I’m here to tell ya, honey, that I’m bad to bone.

Woke up this morning with full recollection of last night’s dream.

The moral of it is,I really really need to get laid.

Last night I dreamt I was in Doctor Who, I was the doctor’s newest companion… we were in the Tardis but it was like a building, one main room with a load of long halls branching off it and it was really weird and mazelike. Anyway that’s not important- what happened was I was playing with all these old board games and the doctor distinctly told me not to open the “Risk” because it contained a really really evil alien he had managed to trap there. And this alien was apparently really powerful and evil but there was a photo on the cover of risk, and it was a really sexy alien that looked kind of like Jude law except more evil. Sort of like Jude Law in that robot film with the little sad-eyed kid… what was that called?

So what did I go and do? As soon as the Doctor was off in another room sonic-screwdrivering something, I opened the box and let the alien out because I wanted to try have sex with it. And then it was like oh I’m just going to go next door and freshen up, and then of course it didn’t come back, it escaped. And the doctor came in and saw the empty box and all this goo on the floor that this alien leaked (it wasn’t sexy goo, it was just like the alien’s footprint) and he was soooo pissed off with me and he couldn’t believe how foolish I had been. And I was all embarassed and felt guilty because the alien was evil and was going to kill everyone. The doctor said I couldn’t go travelling with him any more and he made me clean up the room while he tried to get the alien back before it destroyed the world.

You might think, it was my dream, why the hell didn’t I just jump the Doctor’s bones? I mean, he’s pretty damn sexy no matter who the actor is, and it was a DREAM. But no, in my dream I was too afraid of making a fool of myself by being rejected.

Anyway yes this kind of dream makes me think dang… I need to spend less time on the computer games and more on the joystick, amiright?

So I’m going to socialise fiercely, take all opportunities I can get, even with people I find a bit boring.Someone has to have a sexy asshole friend I can rub up against.

I mean I know it was only a dream, but I probably would try to have sex with an evil alien if he was hot.

I’m totally starved of sex but at the same time, the idea of screwing someone kind of creeps me out. I feel like I wanna do some dude who doesn’t know who I am or anything about me, and who doesn’t have my number so that he can neither call me nor can I feel upset because he didn’t call me. I want some kind of straight woman’s glory hole, except obviously I don’t wanna give head, because what’s the point in that? Head giving is my manipulative bitch tool, it’s got about as much to do with sex (for me) as making tiramisu for your partner: it’s a treat, and can be used for bargaining/to impress him. I know, terrible attitude to sex…. but I don’t care if there are nice selfless people out there or women who actually get off on that shit. For me, head giving is only for occasions where I want to leave a really complimentary memory of our hook up implanted in the recipient’s head. Maybe I said something really stupid or my legs were bristly- a good enthusiastic blow job seems to correct most mistakes like that….

Anyway I’m a little confused about what it is I actually want. I do want to dance the horizontal tango, and I don’t want to do it via glory hole, ideally, but I have the paranoid fear that for men who sleep with me, the next day, the air of attraction will disolve and they will be laughing at me and thinking what a sap, did she think that facial expression was sexy or something? How embarrassing. Also, those boobs are a weird shape, they were only round for like 20 seconds until they became warm and then they looked absolutely shit….

Also, they will think, my god I’ve never come across a woman with weaker thighs, she only lasted on top for like 10 flimsy bounces and then she had to flip over and what a shitty excuse “oh I get too distracted, I can’t be on top”, and the last woman I fucked was way better and had nicer boobs and was an athlete and so could be on top for AGES and there was no awkward “oops it came out” fuckery where penises have to be re-inserted again and again because man, being on top is not my forte as well as being a really unflattering angle for pretty much everyone who doesn’t actually set aside time specifically for moving stomach muscles.

Anyway this paranoia I have makes it very difficult to let just anyone play with my sad excuse for funbags, never mind get proper nakey with. Any guy I’m so comfortable with, I can actually get naked and do sex, I end up feeling really weird about doing my “routine”, like I can see the lucky lad thinking “oh that’s what she has learnt so far from her previous sexual partners, I wonder who told her THAT was enjoyable? Also she’s surprisingly limp in the sack for such a slutty girl”

So I just need to get reeeeaaally drunk or preferably fuck some guy who’s just as terrible in bed as I am, so I can feel superior to him and therefore relax. (a GUY who’s bad in bed is even worse, I’m sure their part is easier with all the thrusting and stuff. I reckon I could give good thrusting action if I had a dick)

I very rarely let my guard down properly and lose my inhibitions. In fact part of the reason I got married in the first place was because I had wow managed to find a guy I had really good crazy sex with. We had a phenomenal sex life (before the marriage and stuff) and prior to meeting him I had only had about 3 or 4 sexual encounters that had really been very good at all despite having racked up a phone bill of partners.

And I felt like I was actually good in bed, with this guy. He later admitted that when we first hooked up, I was like a piece of wood. But THEN I became awesome in bed. The best ever, he said. This was insanely complimentary because woah he was a massive man slut when we met, and for some time after we met…. I tamed the beast with my wonderful hour long blow jobs, something I can’t even be proud of because I haven’t retained the skill- it was motivated purely by the desire to please this guy who to my 20 year old self, symbolised every man whore who had ever not really wanted me much more than once…. I received the super cock-sucking powers from some mysterious source, like a mother who finds she can lift a car up off her trapped child, but who then finds she comes last when she enters some fucked up Asian car-lifting contest because, the strength was just on loan to her for a minute. I wonder if I’ll ever really really want to impress a guy like that again… enough to get my super suckie powers back- eh yes, probably, definitely.

Anyway once I knew I had the bastard hooked, I became sloppy. OR rather, less sloppy. I became one of those girls who gives it a measured, nothing special kind of attempt, then pauses and looks up at regular intervals, checking for the cue to move shit up to the reciprocal levels… or there’s the last resort excuse, for those who really really are not in the mood for having a fucking sex limb in their mouths, you can just say your mouth hurts or you can’t muster enough spit. But this isn’t much of an excuse because it’s about as effective as saying “I don’t DO blow jobs, I’m not that kind of girl”

BJs aside, my finest moments in the sack have been during angry revenge sex (I found my boyfriend sexy-messaging a girl, so I fucked this other guy like I was trying to strangle his cock. I may have cried angry tears during, and I know I clawed his thighs a little. I woke up the next day really ashamed and self conscious, but my flatmate (yeah I fucked my flatmate) was like, no that was awesome… really didn’t expect that…

But I don’t think I could pull that kind of crazy out of the bag unless seriously provoked. Also, I’ve felt good about my performance when really mangled on MDMA. It’s perfect for me because I’m so paranoid usually, I’m brilliant when I’m uninhibited and it just doesn’t occur to me that anyone could think I’m not fantastic.

I hadn’t got it right (sex) before I met husband, I only became good with him, and whatever habits I picked up or tricks I learnt, they appear to have applied mostly to him. So I’m back at the ignorance levels of three years ago. I can’t help feeling like all my peers have squeezed in monstrous amounts of experience with a wide range of partners even though I was the slutty one. I had slept with so many people before (it’s shocking, I don’t even know how many but I do know when I stopped counting…) and learnt fucking NOTHING… I don’t know what it’s gonna take for me to unleash my true freak but in a good way. Of course most people have wasted great swathes of their lives on celibacy and relationships too, mine is just highlighted because it was 3 years all together and for nearly 2 of those years I had to stifle a laugh when someone asked what contraception we used. I accidentally panicked one time when my mum asked how  was keeping from getting pregnant as obviously I didn’t want any babies popping out any time soon. I don’t know why I didn’t lie and say condoms, but I know I didn’t tell the truth (abstinence) because of shame and knowing that it was a SERIOUS problem, so I for some reason said “withdrawal method” so my mother thought I was a big ole fool who hadn’t absorbed any of her cringey advice when I was a teen.


Presumably to become good in bed you just have to spend a lot of time there and sleep with the same person more than once, but less than FOR THREE YEARS IN A ROW. I find it tricky to muster lady-wood for the same guy twice unless I actually want to go grocery shopping with him and make him soup, in which case I’m in it for the long haul and I’m just going to skip the foundation level sex studies and go straight to a masters in this particular cock.


You see I am forced to admit that I am one of those horrendous people who thrives on drama.

Or no, I’m not, maybe…

I think it’s just today is like the MOST BORING DAY EVER.

10 hour shift at work on my own and no fucking customers. Like, five people all day. TERRIBLE. Looks really bad on my saleswomanlihood, but tisn’t my fault really because I have been super friendly and not snapping at people even when they ask me stupid shit and I have even been nice to people who want restaurant advice and directions to places that are nothing to do with my business.

So it’s not my fault, but I’m bored out of my mind.

Oooh there is a tantalising smell of pesto in the air. It reminds me, I bought basil with the intention of making pesto, and left it out on the balcony….aaaaaaabout 2 months ago. Shit.

I may have to buy pesto, but I hate that store bought shit. It’s funky. I’m a pesto egotist and snob, I like my own pesto more than real authentic shit. I don’t like the original so much because it uses pecorino which is sheep cheese. I have no real problem with sheep cheese but I do find it a bit creepy that pesto includes both pecorino sheep cheese and parmigiano which is cow cheese, and I know it’s just my own sick imagination but I kind of imagine these sheep nipples rubbing off these cow nipples in a really disgusting way and I’m sorry for that visual but it was haunting me, I had to offload it onto other people. Ugh freaky.

Sorry. Anyway where was I?

Oh yes, I’m awful in bed.

And I have a pornographic imagination about cheese.

That’s all now I should get some sleep.

If I have a recurring dream, trust me, tonight I will pluck up the courage and jump the Doctor’s bones. He can’t still be mad about that evil Jude Law robot alien, can he? Maybe if I give him head, he’ll forgive me.


Good night, and sorry for the mental imagery.


11 responses to “I’m here to tell ya, honey, that I’m bad to bone.

  1. haha!! Pornographic Cheese!! Well how ironic that yesterday my man and I made a boconcini salad (I don’t know how to spell boconcini…two c’s, two n’s, whatever….) and anyhow, each little piece of round bocconnccinni had a nipple.
    No kidding!
    I even took a picture. How about I blog about that tomorrow and you can see. lmao !
    Keep your eyes peeled for a boob-cheese blog folks. Yes, boob cheese.
    Stay tuned…..

    • Yo I’m not familiar with that cheese (fact: there are more types of cheese than there are tight pink t shirts in Italy) but if you put the wrong number of cs in there it could mean anything, even dirtier and more depraved than nipple cheese! I would very much like to see that photo by the way… I can print it off and show my cheesemonger and be like “FIND ME THIS CHEESE!” Do it. Blog that shit!

  2. Man, Doctor Who is the greatest! High five for sweet sex dreams! Mine are usually about me blowing myself. Weakkkkkkkkkkk.

    The most important question I have to ask though is WHICH Doctor was it?! Please don’t tell me it was… *shudder* Tom Baker.

    • High Five! Except I didn’t get to seal the deal, it was pathetic. I very very rarely get to actually fuck someone in a dream because I’m shy in my dreams…. Ha ha just searched for Tom Baker. That shit is hilarious. He looks like a sex offender. No it was David Tennant. He’s my favorite.

  3. I’d be up for sex with a “hot evil alien”. It sounds like fun.

    I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Your sexiness shines through your writing and I’m sure everyone would agree with me when I say you sound like you’d be absolutely awesome in bed.

    Also, don’t worry about the blowjobs. If it’s not your thing, it’s not your thing… but what if it was covered in your favourite type of pesto?

    • Ah thanks! Nah I mean, I’ve had my moments, but really I am all talk and very little action! I feel like I’m a very sexual person, but it doesn’t seem to translate… I don’t know I kind of just presume that everyone else is wild in bed. It’s a huge mystery to me. I wish I could turn invisible, I could just go spy on other people fucking. Pesto blow jobs… sounds pretty amazing actually. Though I might forget myself and give it a chew… I had an idea once for mouth sprays but that were for your genitals. I don’t know if they exist or not- probably do. But the idea was to spray your junk with a nice flavouring, I know I’d appreciate the gesture. The flavours would have been “cock-olate” and “vagi-nilla” and “lic-or-ass” (I wanted to be an inventor but I was shit at science)

      • “vagi-nilla” sounds totally amazing. I absolutely adore the smell of vanilla and I love the scent of a vagina. If you could combine the two I’d have my head down there permanently and never come back up. Yum-yum.

        • I just need to get someone who can make perfumes, and I’ll roll out my product worldwide. Someday I will be on cribs, the crotch-spritz millionaire. It’ll be awesome, you won’t be able to stop me chowing down on dick!

  4. Most italian men are about quantity not quality, so you can be sure they are just pleased as punch to be ‘gettin’ some’ in the first place. With the exception of last weekend, tragically I have had some of the worst sex in my life here. Too much training involved, really. I attribute that too too much bad porn and pervy Italian comedies. (But there are the odd few that keep hope alive…)
    REGARDLESS the shit YOU are thinking – THEY are thinking, is not even remotely occuring to them (only WE think that shit). Act like you don’t give a shit, and no one will be none the wiser. Confidence is SEXY baby. now go find yourself a ride….

    • Yeah I think I just need to get quite drunk… I know they aren’t really thinking that shit, but then maybe they are? Because I know I think some really unflattering stuff about men even ones I like, I’m horribly judgemental! so why would they be kinder to me, inside their heads? Maybe the problem is I have watched too much bad porn myself, it’s so far from my instincts, I get all confused and doubtful and also feel like somehow whatever I’m doing should look good from an external angle… I don’t know if I’ll ever manage to find an Italian I can bring myself to be attracted to that also is attracted to me- but I’m sure you’re right… Oh they are so slimey though….

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