I have to stop sleeping with the locals.

Well, and hi to you too!

I haven’t written anything in a while- no, I have actually. I started writing things a great many times. Once I even wrote a 6000 word account of a night I went out with my friend and we got drunk and she puked and I didn’t. Pretty much nothing happened, I just described it in detail and before I hit publish I thought, wait, have I just resigned myself to literally posting every waking thought and detailing every step I take an move I make I’ll be missing you? Can’t youhoo see, you belong to me…. every sooooveayayayaaaa…

Sorry.

I just haven’t posted anything, because I keep arriving at some point and pausing to think WHY am I writing this, what is the fucking point, and how many times am I going to report back on the same fucking topics and the same paranoia and how many times will people actually find it interesting to read about me blushing in front of men I fantasize about and flogging myself for saying something weird?

So with that attitude it’s pretty much impossible for me to write my blog as usual. I am a little bit depressed really. But it’s ok I’m going to London in 3 weeks or so, a factfinding mission that might be permanent if I pull my shit together and find a job quickly. Until then, I’m being even more reclusive than usual, but when I do move you can expect to read more exciting things here,maybe. Unless I go too far the other side of uncool and actually get a life, and choose interacting with awesome people IRL over, you know… this. No offense, like. I like you guys plenty. But I can’t have sex with you. And I won’t either, so don’t go private messaging me any indecent proposals and shit. (Actually if it was a real indecent proposal, put your offer in the subject line of the email so I don’t accidentally reject a serious cashmaking opportunity. I will also, for money, write that you had a massive penis on here, even if you are a woman. And if it involves bum stuff or proximity to vagina(s), I will need that to be at least 5 figures. Anyway no one is offering me money for sexual favours, the most I ever got paid was 20 euros for a taxi but then I took the bus home so I consider that to have been a kind of income, and then when I lezzed out that time at the festival I got a really nice jumper out of it. Anyway. Moving on. Away from the prostitution talk. Sorry.)

So. I have not done a Captain Schettino on my blog or anything, (Could I be any more topical right now?) I am just going through a period of existential crisis and also largely, lazyness. Because it’s pretty easy to claim I want to protect my readership from the dullness of my everyday paranoia and then instead watch tv. Everyone wins.

Why write anything today then you might ask, if this was a conversation and not just me, me, me, hammering away at my sexy black keyboard with the white letters. This keyboard makes a beautiful sound. It’s the best keyboard I ever had on a laptop but it would be so much better if only the letters were illuminated by a customizable colour backlight. Just fucking saying, is all. Anyway the reason I am posting something today is that I am hideously hung over and the soft clicking of my keys and the warmth from my overheating laptop are soothing to my dehydrated and scrambled brain.

OH my beer-swollen gut,  I just remembered that for once, “Yesterday MFO” left me a good surprise to walk of shame home to. I made a quiche or pie type thing AND a fucking loaf of banana bread.

HELL to the yes. Of course I also left all the mess that goes with my cooking adventures, but it’s Sunday, if the lord had wanted me to load my dishwasher on a Sunday, he wouldn’t have made me an atheist. Ergo, today I feast and tomorrow I deal with the fact that I mashed banana directly on the kitchen counter to avoid getting a plate out of the far away cupboard.

Yummy yummy yummy. Sometimes yesterday MFO does nice things for me. Usually her gifts are things like, oh yeah, this fucking hangover and depression. But silver lining to the cloud of pain and regret and confusion…

It’s pastry time.

Anyway sorry sorry sorry getting sidetracked here.

I am going to proceed and in case you are the sort of person who doesn’t want to read about my disastrous sex life in too much detail, stop reading now and maybe this is not the place for you. The internet, I mean.

So. Last night, I put on a very very short dress, it is black and covered in black sequins of varying sizes. So it is sparkly and slutty but not too… Oh who am I kidding, if I raise my arms you can see my southern hemispheres.

I chose to wear heels too, despite Andrea saying she had sore feet and wouldn’t wear heels out and she is already considerably shorter than me. I didn’t care, I like being taller sometimes. It eliminates a lot of time wasters, it gives me an edge to go with my shyness and inability to make eye contact with any men in case I accidentally give them permission to sex me. I like tall men, and standing on my tippy toes makes it a lot easier to see who is tall enough for me to feel properly squished against a wall later, and for him to have any chance of being able to pick me up… otherwise I am relying on blurry drunken vision and my atrocious everyday spatial awareness. Excessive tallness is also a defense against the feelings of shittyness I encounter when Andrea gets hit on by ALL THE MEN.

Oh I am flattered if you think I am above memes and other internet tomfoolery but then you probably don’t think that, in which case you are right.

To quote-rape Oscar Wilde, “I am in the gutter, and I sure aint looking at no stars”

Apart from Alexander Skarsgard. YUM.

So, back to my riveting narrative-

When I am taller than people, I tell myself they are only not hitting on me because I intimidate them, like a straight Xena warrior princess… Their lack of interest is a sign that they know I am too far out of their league, there’s no point in even trying.

Simple delusion tactics but works pretty well on my ego, which will believe anything to make itself feel good. So last night I was tall, my skirt was short, I channeled non drug addict prostitute… and I went easy on the makeup. That was a good move and I plan on trying to remember to continue in that vein as I was delightfully fresh looking around 2am where usually the bathroom mirror throws back the hauntingly familiar harpy face, causing me to question the standards of any men who I do manage to lure back to my lair.

I looked pretty close to my best, last night. I even trimmed a good few centimetres of split ends from my hair which was getting a little too hippie for my liking. It is all shiny and nice now although it doesn’t give quite the same level of boob coverage as before, that extra bit was handy for obscuring  soft, floppy nip during my forays into woman on top-itude.

Woulda come in handy later. Yeah I got laid. Don’t cheer though, it was shit.

We danced. It was fun. We became drunk, drunk, laughing in each others faces and wondering, why don’t we have more friends? It is because we are too damn attractive that’s why, we are not horrible bitches it is other women who have some kind of problem. Cunts. Look at them, and their ugly clothes. Ha ha ha.

My dancing was based on looking good, sucking in my stomach and simulating something like normal human rhythm. Another couple of drinks down the gullet and it devolved, to just trying to disguise my stumbling and falling as dance steps. I staggered left right left ahhh and swooped back to my starting position, and repeated. I felt I was getting the hang of it as time wore on but probably I was just too hammered to know how bad it looked. Then I had a drunken epiphany that, hell I am leaving this place in like a month (woo!) and so why the FUCK would I care what anyone thinks about my dancing? Never mind, I will just dance like nobody who matters is watching, which is true because they are all just Italians.

Smoke machine obscured some of my stumbling. Nice. I began to let go of all the good and right things that keep me from making a tit of myself. Who the fuck cares? Italians, pfff. I leaned back and roared laughter. Free from the shackles of saving face… I was probably overall better at dancing after my epiphany, actually. Until I got a little too relaxed and began biting my lip and closing my eyes in hippie-junkie euphoria… Luckily something got a hold of me and said no, now, that’s enough, no one needs to see that shit.

And suddenly, from out of the smoke and my own slow motion carnival vision, so drunk all the people around me looked like when someone on tv remembers seeing a murderer at a fairground…

Suddenly there emerged a guy. Head and shoulders above the rest, except for those other two guys with the beekeeper beards who didn’t count.

Really hot. So hot… All tall, really tall and built, with a super hot face. He looked like an athlete of some sort, or Thor, or a Viking, or an asshole kind of jock. Mmmm my favorite. I want.

Tried to subtly dance closer, pushing people out of the way with my shoulders. Caught his eye and immediately when I saw his eyes see mine, was gripped by terror and looked away blushing furiously. Ahh shit. Can’t risk rejection. No no no no no.

Panic… what if he doesn’t come over to me? Should I go up to him, am I being too subtle?

I elbow some girls who are dancing between us. Subtly begin to stare at him grinning furiously, doing my drunken sleazy face with the half closing of one eye, and smirking on one side.

Rub my buttocks against some vague manly rugged part of him and swish my hair around hitting him with a sheet of shiny follicles. This is, sadly, the mating dance of the MFO. Slightly less unattractive than my actual dancing, but the fact of what it’s supposed to achieve makes it that bit creepier.

Andrea wants to go for a smoke. I am very angry at this interuption of my seduction process but I join her. Maybe this will count as playing it cool. I decide to confide in her… there’s a guy I kind of like on the dance floor.

Yeah the one in the grey.

Oh? You know?

Yeah it’s pretty obvious.

Oh, girl intuition. It’s cool she can pick up on that. Because she knows me so well I guess. We have spent a lot of time out together in the past year…

The guy you were rubbing up against like a hungry cat against a woman’s calves… He’s kind of nerdy looking.

What? No! He’s a hunk! He’s the image of Channing Tatum.. If Channing Tatum had a better looking son his own age, who looked more like a viking.

She raises her eyebrows.

I tell her I am glad we don’t have the same taste in men. She is currently crushing on some fucking llama of a man with dreadlocks and a hemp jacket. She’s like, huh, well your guy dances like a nerd.

I’m shocked she is so blind to his charms, but also glad because no competition! I’m like, woman, I don’t care HOW he fucking dances. All I’m here for is the horizontal tango. I begin making “ungh, ungh!” noises and thrusting motions with my arms. She says ok ok I guess he is a bit hot then yeah.. and changes the subject back to her own interests so I zone out and start thinking of a plan of courtship. I wonder should I pull up my skirt some. Or turn my dress around so I am exposing boob too, as it has a lower back than neckline.

We go back inside. I try to navigate through the crowd of dancers, my heels a major hindrance to casual snaking towards the front. He is not LOOKING AT ME! I dance as sexy as I possibly can without actually inserting a finger.

Suddenly he is behind me. I muster my courage and flash him my most dazzling but dimwitted smile.  Oh happy day! Can it be, I have pulled the hunkiest motherfucker in the club? I am the sexy master.

I am the conquistador of hotties.

He wraps an arm around my sequins and pulls me so close I can feel his… is that a hoodie knotted around his hips or is he extremely happy to see me, and well endowed? Oh fuck he is so sexy.

He blethers something about being unemployed in my ear. He studied philosophy. Ok. Ok. Can’t ruin it, you’re too pretty. I murmur agreement and let him have my standard introductory info, like my nationality, why I speak Italian, what I am doing in this cunting country, and so on.

He tries to add a kiss to the dry humping. I push his face away laughing. NO I don’t kiss people in public. Why? I just don’t. Ok…

(real reason: something I can’t remember clearly, to do with New Year’s eve and a pool table and a man whose name and face I couldn’t recall half an hour later.)

I tell him I will give him one later.

He’s like I don’t want to wait.

I’m all, yeah but later you’ll get more than a kiss. He kisses me on the cheeks and says do you know how we say hello in Italy? And I’m like yeah yeah kiss on the cheeks… and he’s like no… let me show you and starts licking his lips and I’m all, dude, I said no fucking kissing. I wonder if what is pushing into my crotch so delightfully is a hardon or the knot of a jumper tied around his hips. I am looking forward to this later thing too. I am pretty drunk, it’s handy he is here as he is supporting my endeavour to stay standing.

Andrea where is Andrea? Some hippie in a hat shaped like a tiger head is giving her a dance lesson. Ok. I’m good, haven’t ditched the bitch. Grind on Matteo some more. Oh yeah that’s his name, well not really, but it’s gonna be for this post. He won’t be a recurring character btw.

We talk for some reason about people who sexually assault girls on the tram. I use the opportunity (which I probably created anyway by bringing up this topic) to act all incredulous about why me, why me? He brandishes the usual compliments. SO BEAUTIFUL, so hot, so pretty, sexy girl… I pretend to brush the praise aside, no no no I don’t mean that, I wasn’t angling for a compliment!(lies, damned lies) He’s like, I know you weren’t but it’s true, you are incredible… so sexy… and tall.

I’m like no these are heels. Tee hee. (Love being tall, hot dang!) He’s all, yeah but you are still tall. We talk about weird things. He is so much better to talk to than Fabio. He doesn’t misunderstand all my jokes and stuff and he is liberal with the flattery. I like my hunk, he is so hot and sexy and he is talking in my ear about how he can’t wait to get me alone… Fabio needs so much more encouragement and he’s not as…HORNY about it. Fabio sucks. I’m like, what’s your story, do you live alone or near?

He tells me he lives alone and what’s more, we are getting a lift there with his friend. I push for Andrea to get a lift too. He tells me I am really thoughtful and a good friend. And pretty. And sexy. We get in the car. His friend is not pleased about having to drive Andrea home in the opposite direction. We drop her off and then he leaves us  at Matteo’s apartment. Thank you bye bye!

Inside the door… I pull him to me, pinning me to the wall. Oh he is so fucking hot and big and tall and he wants me so badly. We kiss for the first time, we’ve been waiting so long for this… he grabs my neck and lunges…

And he’s a terrible kisser. His tongue darting in and out of my mouth. It reminds me of an eel, or that time I ate tongue by accident. (cow tongue) It’s horrible. Urgh. Strike one… but it’s too late to back out now. I am here, I don’t even know where here is… but he said he’s give me a lift home tomorrow. I don’t want to pay for another taxi now, especially because to suddenly change my mind… too much hassle and awkwardness.

Oh well, I’ll just get on top and do my own thing, he can’t be THAT bad. A bad kisser can redeem himself elsewhere, can’t he?

Up to his apartment, inside, I fling my shoes across the room. You’re still tall, he says. Picks me up and plonks me on the bed. Oh YES. I like..

Takes off my dress, tights. I like your underwear… sexy. I argue with him that they are not sexy underwear they are just cotton knickers from H&M and I was meant to wear black with the dress which is short but I couldn’t find black ones… Shut up MFO. Shut up.  Takes off underwear. He looks at me, just how I like to be looked at. In admiration. Pauses.

“Sei stupenda”. Oh yes. I like the compliments, keep em coming. That one I particularly like, it’s like beautiful or fantastic or incredible or something. Yay! Naked admiration is the best admiration. I forgive the bad, inanimate kissing… I concentrate on kissing his neck and shoulder to avoid being stabbed in the face with that rigid, forceful tongue of his.

He’s on top… he’s naked too. We’re panting, gasping for each other, all the grinding on the dance floor….

He’s feeling all over my body. He’s got my nipple in his mouth, gently between his teeth.

I reach down.

He’s.. soft.

Why is he soft?

I have a little wrangle with the situation, but nothing is happening. Hm.

Then it’s semi hard. Ok I guess. Just need to get it inside and it will perk up I’m sure. Condom on. It’s pretty big actually but just… not very hard. I straddle him and try to… no. No it just falls back, invertebrate… what the fuck man? He begins making excuses like oh no I drank so much. Hmm.

Have another go… he’s on top. And it feels… kinda good I guess. For a second. And then it’s gone again. What is going on here? I know it’s not that he doesn’t find me attractive. It can’t be. He clearly likes me, he clearly likes my body…. what is this shit?

I didn’t want to give him head, I really didn’t, because I’m starting to think maybe I should stop doing that with people I don’t know, and maybe I will get an STD or something in fact maybe I already do, who the fuck knows? I always have protected sex but I don’t care what those leaflets they gave us in sex ed said, I am not gargling a rubber and I don’t really see the point in giving head if it isn’t wet and sensitive…

But I need to make this work, so fuck it. Down I go. Condom off, into the mouth with you, I don’t have much spit right now but you can have what I got. Instant results. Woah, that is a BIG BIG DICK.

I am impressed and feeling hopeful… We are going to have a good time after all. Another condom on. There we go… damn my breasts miss their protective shield of split ends. Now he can see my wobbly and underdeveloped chestal region. Ease you in now, nice and gently… feels mighty good. Lean a little into it.

There’s no use, it’s soft again. WHAT have I done to deserve this? Is it too much to ask? He tries to go for it… jackhammering away at my while I lie there thinking, urrr… 2004-me called, she wants her sex back? It’s pointless. Like picking a lock with a gummy worm. I try my lazy and unmotivated hands… Can I help at all? Have to mentally chant “be gentle with the balls” when I touch things because I have a natural desire to be very rough with them and I was told that was not an enjoyable experience. So I don’t really like doing things manual style. But he just grins at me and slurs, You know how you can help.

Fuck. Really horny or I would have given up long ago… I creep back down and slather on my remaining mouth juice. This better work. It’s surprisingly enjoyable, considering the size of the critter. It swells up to a fearsome beast, and he gasps and pushes my hair from my face. It’s the look on his face, it’s sickening really but I get insanely turned on by it. Absolute appreciation…. I can’t help myself, it spurs me on. I get so high on feeling attractive. I try a little deep throat. Oh fuuuuuckkk…

I like when they close their eyes and lie back but I also like when they stare at me while I do it. I don’t know which I prefer.

And again…

Go, me! I am so good at this. I forgot, now I remember… I am really good at this.

I pull back my head as I’m about to gag and suddenly I can taste it, eerily vibrant, silky stuff… it was past the taste buds but now they are picking it up… He’s cumming in my mouth. Ah for fucks sake. I whip it out and let the rest fall where it may.

What the fuck, I thought you were supposed to warn people?

I go to the bathroom, wash my hands, rinse my mouth.

That wasn’t my intention, a throat full of spunk. I was only getting you hard so we could have fun rough drunk people sex. Not pleasure you with my mouth. Grr. Fuck it. Back to bed. Sleep time. Tomorrow morning better be better.

He offers me pyjamas. Pyja… what? We’re… sleeping in the bed together. Like, one night stands… pyjamas? I laugh. He shrugs. Please don’t put on pyjamas. He doesn’t put on pyjamas.

We sleep.

Wake up… Smile to self, got laid, pulled the hottie… Details float in. Didn’t really get laid, did I? Sucked some dude’s dick. Look around… Nice place you got here. And good morn… ack!

Hottie? Is that you? I don’t wanna look, but there he lies… mouth slightly open… eyes shut…

Beside me lies the epitome of hot, the Viking slash jock slash Channing Tatum hybrid I chose to be my consort for his stunning looks.

And I’m not saying that, in the harsh light of day, he is ugly. No, he’s not UGLY. He’s just… not very attractive really. He’s ok I guess. Andrea’s words float before me “he looks like a nerd.” I remember his dancing now. Yes. Yes. She was right actually. Crap. Remember this feeling… Not really used to this any more. Where the fuck am I? Look around me. On the ground lie my clothes, grotty underwear and a ridiculously short sequinned dress plus crazy coloured 6 inch heels. Shit. It’s walk of shame time, and I don’t even know where I am or how to get out of this building even.

I consider molesting the guy in his sleep, looks or no looks, the room’s already paid for I may as well take the shower caps. He goes on my list of people I fucked, I should at least try wrangle a good one out of him.

What’s the etiquette here? Is it cool to wake someone for sex, or do we look to the standard law of “never wake a hung over person if they are managing to get some sleep”? The guy came in my mouth without warning me, does that mean I can try to stir him up in the pants department while he sleeps? Is that… rape?

I know it would be appreciated if I woke up a dude with mouth love, but I am not doing that again.

I try to wake him up for a bit by tossing and turning but he is totally comatose.

I begin to panic that maybe he is actually comatose or… maybe he is dead? I fantasize about the awful shame of a one night stand who isn’t even hot, dying in bed with me and having to explain the story to police and no one believing me and having to constantly be reminded of this not great looking nerd I tried to fuck who went floppy on me…

Argh.

Check his pulse. We’re good, he’s alive. thank fuck.

I get up to pee and am terrified I will fart. This doesn’t happen as I am a LADY but my pee is deafening, I want to shhh it but don’t remember if I should lean back or forward to silence the stream of falling beer and long island iced teas that is escaping my half pickled carcass.

Why it is embarassing to pee loud, I do not know, but I am ashamed.

Back to bed. I am naked.

I slip into bed and think, I am not going to get to sleep in this man’s bed.

Fantasize about horrible things like him taking me home to kill me. Imagine walking around the apartment and coming across a room full of dead bodies and turning around and him standing there and being like, you shouldn’t have looked behind that door… ahh!

Stare at the sleeping nerd beside me in fear. Manage to sweep away this paranoia as he would have totally killed me the night before and not let himself fall asleep and leave me unguarded. Plus I really don’t want to get up yet, it is probably too early. Check a watch on the bedside table… 8am. Shit.

Try to sleep. Failing that, try to wake up sleeping notabeauty. Try to sneak my hand in around his crotchal region to see if I can get something going… He has the sheets tucked in forming a barrier between us. Oh.

I get up for water, conspicuously, naked, closing the door loudly when I return. He smiles and surveys me.

You fucking better find this attractive, floppycock.

Good morning.

Good afternoon.

What, isn’t it 8? The watch….

It’s not a watch, it’s an ornament. I look at it. So it is. It’s a tiny pretend alarm clock made of wood, with the time painted on. Oh.

It’s midday.

I drink some water. Hand him some. Get in bed… mmmm back to warm, back to touching… try some kissing without allowing our terrible mornning breath to escape. Mmm mmm mm. It’s not great as kissing goes, but it’s considerably better than the tongue rape my mouth endured last night. Touching and kissing, I’m glad again I didn’t wear too much slap last night as my morning face is pretty decent now.

Condom on… Rolls over onto me. Inside… oh hell yeah. I can FEEL that.

Feels good. I’m not exactly ready but I’ll take it. It’s not fully erect but it still feels pretty decent. He pounds me into the mattress furiously as the hardon kind of recedes, kissing my closed lips with a rhythmic smacking sound… mwah mwah mwah… I try to give encouragement in the form of giving as good as I take and pulling him to me, and we fuck like this, him at half mast, me totally underwhelmed but enjoying sweating and moving and it’s good for the hangover… After a while it’s like, this is getting sloppier. Try to change position… No dice. Like a wind sock on a summer’s day. That’s not going to work. I sink into misery. It’s my tits isn’t it, they looked bigger in my bra, even though it isn’t a padded bra, it just makes them look bigger. I feel shitty. He probably beer gogglesed me just like I did him.

All the compliments lose their lustre. I am not stupenda, we were just drunk. Oh the shame. If I can’t even get a guy hard who seems totally below my league, how will I ever wake up beside someone and think, hell yes, I would like to see that face for a prolonged period of time?

Do I just have insanely unrealistic tastes?

I’m not giving him head again that’s for sure.

Lie there for a while. Talk about a few things. The conversation is a million times better than with Fabio, who can in his defence totally get it up. I would like Fabio if I could talk to him like this dude, it’s just nice and natural and there’s laughing.

The last time Fabio came over was super awkward. We talked about ourselves. Not something i was keen to get into, but I thought I should at least let Fabio know about the whole I’m married thing. So I told him about that and then as he asked all sorts of questions about me and let’s face it, I am both way more interesting than most of the people I come across and can’t resist when someone wants to know about me, I told him a LOT of my baggage. Damn it. I felt all icky afterwards, like I let him take home a little piece of me that I don’t want to give to anyone. Not to him, anyway. I have no problem fucking a stranger and leaving unscathed with my identity intact, but sharing… talking… feels weird in my bones. Like I gave it away to someone undeserving. I guess this is the way most people would feel about sex, but then you know I’m totally special and unique and opposite to other people.

The other day I came across a thing about sex addiction and perked up thinking hey maybe I have that. I have always wanted to be diagnosed with something, maybe it could be kind of an excuse for my behaviour or get me some extra attention?  The only thing I have got a doctor to diagnose me with so far is OCD. YAY! But I never told anyone that because i don’t think it’s really that relevant, like what does it even mean anyway? I’m obsessive and compulsive, that’s just two fucking personality traits. Like you wouldn’t say someone had Relaxed Calm disorder, and that could just as easily be my personality. But it’s not. Which is why it’s a problem at all. Whatever. Anyway usually when I have my phases of self diagnoses, like when I decided I was just really highly functioning autistic, and that was why I always said the wrong thing to people and wanting to be lef thte fuck alone, well, my friends are always like, shut up MFO stop being a hypochondriac and a drama queen. And they are right of course. But this time my friend was like, actually I don’t think that’s ridiculous at all, I mean I have a high sex drive but you are flat out obsessed. So I am sort of “on this” at the moment. Expect more posts about my sexual addiction soon, probably. Or maybe it’s just a phase.

Anyway sorry, I was saying… Fabio, last time I reached new levels of cringe…. It’s the talking man, I shouldn’t be talking.

At one point he asked me, “have you ever had an STD?” And I just did a double take. What kind of question is that shit? Is that a normal question? I don’t know if it’s like, totally normal adult mature people question to ask, or if he’s just being a weirdo. I do know he should have asked that shit BEFORE all the sex. I have no idea, maybe I am riddled with disease. It’s possible. I haven’t been tested… but I always have protected sex, but then sometimes drunkeneness happens and I let penises explode in my mouth. Admittedly it’s rare for that  to happen and I am quite ignorant of sexually transmittables but I think most have symptoms and shit. I really had better get tested, it’s just… I’ll wait for London as I am too scared of Italians to do it here. They will only judge me and the number of people I have slept with.

Anyway when Fabio asked me that, those thoughts raced through my mind. Argh. I realised after a bit, I had a mad, scared grin on my face and was completely silent, rocking back and forth like I needed to pee or tell a secret.

I said NO. I wonder if that is unethical, half- lying like that. Because I probably don’t have anything… but then, my friend told me the other day, Chlamydia has no symptoms. So I could have it. But then we only ever have protected sex, so it’s not like he’s at risk or anything.

I wonder if I should pretend to have been tested but not recently so I am technically not lying about being 100% disease free, but don’t look like such an irresponsible skank?

I mutter “a few months ago I think” meaning to say I haven’t been tested since then… but then I back out. No. You can’t lie here, that’s just plain wrong. I trail off.

He’s like what? A few months ago what?

I blush. NOTHING. Nothing? What?

What did you mean, he asks.

No, I mean… What did YOU say?

Have you ever had an STD.

No, what? When? Sorry no I haven’t, never… At least.. I don’t think.

What? What were you saying then.

Nothing. You asked a question.

Okaaaay… Well are you sure you never had one? It’s ok you can tell me.

No, yes… I mean.. Sorry. I just get a bit weird when… when people… ask me questions.

Why? It’s just, we talked about pretty much everything, I just thought I’d ask, maybe…

I’m like, No not me, well, have you?

No.

Ok then. I am sitting on my hands, rocking back and forward.I can’t stop grinning or blushing.

I wipe the smile away eventually and in as serious a tone as I can muster, I tell him, no it’s just when I am nervous or something, I get really weird. Sorry. No I havenn’t had a disease, it’s just I’m really immature about stuff that’s why I am acting like this.

Ok…. He shakes his head briefly.

We moved on from this… epic disaster of human interaction… and for some reason, he still had sex with me several times. It was good.

But I had put my vibrator and lube and condom collection in a tin to have it all handy by my bed, and I whipped out the condoms and began tittering uncntrollably and ranting about having a huge collection of condoms. I don’t know why I was being like this. It’s just… I am a big old freak. I don’t even have that many, there are just several different brands and types, not because I have so much sex or anything just because I accumulate them, I don’t know, I guess some are from way back in South America when husband and I were doing the safe sex thing. I really need to get tested…

He looked at me a little put out and was like, “do you have sex often?” and I whip back with, “not in Italy, no, I don’t know any… never mind. No. Not here. I never understood how to pull… nothing. Nothing.”

Urgh. I’m a liability. Stop talking now.

This ALWAYS happens with Fabio. The convo is so forced and stunted and awkward, I trip over my words and blush and he just sits there taking me seriously, with his big gentle eyes patiently waiting for me to untangle myself… He’s so… vanilla. But the sex is so good… technically. There’s no heart or soul in it. It’s like… I used to love the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I loved them because they were all raw and dirty and had all this energy and you could tell they had lots of sex and went to parties and were up to no good… they were my favorite band when I was around 15 I guess. But then they released a new album in 2000 and something, and I was so excited. My favorite band from when I was a bit younger, they were bound to come out with something brilliant. Oh my god it was going to be so good. and I bought that album, last music I ever paid for by the way, and the album was called By The Way.

And it was shit. I know, that’s just my opinion and all. Technically, I mean the sound was good. It was good. I just didn’t like it. It was like, polished and I didn’t feel anything from it. I listened to that album and there was no sex and drugs and rock and roll, there was just… leather furniture and wealthy middle aged stagnation. I’m not saying they sold out or lost their soul, but yeah however passionate they still were about their music, the music itself wasn’t coming across as passion. They are probably miles better as musicians now, with lots of life experience… but passion, man, passion isn’t about experience or knowledge or being accomplished…

That’s what sex is like with Fabio. He’s good at it. I feel like I’m good at it, with him, and it’s enjoyable… but it’s just soulless. It’s not urgent, I’m not really very attracted to him. I was more attracted to my nerd last night, if he had been able to keep it up I would have been thrilled. I would probably be moping about him not asking for my number or any way to contact me, after dropping me home… If he had been able to keep it up. Instead I don’t really give a shit. But the attraction was there, the conversation was lively and EASY. When we kissed, even though it was pretty lousy, and even the next day when I saw him clearly as NOT being insanely gorgeous any more, I still wanted to fuck him wildly. It didn’t matter how good or bad he was in bed, I would have had a wonderful sexy time. If he had been able to keep it up.

Fabio has a wonderful dick , a good body, he knows how to use both… but goddammit I see him and I don’t really care if he touches me or not, it doesn’t really excite me that much. And it doesn’t help that I have seen the man in three different purple jumpers. That is three purple jumpers he owns at least… They are definitely not the same jumper each time, I have noted differences in them.

And last time he came over he was wearing a different bubble jacket, a white one with another fake fur hood. Looks like a fucking duvet. And when I went over to his place for a quickie one time, he was wearing old man slippers. Actually Matteo had old man slippers by the bed too, I guess it’s an Italian thing. I can’t hold it against them.

Urghh…

Have to stop being so judgemental on Fabio, it’s a good thing I am not attached to anyone as it makes it possible for me to leave this hole.

I am so hung over still though, it all looks bleak. Which is ridiculous because I also know that I am so close to not being fucking miserable, ie, I am going to London very soon, so I dont’ have a whole lot to feel shit about. It’s just the hangover…

Anyway. I have loads of other uncomfortableness and stuff to write about but I have been typing this for like an hour now and I just want to get some more pain killers and banana bread into my belly.

I am sorry if this is just totally unnecessary details of my sex life that you didn’t want. I am probably only sorry because I am hungover and my ego is a little deflated after the great penis deflation debacle of last night and this morning. Try as I might, it’s just hard not to take that as a commentary on my horrible breasts.

Also I have wrinkles in my face, I think I am ageing prematurely. It may be the hangover speaking but… I’m not happy.

Anyway. good night I guess.

8 responses to “I have to stop sleeping with the locals.

  1. Vive le stupenda mofo! Good to have you back, mon cheese. Always love yo’ posts but screw pleasing us. Write about whateveryawant, yo.

    Meanwhile, what the holy Huckleberry with three purple jumpers?! That cracked me, large. Tres special needs.

    • Face bumps! Ah I meant fist bumps, but… Why the hell not? It’s ok, I don’t have herpes, probably. Thanks for the props yo, you sure know how to spit shine the tip of my ego! No worries anyway, more than trying to please you fine folks, my reluctance to write is more about giving myself permission to stew in bed and watch tv. I don’t get what the deal is with the jumpers… perhaps he thinks because we first hooked up when he was wearing one (it was dark in that bar) maybe it is my favorite colour, or his lucky colour? I was thinking next time we are in bed maybe I hide the jumper and pretend my underbed goblins ate it. I could have a giveaway, my readers write in haikus about why they deserve the jumper and the best haiku wins you an authentic piece of MoFO memorabilia? One of them is Lacoste, not too shabby…

  2. Well I have two ‘Liquid’ comments.
    My first suggestion is when peeing, if you want to silence it, just throw in a handful of toilet paper first. That way when you pee, the paper muffles the sound of impact. Oh yes!
    I do that in the middle of the night sometimes if I don’t wanna wake up my man.
    Second: Drink some water luv. It’ll fill in the wrinkles.
    (fuck I sound like a mom but really am trying to sound like a friend. Once you’ve had kids you always be default sound like a mother when giving advice…lol)
    Hugs and keep writing!! Love your stuff regardless of what you write about. I have been feeling a bit bummed out lately too, not sure why. I think it’s the come-down from the holidays for me. I entertained like a mofo and it burned me out!

    • That’s true Val but all my skank training tells me, when in the house of a strange man and trying to avoid the awkward, you want to avoid overuseing the t.p. Just in case the flush is weak. You know. Even if it’s just pee, you always play it safe with a strange toilet. But your second piece of advice is facepalmingly brilliant. It was just dehydration. My skin is back to normal today. I no longer look like a super evolved lizard. YAY! Anyway thanks… I will of course keep writing, just have moments when it all feels like… meh. Ya know… And I was just listening to this song and it made me feel really good so here… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeHpZZElZoc Hugs right back at ya! And mum advice is perfectly fine and lovely, if you avoid nagging me about being promiscuous! :)

  3. Man what a fantastic read! It’s so refreshing sometimes to know there’s other people out in this world how can never turn their dumb brains off and enjoy things.

    Sorry your sex adventure was a failure. I knew, just knew that was going to happen. Floppy dicks suck. And don’t be too hard on yourself! He was probably just terrified by the giant upgrade of a girl he somehow pulled into his bed.

    Not everyone can handle the heat of Miss MFO’s fire!

  4. Pingback: A rebound guy in the hand is worth two in the bush. (I mean the metaphorical bush, because obviously the physical bush is where you want the rebound guys.) | More fucking opinions from someone on the internet.

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