is very much dependant on confidence, so display it. If you are not, the person reading your email will be able to sniff it. The same way one might sniff such low self esteem in a club, for example.
Don't be afraid: Alright, so you have a list of potential email address, men who tell you that they'd love to fuck you from behind and run their hand over your clit as they shove their tongue deep down into your ear. A rule of the Internet dating community is to offer photos in return for photos. Meeting people who you've never seen is a bad idea unless you're willing to take the risk that they might look like Frank Butcher or, even worse, Michelle MacManus.
Take (decent) photos: You are now caught in the midst of Internet punting and this should be supported by a portfolio (perhaps a strong word) or photos in which you look hot, stunning, eager, teasing, young and exciting. Fear not, this is easily done:
1) Take a friend whom you trust and who's hands don't wobble when nervous,
2) make yourself look pretty but not overly done so as not to cast doubt over any natural beauty you might have,
3) take one underwear shot and the others full body, perhaps even a black and white, 4) take more photos than you know what to do with - remember, the digital camera is digital for a reason,
5) Send the photos once you are entirely happy with them and ask for some in return. Until you receive some, don't send out any more. 2 photos to begin with let's say.
Meet them: If you decide to meet them, arrange a drink first somewhere not too far from either your place or his. Before you meet be very clear that this is a drink but that, dependent on that, you may invite him back to piss in your ear.
Hygiene: Wipe, wash, trim and powder. Anything to ensure you are the sexual god/goddess you have promised to be all along. Confidence is paramount so don't lose yourself at the important stage.
Fulfil your promises: Okay, so you're in bed and he's propped up against your headboard, one ball dangling in your mouth and the other bashing against your head as he feeds you his phallus. And then he pisses, a slow steady stream that run over your entire body. This is what you've wanted. Don't giggle and make him nervous, or consider yourself a whore now. You were a whore a long time ago.
Never commit: Don't say you'll call him if you won't. Be honest. That's the good thing about honest sex with stranger; you can be honest throughout and more often than not, they will understand where they stand with you. If on the other hand you do want to see him again, say you'll be in touch and send him a text a couple of days later. Chances are, if the experience is as horny as you'd imagined it was, you'll spend days mulling over the same minute details until you've hit that seventh orgasm. At this point, consider yourself successful.
Keep doing it: Now that you've done it once, there are no longer any boundaries. People have the most unusual, quirky and interesting fantasies out there. Open your mind and explore everything you can, for experience brings wisdom and wisdom brings pleasure.
P.S - If s/he insists on dinner as opposed to a drink before hand, do it.
Push the boundaries: The whole purpose behind creating a hidden identity is to let your whoretastical self run lose, up up over the hill and into bed. Say what you want, be forthcoming and direct. Remember, you are not here to find the Lover your mother promised you would when you were younger, you are here to test the waters and see if there exists a man who will piss into your mouth whilst his friend does you up the arse. Sexuality is very much dependant on confidence, so display it. If you are not, the person reading your email will be able to sniff it. The same way one might sniff such low self esteem in a club, for example.
Don't be afraid: Alright, so you have a list of potential email address, men who tell you that they'd love to fuck you from behind and run their hand over your clit as they shove their tongue deep down into your ear. A rule of the Internet dating community is to offer photos in return for photos. Meeting people who you've never seen is a bad idea unless you're willing to take the risk that they might look like Frank Butcher or, even worse, Michelle MacManus.
Take (decent) photos: You are now caught in the midst of Internet punting and this should be supported by a portfolio (perhaps a strong word) or photos in which you look hot, stunning, eager, teasing, young and exciting. Fear not, this is easily done:
1) Take a friend whom you trust and who's hands don't wobble when nervous,
2) make yourself look pretty but not overly done so as not to cast doubt over any natural beauty you might have,
3) take one underwear shot and the others full body, perhaps even a black and white, 4) take more photos than you know what to do with - remember, the digital camera is digital for a reason,
5) Send the photos once you are entirely happy with them and ask for some in return. Until you receive some, don't send out any more. 2 photos to begin with let's say.
Meet them: If you decide to meet them, arrange a drink first somewhere not too far from either your place or his. Before you meet be very clear that this is a drink but that, dependent on that, you may invite him back to piss in your ear.
Hygiene: Wipe, wash, trim and powder. Anything to ensure you are the sexual god/goddess you have promised to be all along. Confidence is paramount so don't lose yourself at the important stage.
Fulfil your promises: Okay, so you're in bed and he's propped up against your headboard, one ball dangling in your mouth and the other bashing against your head as he feeds you his phallus. And then he pisses, a slow steady stream that run over your entire body. This is what you've wanted. Don't giggle and make him nervous, or consider yourself a whore now. You were a whore a long time ago.
Never commit: Don't say you'll call him if you won't. Be honest. That's the good thing about honest sex with stranger; you can be honest throughout and more often than not, they will understand where they stand with you. If on the other hand you do want to see him again, say you'll be in touch and send him a text a couple of days later. Chances are, if the experience is as horny as you'd imagined it was, you'll spend days mulling over the same minute details until you've hit that seventh orgasm. At this point, consider yourself successful.
Keep doing it: Now that you've done it once, there are no longer any boundaries. People have the most unusual, quirky and interesting fantasies out there. Open your mind and explore everything you can, for experience brings wisdom and wisdom brings pleasure.
P.S - If s/he insists on dinner as opposed to a drink before hand, do it.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Minorities
Cassandra
Age - 25
Looks like - a 70's rock chick/film star (equipped with black fur coat and everything)
Likes - 'men who are bad for me and who my parents would die after meeting, If ever I did something so silly'.
Parents' wishes - That she marry a nice, educated and wealthy Jewish man who would, no doubt, ensure her happiness.
What she says - 'Most Jewish men are fat and ugly and I don't ever want to marry one. My parents aren't even remotely religious but when it comes to Jewish men, it's as good as Family Law. No Boy is better than Non-Jewish Boy.
Me
Age - 23
Looks like - A younger version of Prince (no really), with far better dress sense and some facial hair. Some of my passport sized photographs might suggest terrorist, but these have all be sourced and burned.
Likes - Strong empowered females or white men (although other hot guys are equally welcome) with some hair and a reasonably sized phallus who are not (I repeat not) averse to the idea of an orgy.
Parent's wishes - That I marry a nice Indian girl who speaks 'our language', who can cook an authentic Indian banquet, who isn't bitchy and who is preferably a Doctor or a Chartered Accountant.
What I say - 'I wouldn't really mind marrying a cool and quirky Indian lesbian to shut the folks up and to conceal my cock-lust. Anything to make my life easier. But then, perhaps there is a woman who holds the key to my erection. It's not so much that I'm averse to Indian people, in fact, I'm deeply Indian myself in terms of my interests and inspirations. It's just that Indian cock simply doesn't do much for me. Doctors are all very well, but I think my lack of interest in things science related outweighs the need to have a live in GP just in case any hernias decide to play up.
'It's hard being in an ethnic minority' she said. I nodded in complete and utter agreement.
'The thing we should do is to live our lives regardless in a way that will prevent our families knowing anything about them'.
'And neither of us is ready or eager to marry, so there's little use in rocking the boat this early on'.
But there will come a time when my excuses for not marrying an Indian doctor will run dry. A time when some sort of truth will have to emerge.
The trouble is, when the shock of my life-on-the-side froths up to the top, it'll be an extended shock that people suffer. For I have always been the reliable one. Not even my current job will be enough to redeem me then, as it has in the past.
Age - 25
Looks like - a 70's rock chick/film star (equipped with black fur coat and everything)
Likes - 'men who are bad for me and who my parents would die after meeting, If ever I did something so silly'.
Parents' wishes - That she marry a nice, educated and wealthy Jewish man who would, no doubt, ensure her happiness.
What she says - 'Most Jewish men are fat and ugly and I don't ever want to marry one. My parents aren't even remotely religious but when it comes to Jewish men, it's as good as Family Law. No Boy is better than Non-Jewish Boy.
Me
Age - 23
Looks like - A younger version of Prince (no really), with far better dress sense and some facial hair. Some of my passport sized photographs might suggest terrorist, but these have all be sourced and burned.
Likes - Strong empowered females or white men (although other hot guys are equally welcome) with some hair and a reasonably sized phallus who are not (I repeat not) averse to the idea of an orgy.
Parent's wishes - That I marry a nice Indian girl who speaks 'our language', who can cook an authentic Indian banquet, who isn't bitchy and who is preferably a Doctor or a Chartered Accountant.
What I say - 'I wouldn't really mind marrying a cool and quirky Indian lesbian to shut the folks up and to conceal my cock-lust. Anything to make my life easier. But then, perhaps there is a woman who holds the key to my erection. It's not so much that I'm averse to Indian people, in fact, I'm deeply Indian myself in terms of my interests and inspirations. It's just that Indian cock simply doesn't do much for me. Doctors are all very well, but I think my lack of interest in things science related outweighs the need to have a live in GP just in case any hernias decide to play up.
'It's hard being in an ethnic minority' she said. I nodded in complete and utter agreement.
'The thing we should do is to live our lives regardless in a way that will prevent our families knowing anything about them'.
'And neither of us is ready or eager to marry, so there's little use in rocking the boat this early on'.
But there will come a time when my excuses for not marrying an Indian doctor will run dry. A time when some sort of truth will have to emerge.
The trouble is, when the shock of my life-on-the-side froths up to the top, it'll be an extended shock that people suffer. For I have always been the reliable one. Not even my current job will be enough to redeem me then, as it has in the past.
Male
If you have been reading this blog with any level of depth, you should realise that I'm a man.
I'm a 23 year old man who lives in London, who has a job and a life and who, for the most part, writes about his life.
The reason I say this, is because I have received a surprising number of emails from people who have read the blog and who thought that I was female.
No. I'm a man with a cock-fetish, not a woman.
The facts that I'm a man, that I have a cock-fetish and that I live in London are probably linked in some way. That London is full of people who don't know me, that it therefore becomes far easier to explore the gay scene and that I enjoy writing all accumulate here.
This is what forces me to live an interesting life and this is what encourages me to write about it.
Having said this, this blog is not aimed at procuring men for random sex. This blog is for the exchange of sexual ideas and for the formation of an unapologetic and extremely free sexual community.
Welcome.
I'm a 23 year old man who lives in London, who has a job and a life and who, for the most part, writes about his life.
The reason I say this, is because I have received a surprising number of emails from people who have read the blog and who thought that I was female.
No. I'm a man with a cock-fetish, not a woman.
The facts that I'm a man, that I have a cock-fetish and that I live in London are probably linked in some way. That London is full of people who don't know me, that it therefore becomes far easier to explore the gay scene and that I enjoy writing all accumulate here.
This is what forces me to live an interesting life and this is what encourages me to write about it.
Having said this, this blog is not aimed at procuring men for random sex. This blog is for the exchange of sexual ideas and for the formation of an unapologetic and extremely free sexual community.
Welcome.
Shopping
I'm always shocked by the amount of porn available in the sex shops. Buckets and buckets of it. For every fetish, for every desire, for everybody.
So, Katerina and I went sex shopping.
From fake vagina's made of soft rubber to huge vibrating, dancing and singing vibrators, we saw it all. Condoms of every flavour and variety (note: business plan of the future: produce flavours including Elderberry and Apple and Mint and Watermelon), lubricants of every scent, taste and different degrees of gloopiness. There were also handcuffs of every sort, bondage gear which confused even me, cock rings and cock outfits for every occasion. All I could see that was missing was a cage. Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if they had one somewhere in flatpack form.
Katerina bought a cock ring for the BoyF and also a vibrator for herself. I lie, sex toys were for both of them.
In this respect, Katerina's sex life seems to have rocketed. Ever since the last 'break up' talk, the sex has improved and the BoyF is far more willing to do whatever he likes to her, regardless of how many vases and lamps fall onto the floor in the process.
On the discovery that Katerina had invested money on sex toys the BoyF showed apprehension. Firstly, as he'd never done anything 'like this' before. And secondly, out of worry that I might have been with Katerina when she bought these instruments. God knows I'd imagined him standing there naked with a vibrating willy if ever I knew anything. Katerina told him what he wanted to hear; that she had been all alone in the shop when she bought these things. That nobody would ever suspect anything.
Only time will tell what fruits her sex toys will bare. Whether the cock ring which doubles up as a clit vibrator will send them to orgasm city.
The BoyF insists that it won't make any difference to him.
In that case, we'll be wanting our money back.
So, Katerina and I went sex shopping.
From fake vagina's made of soft rubber to huge vibrating, dancing and singing vibrators, we saw it all. Condoms of every flavour and variety (note: business plan of the future: produce flavours including Elderberry and Apple and Mint and Watermelon), lubricants of every scent, taste and different degrees of gloopiness. There were also handcuffs of every sort, bondage gear which confused even me, cock rings and cock outfits for every occasion. All I could see that was missing was a cage. Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if they had one somewhere in flatpack form.
Katerina bought a cock ring for the BoyF and also a vibrator for herself. I lie, sex toys were for both of them.
In this respect, Katerina's sex life seems to have rocketed. Ever since the last 'break up' talk, the sex has improved and the BoyF is far more willing to do whatever he likes to her, regardless of how many vases and lamps fall onto the floor in the process.
On the discovery that Katerina had invested money on sex toys the BoyF showed apprehension. Firstly, as he'd never done anything 'like this' before. And secondly, out of worry that I might have been with Katerina when she bought these instruments. God knows I'd imagined him standing there naked with a vibrating willy if ever I knew anything. Katerina told him what he wanted to hear; that she had been all alone in the shop when she bought these things. That nobody would ever suspect anything.
Only time will tell what fruits her sex toys will bare. Whether the cock ring which doubles up as a clit vibrator will send them to orgasm city.
The BoyF insists that it won't make any difference to him.
In that case, we'll be wanting our money back.
The Weekend
As the result of having a very poor social week last week, I decided that over the weekend I would make up for the week's social inactivity but cramming as much as I could into Saturday.
Thankfully, Katerina was here to assist me in this goal and we spent the day together.
Actually, If I begin with Friday night, Katerina and I went out for drinks with Aliena.
A nice enough, if unfamiliar group of people. A quiet drink.
And, as per usual, men made eyes at Katerina all night long, despite a few of them thinking that we were in fact, a couple. Forgoogdesssakes!
And, yes there was a Scottish hottie among the crowd.
Alright, I'll admit it...Once I've had a drink or two (or even when I haven't), i find is remarkably easy to ask questions of a sexual nature openly and without much shame. And so I asked the Scotsman something that has plagued my mind for a number of months.
'Tell me something' I said, 'Up in Scotland, how do people pronounce the word pussy?'
As his face grew red, I began to laugh, as did Katerina and the others around the table.
'I mean, is it Puss-e or Pooosey? And how might you say 'Can I like your pussy?'
'Well, I don't really use that word' said the boy, 'we say F.A.N.N.Y'
'Or Cunt', ventured Aliena
'Oh no!, not that word!' Sigh.
'Can I lick yer fanney?'
'And Pussy?'
'Pussy'.
'You mean they don't say Poosy?' at which point there must have been a hint of defeat in my voice.
So there we have it folks.
At 4 in the morning, after a night full of discussion and debate on subjects ranging from anal sex to bullying, Aliena, Katerina and I went to bed, alone.
And in the morning, we woke up later than usual before Mr ProPlus came over with his cycle which had broken.
That's correct, Mr ProPlus cycles everywhere. Whether it be a trip to Waitrose or a night out on the lash, Mr ProPlus takes his bicycle along. I, on the other hand, rely heavily on the London Underground to get me around, and thus far, I haven't been disappointed.
So, we all went for a coffee, and I, for a mint choc Frappo and Chocolate whirl cupcake.
'The last few times I've had one night stands I have felt completely dissatisfied' said Mr ProPlus, 'What i would like to do is to court a girl'.
At this point, the cupcake nearly lodged itself in my throat.
At which point, I wondered, after 1963 did anybody 'court' anybody?
Wasn't it all about the clubbing, the grinding and then the riding? Long gone were the days where men would wine and dine ladies, pay for everything and open every door. Or so I'd imagined.
But here, on 17th November 2007 we have a man declare that he wish to 'court' a girl. To put aside his sexual urges for, dare I say it, something more fulfilling.
Needless to say, my whore-like tendencies place me outside the realms of this school of thought, but what interests me is why a man who is 24 would want to settle, marry and have children (something also stated by Mr ProPlus on this occasion).
Is unfulfiling sex really an indicator that it's time to look for something long term and slow moving? Is sex out and love back in again?
Needless to say, this is most certainly an area of debate I'll be keeping my tabs on.
Having said this, as a more general observation, there are an awful lot of people i know, who are my age, who are marrying themselves off and having honeymoons in the Bahamas.
And as for being open minded, this is something I doubt I'll ever be able to get my head around. This need for commitment and regularity that people have. This need to remortgage their house in order to afford a lavish affair where gold leaves drape from the ceiling.
No, I just can't seem to get my head out of the gutter.
***
And then, Katerina and I
a) went to Chinatown and bought an awfully good selection of authentic Chinese ingredients
b) went to catch 'Elizabeth - The Golden Age' (which I thought was magnificent) - Cate Blanchett in a wig and corset, any day of the week.
c) at 2 in the morning, went to a club called Metra in Leicester Square and danced until 4 in the morning at which point we returned home and fell asleep, exhausted. Yes lots of men oogled Katerina and there were also a a fair few Indian snake charmers present who thought that pointed hands in the air and swirling hops might be the way into Katerina's bed. Needless to say it wasn't.
All in all, however, I consider this to be one of the most productive weekends I've had in the past few months. And most enjoyable.
Thankfully, Katerina was here to assist me in this goal and we spent the day together.
Actually, If I begin with Friday night, Katerina and I went out for drinks with Aliena.
A nice enough, if unfamiliar group of people. A quiet drink.
And, as per usual, men made eyes at Katerina all night long, despite a few of them thinking that we were in fact, a couple. Forgoogdesssakes!
And, yes there was a Scottish hottie among the crowd.
Alright, I'll admit it...Once I've had a drink or two (or even when I haven't), i find is remarkably easy to ask questions of a sexual nature openly and without much shame. And so I asked the Scotsman something that has plagued my mind for a number of months.
'Tell me something' I said, 'Up in Scotland, how do people pronounce the word pussy?'
As his face grew red, I began to laugh, as did Katerina and the others around the table.
'I mean, is it Puss-e or Pooosey? And how might you say 'Can I like your pussy?'
'Well, I don't really use that word' said the boy, 'we say F.A.N.N.Y'
'Or Cunt', ventured Aliena
'Oh no!, not that word!' Sigh.
'Can I lick yer fanney?'
'And Pussy?'
'Pussy'.
'You mean they don't say Poosy?' at which point there must have been a hint of defeat in my voice.
So there we have it folks.
At 4 in the morning, after a night full of discussion and debate on subjects ranging from anal sex to bullying, Aliena, Katerina and I went to bed, alone.
And in the morning, we woke up later than usual before Mr ProPlus came over with his cycle which had broken.
That's correct, Mr ProPlus cycles everywhere. Whether it be a trip to Waitrose or a night out on the lash, Mr ProPlus takes his bicycle along. I, on the other hand, rely heavily on the London Underground to get me around, and thus far, I haven't been disappointed.
So, we all went for a coffee, and I, for a mint choc Frappo and Chocolate whirl cupcake.
'The last few times I've had one night stands I have felt completely dissatisfied' said Mr ProPlus, 'What i would like to do is to court a girl'.
At this point, the cupcake nearly lodged itself in my throat.
At which point, I wondered, after 1963 did anybody 'court' anybody?
Wasn't it all about the clubbing, the grinding and then the riding? Long gone were the days where men would wine and dine ladies, pay for everything and open every door. Or so I'd imagined.
But here, on 17th November 2007 we have a man declare that he wish to 'court' a girl. To put aside his sexual urges for, dare I say it, something more fulfilling.
Needless to say, my whore-like tendencies place me outside the realms of this school of thought, but what interests me is why a man who is 24 would want to settle, marry and have children (something also stated by Mr ProPlus on this occasion).
Is unfulfiling sex really an indicator that it's time to look for something long term and slow moving? Is sex out and love back in again?
Needless to say, this is most certainly an area of debate I'll be keeping my tabs on.
Having said this, as a more general observation, there are an awful lot of people i know, who are my age, who are marrying themselves off and having honeymoons in the Bahamas.
And as for being open minded, this is something I doubt I'll ever be able to get my head around. This need for commitment and regularity that people have. This need to remortgage their house in order to afford a lavish affair where gold leaves drape from the ceiling.
No, I just can't seem to get my head out of the gutter.
***
And then, Katerina and I
a) went to Chinatown and bought an awfully good selection of authentic Chinese ingredients
b) went to catch 'Elizabeth - The Golden Age' (which I thought was magnificent) - Cate Blanchett in a wig and corset, any day of the week.
c) at 2 in the morning, went to a club called Metra in Leicester Square and danced until 4 in the morning at which point we returned home and fell asleep, exhausted. Yes lots of men oogled Katerina and there were also a a fair few Indian snake charmers present who thought that pointed hands in the air and swirling hops might be the way into Katerina's bed. Needless to say it wasn't.
All in all, however, I consider this to be one of the most productive weekends I've had in the past few months. And most enjoyable.
Friday, November 16, 2007
The Female
Each office must have one.
A lady from New Zealand (although any other part of the global landscape will do) who has the most annoying accent ever and also that...mmm...smarmy attitude.
She works right opposite me and always asks me to do some work for her. If I have 'capacity'. I hate that word 'capacity'.
x, are you busy? Do you have capacity (to do some work which really I should be doing, but which you can do, thereby affording me the opportunity of booking yet more flights abroad and ordering anything and everything off eBay?) Thanks!
And then, when the work is done I always get a promise of lunch, which never happens.
I don't know what it is, but professional females that I've come across seem to have a real manipulative and patronising streak.
With men it always seems to be far more straight forward. They tell you what they want you to do without sounding as though they are belittling you and will keep most of their promises. Surely that's professionalism at its best?
And the aforementioned lady is also a complete eyelash flutterer. Flirting with anything that moves. I suppose she thinks that'll make men putty in her hands.
And then there's the partner who treats secretaries like they're the scum of the earth. And why? because she's a partner.
Yes, she may have had to fight a thousand men to get where she is, but now that she's there, you might expect that she thinks back to time when she first started out as a secretary.
I do have a great admiration for women who have balls of steels and great guts and determination; I just find it difficult to understand why so many female high fliers only feel a true sense of worth if they can make other men feel inferior.
P.s. On the subject of high flying women - Am very pleased to see Katie Hopkins back on the TV. Although sadness that my current work regime means I haven't yet had the opportunity to watch any of her jungle adventures.
A lady from New Zealand (although any other part of the global landscape will do) who has the most annoying accent ever and also that...mmm...smarmy attitude.
She works right opposite me and always asks me to do some work for her. If I have 'capacity'. I hate that word 'capacity'.
x, are you busy? Do you have capacity (to do some work which really I should be doing, but which you can do, thereby affording me the opportunity of booking yet more flights abroad and ordering anything and everything off eBay?) Thanks!
And then, when the work is done I always get a promise of lunch, which never happens.
I don't know what it is, but professional females that I've come across seem to have a real manipulative and patronising streak.
With men it always seems to be far more straight forward. They tell you what they want you to do without sounding as though they are belittling you and will keep most of their promises. Surely that's professionalism at its best?
And the aforementioned lady is also a complete eyelash flutterer. Flirting with anything that moves. I suppose she thinks that'll make men putty in her hands.
And then there's the partner who treats secretaries like they're the scum of the earth. And why? because she's a partner.
Yes, she may have had to fight a thousand men to get where she is, but now that she's there, you might expect that she thinks back to time when she first started out as a secretary.
I do have a great admiration for women who have balls of steels and great guts and determination; I just find it difficult to understand why so many female high fliers only feel a true sense of worth if they can make other men feel inferior.
P.s. On the subject of high flying women - Am very pleased to see Katie Hopkins back on the TV. Although sadness that my current work regime means I haven't yet had the opportunity to watch any of her jungle adventures.
The Office
I can see how people might equate working in the place I do to having sex.
Firstly, one has (and I have) quickly realised that there is no option but to submit. Submit to your boss, submit to your firm. As an employee working in the sort of firm I do, there really is very little else I can do other than submit. (By this I mean, of course, working silly hours and being able to see what London looks like at 4am in the morning as you struggle to keep your eyes open in the cab home).
Secondly, there is the reality of answering to one person by day and another by time. Okay, so this might only be true for some of us, but what the heck.
Thirdly, just like sex, too much work can make you feel extremely tired, to the point that no amount of Red Bull or Pro Plus will make you feel as though you could conquer the world. All you need and want is sleep.
Again, I'll say, also like sex, work can keep you up to the very early hours and there are, perhaps unlike most sex, very few breaks in between where you can nod off.
Having said this, I'd much prefer a fuck.
Firstly, one has (and I have) quickly realised that there is no option but to submit. Submit to your boss, submit to your firm. As an employee working in the sort of firm I do, there really is very little else I can do other than submit. (By this I mean, of course, working silly hours and being able to see what London looks like at 4am in the morning as you struggle to keep your eyes open in the cab home).
Secondly, there is the reality of answering to one person by day and another by time. Okay, so this might only be true for some of us, but what the heck.
Thirdly, just like sex, too much work can make you feel extremely tired, to the point that no amount of Red Bull or Pro Plus will make you feel as though you could conquer the world. All you need and want is sleep.
Again, I'll say, also like sex, work can keep you up to the very early hours and there are, perhaps unlike most sex, very few breaks in between where you can nod off.
Having said this, I'd much prefer a fuck.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Speed Dating Update
You have received a total of 16 ticks from the Speed Dating event you attended'.
So, out of the 23 men I met on the night, 16 of those wanted me either as a 'friend', or saw me as lover potential.
Not bad going old chap, I thought.
Of the people I myself expressed an interest in, 2 have said 'yes' and 7 have said 'yes to friendship'. 3 people are still to post their results up (lazy bastards)
For each yes/friendship tick I received I emailed that person straight away, suggesting we might meet for a drink.
1 'yes' has replied and 5 'friends' have replied. The next step would be to arrange a drink Methinks.
Thankfully, my determination to bed one of the 'friends' is limited to only one - otherwise this might spell trouble.
So, out of the 23 men I met on the night, 16 of those wanted me either as a 'friend', or saw me as lover potential.
Not bad going old chap, I thought.
Of the people I myself expressed an interest in, 2 have said 'yes' and 7 have said 'yes to friendship'. 3 people are still to post their results up (lazy bastards)
For each yes/friendship tick I received I emailed that person straight away, suggesting we might meet for a drink.
1 'yes' has replied and 5 'friends' have replied. The next step would be to arrange a drink Methinks.
Thankfully, my determination to bed one of the 'friends' is limited to only one - otherwise this might spell trouble.
Lunch
Went for luncheon with Katerina and a boy, with whom she works, who clearly (not unlike the majority of mankind), wants a piece of her.
So, we struck up the usual conversation, circling topics including what we all did for a living and how much we each enjoy (or, in my case, not so much recently) our jobs.
And, rather surprisingly, Katerina brought up the issue of sex. And we talked about what she might give her BoyF for his birthday. A trip to Paris is looking more and more unlikely and so what we're left with of course, is a bondage/leather party complete with bow tie and pulleys hanging from the ceiling. Ooh, did I just slip into a dream then? I guess I must have.
The boy at Luncheon enquired
'What are you talking about?'
'Oh, what to buy my BoyF for his birthday. And toys.
'What kind of toys?' (at which point i seriously began to wonder whether this was his feeble attempt at humour, for I'm sure the latex and bondage references were both loud and clear)
'Oh,just toys' said Katerina
'Just toys?'
'So, this sushi is really nice, wouldn't you say?' I asked, wanting to put an end to the non-listener's babble.
I should have said Vibrator, on second thoughts. That would have added a different dimension to our lunch altogether.
***
Katerina says that she has broached the subject of threesomes with the BoyF on numerous occasions.
'When we're in the middle of sex he always says yes. After a while he grows dubious'.
(By threesome she means adding another woman into the equation).
That could be an idea, i said. That or a strip club which you'd both visit together'.
I do have great admiration for any woman who'll pay for her BoyF to receive a lap dance. Not all girls would have the balls to do that.
I suggested she have a threesome with her BoyF and another man, although, on second thoughts, her BoyF wouldn't be able to see her getting jiggy with another man without wanting to punch his lights out.
After all, it is HIS birthday. It should all be about HIM.
So, we struck up the usual conversation, circling topics including what we all did for a living and how much we each enjoy (or, in my case, not so much recently) our jobs.
And, rather surprisingly, Katerina brought up the issue of sex. And we talked about what she might give her BoyF for his birthday. A trip to Paris is looking more and more unlikely and so what we're left with of course, is a bondage/leather party complete with bow tie and pulleys hanging from the ceiling. Ooh, did I just slip into a dream then? I guess I must have.
The boy at Luncheon enquired
'What are you talking about?'
'Oh, what to buy my BoyF for his birthday. And toys.
'What kind of toys?' (at which point i seriously began to wonder whether this was his feeble attempt at humour, for I'm sure the latex and bondage references were both loud and clear)
'Oh,just toys' said Katerina
'Just toys?'
'So, this sushi is really nice, wouldn't you say?' I asked, wanting to put an end to the non-listener's babble.
I should have said Vibrator, on second thoughts. That would have added a different dimension to our lunch altogether.
***
Katerina says that she has broached the subject of threesomes with the BoyF on numerous occasions.
'When we're in the middle of sex he always says yes. After a while he grows dubious'.
(By threesome she means adding another woman into the equation).
That could be an idea, i said. That or a strip club which you'd both visit together'.
I do have great admiration for any woman who'll pay for her BoyF to receive a lap dance. Not all girls would have the balls to do that.
I suggested she have a threesome with her BoyF and another man, although, on second thoughts, her BoyF wouldn't be able to see her getting jiggy with another man without wanting to punch his lights out.
After all, it is HIS birthday. It should all be about HIM.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
A Good Wife
An article entitled 'The Good Wife's Guide' was published in Housekeeping Monthly Magazine, on 13 May 1955.
Needless to say, there are some fruitful lessons to be learnt here:
''Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready in time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him, and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home, and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.
Prepare yourself: take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift, and one of your duties is to provide it.
Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives and run a dust cloth over the tables.
Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
Be happy to see him. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first. Remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner or other places of entertainment without you; instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure, and his very real need to be at home and relax.
Your goal is to try and make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquillity where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.
Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.
Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner, or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day.
Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
Don’t ask him questions about his actions, or question his judgement or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house, and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
A good wife always knows her place.''
Smile.
Needless to say, there are some fruitful lessons to be learnt here:
''Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready in time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him, and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home, and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.
Prepare yourself: take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift, and one of your duties is to provide it.
Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives and run a dust cloth over the tables.
Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
Be happy to see him. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first. Remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner or other places of entertainment without you; instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure, and his very real need to be at home and relax.
Your goal is to try and make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquillity where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.
Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.
Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner, or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day.
Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
Don’t ask him questions about his actions, or question his judgement or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house, and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
A good wife always knows her place.''
Smile.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
sex sex sex sex sex
As a child I don't ever recall speaking about sex with my parents.
What I do remember is a brief induction to sexual education in my final year at Primary School.
We were given a letter to take home to our parents which stated in quite clear terms that our sexual education was in their hands. That is to say, there were three videos that the school was going to show children, each with an increasing degree of, what I used to consider, rudeness of vulgarity. Parents had to tick the box and indicate which videos they would like their children to see.
1) A video which focused on the idea of gender difference. A video showing us what the other sex possessed which was so different to what we, as boys, had.
2) A video which talked about sexual intercourse and the resulting babies (note- condoms were not a part of the deal - it was only when I was a few years older that I realised that all sex didn't culminate in a child.
3) A video which featured a woman giving birth (this, for some strange reason was the most controversial, or so the school thought).
My mother ticked only the first two, clearly feeling at the time that subjecting me to a full blown labour would do me much more harm than good. Dare i say it, if she could see what I was up to now, she'd consider her worries perfectly justified.
Before handing the slip back to my teacher I remember taking a pen and ticking the third box. This was one of the first lies I ever told my mother.
The first two videos I don't remember at all, but the last sticks in my mind sharply.
I remember being repulsed by the child birth. All that blood and gore and screaming and all for the most ugly horrific looking mess to come out of you like something from an alien film. I was convinced that I, of all people, must have emerged in a silk pyjamas. (Note- I hadn't seen Alien at that time, but you know what I mean)
Needless to say, this journey of sexual liberation is something of which I am completely and utterly my own architect. My mother never sat me down and discussed sex, women, willies, any of that.
It was my curiosity that got the better of me. That feeling that I was missing out on something forbidden.
And now, as I sit at my desk, I'm wondering what it is about Indian parents that prevents them from discussing sex. That prevents them from telling their children that sex is something natural that people partake in as they grow older and something that, if done correctly, can provide immense pleasure.
It might be a religious thing, granted, but then how many Hindus actually know anything about Hinduism.
It might also have something to do with the arranged marriage that my parents (and most of my other family) had. The suppression of sexual desire until after marriage. The funny thing is, I doubt my parents talked about sex openly even after having had years of it and produced two children.
And so, perhaps it never occurred to them that their children might grow up in a world where sex was so readily available. A world where fewer and fewer people remain virgins until marriage.
I'm sure my mother will always consider me a virgin up until my wedding night.
And of the joy of sex, i expect, like so many others just like them, never really occurred to my parents. It was something people did. Something married people did.
Of course, all of this hypothesising might be completely wrong. My parents, may (and this would please me), bask in the glory of sex and be revolutionaries.
I'll just never know. Because we've never really talked about it.
What I do remember is a brief induction to sexual education in my final year at Primary School.
We were given a letter to take home to our parents which stated in quite clear terms that our sexual education was in their hands. That is to say, there were three videos that the school was going to show children, each with an increasing degree of, what I used to consider, rudeness of vulgarity. Parents had to tick the box and indicate which videos they would like their children to see.
1) A video which focused on the idea of gender difference. A video showing us what the other sex possessed which was so different to what we, as boys, had.
2) A video which talked about sexual intercourse and the resulting babies (note- condoms were not a part of the deal - it was only when I was a few years older that I realised that all sex didn't culminate in a child.
3) A video which featured a woman giving birth (this, for some strange reason was the most controversial, or so the school thought).
My mother ticked only the first two, clearly feeling at the time that subjecting me to a full blown labour would do me much more harm than good. Dare i say it, if she could see what I was up to now, she'd consider her worries perfectly justified.
Before handing the slip back to my teacher I remember taking a pen and ticking the third box. This was one of the first lies I ever told my mother.
The first two videos I don't remember at all, but the last sticks in my mind sharply.
I remember being repulsed by the child birth. All that blood and gore and screaming and all for the most ugly horrific looking mess to come out of you like something from an alien film. I was convinced that I, of all people, must have emerged in a silk pyjamas. (Note- I hadn't seen Alien at that time, but you know what I mean)
Needless to say, this journey of sexual liberation is something of which I am completely and utterly my own architect. My mother never sat me down and discussed sex, women, willies, any of that.
It was my curiosity that got the better of me. That feeling that I was missing out on something forbidden.
And now, as I sit at my desk, I'm wondering what it is about Indian parents that prevents them from discussing sex. That prevents them from telling their children that sex is something natural that people partake in as they grow older and something that, if done correctly, can provide immense pleasure.
It might be a religious thing, granted, but then how many Hindus actually know anything about Hinduism.
It might also have something to do with the arranged marriage that my parents (and most of my other family) had. The suppression of sexual desire until after marriage. The funny thing is, I doubt my parents talked about sex openly even after having had years of it and produced two children.
And so, perhaps it never occurred to them that their children might grow up in a world where sex was so readily available. A world where fewer and fewer people remain virgins until marriage.
I'm sure my mother will always consider me a virgin up until my wedding night.
And of the joy of sex, i expect, like so many others just like them, never really occurred to my parents. It was something people did. Something married people did.
Of course, all of this hypothesising might be completely wrong. My parents, may (and this would please me), bask in the glory of sex and be revolutionaries.
I'll just never know. Because we've never really talked about it.
Random poking
On occasion, I'm poked by somebody random on Facebook.
Fair enough, my profile pictures are often hugely entertaining, or artistic, or, in the case of 'the lady with the chicken placed at her fanny', both.
But this particular poke I received a couple of days back caught my eye.
His limited profile gave this much away:
1) He was an actor and had starred in a theatre production that I'd gone to see a number of years ago and, truth be told, despised.
2) He wrote about himself in third person " X has just finished writing a novel and has an agent who is trying to sell the publishing deal" - I suppose this alone should have set the alarm bells off. Talking about oneself in third person really gives off such an air of bullshit.
3) His photo was ok, he was sort of fit and he was Indian. His arms looked nice, which just enough hair (hmm). If I have to be picky I'd say his eyes looked sort of droopy and miserable.
And, well, that was it.
So, I proceeded to send him an email, thanking him (?!) for poking me and trying, in the subtlest way possible, to figure out who the fuck he was and how he managed to find me on Facebook.
It may just be my own stereotypes, but the moment a guy like him pokes me, I just know he's gay. Don't ask me how or why, and yes, I'm fully aware of my judgemental streak.
So, a few days passed and then yesterday (when I spent 15 hours at work), emails were going back and forth until I was able to ascertain what this guy does (he used to do what I'm currently doing) and we discussed at great length our mutual interest in Creative Writing.
Needless to say, by the end of it all, I'd suggested meeting and he'd facebooked me his number quicker than you can say 'whoop my ass'.
Then finally, on the way home last night I decided to text him ( I was a) horny, b) bored - although, driving through Central London at midnight is awesome!, and c) had an urge to clarify the gay issue.
So, he text back immediately. And then we exchanged around ten messages.
'Are you gay?' I asked
'There's no clear cut answer to that' came the response
and then we proceeded to have text sex, him describing to me how precisely he likes his nipples to be sucked and bitten and how he's a 'wet and sensuous' kisser. Oh, and there was a slight mention of a foot fetish.
And he only likes to kiss, suck nipples and wank. So fucking and sucking is out of the question. Never mind eh. Give me a couple of hours.
I imagine we'll probably meet soon enough. I quite like the idea of an apprentice.
Fair enough, my profile pictures are often hugely entertaining, or artistic, or, in the case of 'the lady with the chicken placed at her fanny', both.
But this particular poke I received a couple of days back caught my eye.
His limited profile gave this much away:
1) He was an actor and had starred in a theatre production that I'd gone to see a number of years ago and, truth be told, despised.
2) He wrote about himself in third person " X has just finished writing a novel and has an agent who is trying to sell the publishing deal" - I suppose this alone should have set the alarm bells off. Talking about oneself in third person really gives off such an air of bullshit.
3) His photo was ok, he was sort of fit and he was Indian. His arms looked nice, which just enough hair (hmm). If I have to be picky I'd say his eyes looked sort of droopy and miserable.
And, well, that was it.
So, I proceeded to send him an email, thanking him (?!) for poking me and trying, in the subtlest way possible, to figure out who the fuck he was and how he managed to find me on Facebook.
It may just be my own stereotypes, but the moment a guy like him pokes me, I just know he's gay. Don't ask me how or why, and yes, I'm fully aware of my judgemental streak.
So, a few days passed and then yesterday (when I spent 15 hours at work), emails were going back and forth until I was able to ascertain what this guy does (he used to do what I'm currently doing) and we discussed at great length our mutual interest in Creative Writing.
Needless to say, by the end of it all, I'd suggested meeting and he'd facebooked me his number quicker than you can say 'whoop my ass'.
Then finally, on the way home last night I decided to text him ( I was a) horny, b) bored - although, driving through Central London at midnight is awesome!, and c) had an urge to clarify the gay issue.
So, he text back immediately. And then we exchanged around ten messages.
'Are you gay?' I asked
'There's no clear cut answer to that' came the response
and then we proceeded to have text sex, him describing to me how precisely he likes his nipples to be sucked and bitten and how he's a 'wet and sensuous' kisser. Oh, and there was a slight mention of a foot fetish.
And he only likes to kiss, suck nipples and wank. So fucking and sucking is out of the question. Never mind eh. Give me a couple of hours.
I imagine we'll probably meet soon enough. I quite like the idea of an apprentice.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Confessions continued
A few more confessions for you...
1) I'm a horrible Girlfriend
"Well.. okay, here goes.
When I got with my first ever serious boyfriend, it took me a while but then I'd thought I'd fallen 'in love'. It took me ages to build up the courage to tell him this and when I finally was going to, he dumped me. Because I was going to uni quite far away. Obviously, I was heart-broken.
I still fancied him for ages, but, you know.. got over it eventually, or allowed myself to believe as much anyway.
So, after a month or so of being a uni, I met this.. only way to put it.. heart-throb. Tall, slim, gorgeous eyes, fantastically wavey messy hair and a smile that sent tingles down my spine. He asked me out for a date, I agreed. After a while, we were seeing each other everyday.
Then I got scared and totally ignored him for two months. (I was told by all this friends that it was destroying him). So one drunken night, I texted him, he came running, and we had fun dancing. (This is like, 3-4 months after we'd met and done nothing but peck on the lips btw) and then I ignored him again for a month.
Then texted him randomly and we started to meet up again, slowly worked our way up to French kissing, then slept with him one drunken night (he protested, saying I was drunk and he didn't want to take advantage of me... but relented eventually) and then until uni finished for the semester - and the year - I lived with him over the summer.
Then he went to America for a semester.
And this is were I show how much of a bitch I am, because during all that time, I have fallen in love with this boy - and I mean real love this time. And he says the same too and I believe him. He's so insecure because his last GF fucked him over, and I've told him I'd never hurt him. We're even engaged.
I went home for a weekend and nearly slept with my ex-bf. As in nearly, I mean, he was millimetres away from being inside me. But I stopped it.
If someone loves someone as much as I claim to love him, how could I have done that to him?"
2) I said something I shouldn't have
"This is my first confession on the board. When I was at school I was totally in love with this girl. She didn't love me and back then because I was a lot younger I never realised that there was nothing I could do / have done to make her love me. I was never one of these guys with lots of confidence. I wasn't a loner, I had friends here and there but never really a group of friends that I hung around with. So I became close to HER mates in an attempt to get close to her. As a result we became friends. But I was so in love with her I would have done anything to get her. Eventually she found out about my feelings for her, and she told me we were just good friends and nothing more. This drove me mad but I couldn't let her go just like that so we stayed friends. It was so hard after that especially she fancied one of my oldest mates and flirted with him. Eventually before we both went off to college I made one last attempt to win her heart, and she still refused me, saying we could be friends but nothing more. That's when I said the thing to her that I regret the most, something along the lines of "If you'll never love me then I hope you die alone like i will". I don't know why i said it i guess I was just angry with her and i felt so strongly but i regretted it afterwards. She moved away because of college and I still regretted saying it. That was 5 years ago.
I eventually got over her, I went to college for a year but it didn't work out, but I found myself a job and met new friends etc, I've since been in two serious relationships and known happiness, which I never thought I would. Recently I bumped into her friend and asked how she was doing, it turns out that she is sick, she has developed multiple sclerosis and can hardly walk, and for the last year or so she has been getting worse. I remembered what I said to her that day and now it haunts me. Maybe I deserve to be alone."
3) I'm married but I love wanking
"I've been with my wife now 8 yrs and love her to bits. We enjoy sex together just not as often as I'd like. In between I tend to masturbate a lot. That's if you think once a day is a lot. I must orgasm at least once a day. Love to watch porn and pleasure myself. Would love to have a woman I've never met before watch me pleasuring myself, would love to watch her pleasure herself come to think of it."
4) Weird bisexual urges
"I'm a good looking young straight female but would like to experiment with females.....but i only want a hot blonde girl, no one else! redheads, blondes, Asian, oriental, black or other women don't turn me on in the slightest. I only get bisexual urges if its a hot blonde...how weird is that??"
1) I'm a horrible Girlfriend
"Well.. okay, here goes.
When I got with my first ever serious boyfriend, it took me a while but then I'd thought I'd fallen 'in love'. It took me ages to build up the courage to tell him this and when I finally was going to, he dumped me. Because I was going to uni quite far away. Obviously, I was heart-broken.
I still fancied him for ages, but, you know.. got over it eventually, or allowed myself to believe as much anyway.
So, after a month or so of being a uni, I met this.. only way to put it.. heart-throb. Tall, slim, gorgeous eyes, fantastically wavey messy hair and a smile that sent tingles down my spine. He asked me out for a date, I agreed. After a while, we were seeing each other everyday.
Then I got scared and totally ignored him for two months. (I was told by all this friends that it was destroying him). So one drunken night, I texted him, he came running, and we had fun dancing. (This is like, 3-4 months after we'd met and done nothing but peck on the lips btw) and then I ignored him again for a month.
Then texted him randomly and we started to meet up again, slowly worked our way up to French kissing, then slept with him one drunken night (he protested, saying I was drunk and he didn't want to take advantage of me... but relented eventually) and then until uni finished for the semester - and the year - I lived with him over the summer.
Then he went to America for a semester.
And this is were I show how much of a bitch I am, because during all that time, I have fallen in love with this boy - and I mean real love this time. And he says the same too and I believe him. He's so insecure because his last GF fucked him over, and I've told him I'd never hurt him. We're even engaged.
I went home for a weekend and nearly slept with my ex-bf. As in nearly, I mean, he was millimetres away from being inside me. But I stopped it.
If someone loves someone as much as I claim to love him, how could I have done that to him?"
2) I said something I shouldn't have
"This is my first confession on the board. When I was at school I was totally in love with this girl. She didn't love me and back then because I was a lot younger I never realised that there was nothing I could do / have done to make her love me. I was never one of these guys with lots of confidence. I wasn't a loner, I had friends here and there but never really a group of friends that I hung around with. So I became close to HER mates in an attempt to get close to her. As a result we became friends. But I was so in love with her I would have done anything to get her. Eventually she found out about my feelings for her, and she told me we were just good friends and nothing more. This drove me mad but I couldn't let her go just like that so we stayed friends. It was so hard after that especially she fancied one of my oldest mates and flirted with him. Eventually before we both went off to college I made one last attempt to win her heart, and she still refused me, saying we could be friends but nothing more. That's when I said the thing to her that I regret the most, something along the lines of "If you'll never love me then I hope you die alone like i will". I don't know why i said it i guess I was just angry with her and i felt so strongly but i regretted it afterwards. She moved away because of college and I still regretted saying it. That was 5 years ago.
I eventually got over her, I went to college for a year but it didn't work out, but I found myself a job and met new friends etc, I've since been in two serious relationships and known happiness, which I never thought I would. Recently I bumped into her friend and asked how she was doing, it turns out that she is sick, she has developed multiple sclerosis and can hardly walk, and for the last year or so she has been getting worse. I remembered what I said to her that day and now it haunts me. Maybe I deserve to be alone."
3) I'm married but I love wanking
"I've been with my wife now 8 yrs and love her to bits. We enjoy sex together just not as often as I'd like. In between I tend to masturbate a lot. That's if you think once a day is a lot. I must orgasm at least once a day. Love to watch porn and pleasure myself. Would love to have a woman I've never met before watch me pleasuring myself, would love to watch her pleasure herself come to think of it."
4) Weird bisexual urges
"I'm a good looking young straight female but would like to experiment with females.....but i only want a hot blonde girl, no one else! redheads, blondes, Asian, oriental, black or other women don't turn me on in the slightest. I only get bisexual urges if its a hot blonde...how weird is that??"
Friday, November 09, 2007
And...
Two days after the speed dating, yours truly has received:
2 yes matches
6 friendship matches
5 people still have to post their results on the website.
Needless to say, I've emailed both yes matches and suggested dates in the next few weeks. No reply as yet, however we wait we bated breath.
2 yes matches
6 friendship matches
5 people still have to post their results on the website.
Needless to say, I've emailed both yes matches and suggested dates in the next few weeks. No reply as yet, however we wait we bated breath.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Speed Dating
'Okay, tell me...
If you could host a dinner party and invite any three people, dead or alive, male or female, who would they be and why?'
'Ooh, that's a tricky one. Umm, maybe Satan? Yes, Satan and Mahatma Ghandi. It would be good to see what sort of conversation would develop. Umm, and the third one...Britney, because of the whole gay thing'.
Sure enough, what the man had described was a dinner party I'd never attend. Ever.
That said, my questions were definitely the best ones being asked. And that's not my own assumption, no, that's what people were saying. An awful lot of people in fact. 40 single gay men to be precise.
Yes, it's contrived, yes, 3 minutes really is a very very short time, and yes there are occasional odd balls, but all in all, I had a really fun and engaging time at last night's speed dating event.
The trick is, I'm sure, to harbour low expectations. Truth be told, I expected ten people, all of whom weren't particularly good looking and three minutes of erms, arrs and enforced conversation.
What I got was 40 men, some charming, a few incredibly sexy, some high fliers (Architects, Bankers, Men In 'Finance', Lawyers, An (incredibly hot) Opera Singer) and most if not all, incredibly friendly, with whom 3 minutes felt like a few seconds.
This is how it worked:
You are given a badge with your name on it and a number. All the odd numbers sit on the table that has their number on it. All the even numbers sit at the table that has a number which is one lower than their even number. You have a three minute date and then they blow a whistle, at which point, the even numbers move clockwise to the next odd number along. Odd numbers (myself included), stay stagnant throughout the whole thing.
Each person is given a scoring card where there is space to write down each man's number, name, whether you want to seem them again or not and whether you might consider them for purposes of friendship.
After each whistle, you have roughly two seconds to fill the form in before the next even number is upon you.
All in all, I had 20 dates. And this took us up until 10pm. Of course, being all men, there are 20 guys with whom I won't have had a date and therefore, during the breaks (of which there were two), people were encouraged to speak to people who were the same sort of number as themselves. If I liked the look of an odd number I'd have to make an effort to go and talk to him during one of these intervals.
The following day you log in to the dating website and enter your results. If you have any matches, whether 'friends' or otherwise, you'll be notified and granted access to their email address and profile. The rest is then up to you.
Now to my questions:
Apart from the above one (which gained the most insightful responses - although, i should add, not a single gay man wanted Mother Teresa at the dinner party), I asked:
'If you could do anything right now and there were no barriers whatsoever, what would that be?'
a) 'Fly' ( a very common answer I discovered) - fly to Mexico. I, too would have flown, flown out there to find Brad Pitt and Gael Garcia Bernal, taken them up into the sky and demanded an orgy. I mean, where would they go otherwise?
b) 'I'd pull that guy over there with the Tshirt on that says 23, and shag him. Right now!' said a barrister during our date.
c) 'I'd follow the route of the Oriental Express and fly along that, stopping along the way.
d) 'I'd grab somebody fit, go to the nearest Sainsburys, into their store room and shag them up against the bread'. (He did find this funny)
And then the question I saved for the ones i thought might be able to handle it:
'If your BoyF came home and said to you that he wanted to have a threesome or partake in an orgy, what would your immediate reaction be?'
a) 'Fuck off! That's what my immediate reaction would be', said perhaps the most attractive Maori guy I'd ever seen with the least annoying Kiwi accent (Hooray!) 'although, I would want to know what made him say that or want that'. I did say yes to this guy however I feel this question may have taken him aback/offended him. Ah well, time will tell.
b) 'Why only a threesome? Can't we have an eightsome?' - my sort of guy!
c) 'If he wants an orgy, there's clearly something lacking in our relationship and if we can't please each other then we need to question why it is that we are even together. I would say no and feel gutted.' - Pah!
The thing I don't understand is, why on earth do people assume that one person's desire to have a liberated and unapologetic sexual existence automatically renders the relationship unstable or their partner unsatisfying? Surely it's possible to want somebody just as much the entire way through put also want to use other people as a sexual object to increase your pleasure?
I was shocked at the number of men who felt that the ideas of an orgy or a threesome, when presented within a relationship, were indicitory of a relationship flaw. Only one person said that they would encourage it. The rest were truly repulsed and saw it as a personal attack.
The desire to move outside the conventional sex scenario doesn't always mean you are unsatisfied with your current partner, does it?
In relation to the dinner party, one guy suggested that he'd like to invite Henry VIII and Elizabeth I. Another man said he'd invite his family as he doesn't see them enough. That's fine, I said, which three of them? Well two are twins so they count as one don't they? 'Nope, not for the purposes of this (mental note - this wasn't Big Brother!), at which point he declared the question unanswerable.
On a separate note, I did hear one man ask his date what he'd want put in his coffin once he'd died. *Raised eyebrow*
Although, if it were me, and despite the fact that I want to be cremated, I'd say a packet of vibrating condoms and some lube - just in case I get lucky.
Yes = 7 people
No = 23 People (17 of which I didn't even meet)
Friends = 10 People
Stay tuned...
If you could host a dinner party and invite any three people, dead or alive, male or female, who would they be and why?'
'Ooh, that's a tricky one. Umm, maybe Satan? Yes, Satan and Mahatma Ghandi. It would be good to see what sort of conversation would develop. Umm, and the third one...Britney, because of the whole gay thing'.
Sure enough, what the man had described was a dinner party I'd never attend. Ever.
That said, my questions were definitely the best ones being asked. And that's not my own assumption, no, that's what people were saying. An awful lot of people in fact. 40 single gay men to be precise.
Yes, it's contrived, yes, 3 minutes really is a very very short time, and yes there are occasional odd balls, but all in all, I had a really fun and engaging time at last night's speed dating event.
The trick is, I'm sure, to harbour low expectations. Truth be told, I expected ten people, all of whom weren't particularly good looking and three minutes of erms, arrs and enforced conversation.
What I got was 40 men, some charming, a few incredibly sexy, some high fliers (Architects, Bankers, Men In 'Finance', Lawyers, An (incredibly hot) Opera Singer) and most if not all, incredibly friendly, with whom 3 minutes felt like a few seconds.
This is how it worked:
You are given a badge with your name on it and a number. All the odd numbers sit on the table that has their number on it. All the even numbers sit at the table that has a number which is one lower than their even number. You have a three minute date and then they blow a whistle, at which point, the even numbers move clockwise to the next odd number along. Odd numbers (myself included), stay stagnant throughout the whole thing.
Each person is given a scoring card where there is space to write down each man's number, name, whether you want to seem them again or not and whether you might consider them for purposes of friendship.
After each whistle, you have roughly two seconds to fill the form in before the next even number is upon you.
All in all, I had 20 dates. And this took us up until 10pm. Of course, being all men, there are 20 guys with whom I won't have had a date and therefore, during the breaks (of which there were two), people were encouraged to speak to people who were the same sort of number as themselves. If I liked the look of an odd number I'd have to make an effort to go and talk to him during one of these intervals.
The following day you log in to the dating website and enter your results. If you have any matches, whether 'friends' or otherwise, you'll be notified and granted access to their email address and profile. The rest is then up to you.
Now to my questions:
Apart from the above one (which gained the most insightful responses - although, i should add, not a single gay man wanted Mother Teresa at the dinner party), I asked:
'If you could do anything right now and there were no barriers whatsoever, what would that be?'
a) 'Fly' ( a very common answer I discovered) - fly to Mexico. I, too would have flown, flown out there to find Brad Pitt and Gael Garcia Bernal, taken them up into the sky and demanded an orgy. I mean, where would they go otherwise?
b) 'I'd pull that guy over there with the Tshirt on that says 23, and shag him. Right now!' said a barrister during our date.
c) 'I'd follow the route of the Oriental Express and fly along that, stopping along the way.
d) 'I'd grab somebody fit, go to the nearest Sainsburys, into their store room and shag them up against the bread'. (He did find this funny)
And then the question I saved for the ones i thought might be able to handle it:
'If your BoyF came home and said to you that he wanted to have a threesome or partake in an orgy, what would your immediate reaction be?'
a) 'Fuck off! That's what my immediate reaction would be', said perhaps the most attractive Maori guy I'd ever seen with the least annoying Kiwi accent (Hooray!) 'although, I would want to know what made him say that or want that'. I did say yes to this guy however I feel this question may have taken him aback/offended him. Ah well, time will tell.
b) 'Why only a threesome? Can't we have an eightsome?' - my sort of guy!
c) 'If he wants an orgy, there's clearly something lacking in our relationship and if we can't please each other then we need to question why it is that we are even together. I would say no and feel gutted.' - Pah!
The thing I don't understand is, why on earth do people assume that one person's desire to have a liberated and unapologetic sexual existence automatically renders the relationship unstable or their partner unsatisfying? Surely it's possible to want somebody just as much the entire way through put also want to use other people as a sexual object to increase your pleasure?
I was shocked at the number of men who felt that the ideas of an orgy or a threesome, when presented within a relationship, were indicitory of a relationship flaw. Only one person said that they would encourage it. The rest were truly repulsed and saw it as a personal attack.
The desire to move outside the conventional sex scenario doesn't always mean you are unsatisfied with your current partner, does it?
In relation to the dinner party, one guy suggested that he'd like to invite Henry VIII and Elizabeth I. Another man said he'd invite his family as he doesn't see them enough. That's fine, I said, which three of them? Well two are twins so they count as one don't they? 'Nope, not for the purposes of this (mental note - this wasn't Big Brother!), at which point he declared the question unanswerable.
On a separate note, I did hear one man ask his date what he'd want put in his coffin once he'd died. *Raised eyebrow*
Although, if it were me, and despite the fact that I want to be cremated, I'd say a packet of vibrating condoms and some lube - just in case I get lucky.
Yes = 7 people
No = 23 People (17 of which I didn't even meet)
Friends = 10 People
Stay tuned...
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