I am the queen of jobs. Blow, and the other kind…

For once I actually have good, proud-making, achievement news to impart!

I found a job. Pretty quickly, if I do say so myself. I’d pat myself on the back but really, it’s easy to go out and achieve things when you don’t have very many friends or a tv. And it’s not a very good job. It’s a call centre job. But it’s a job, it will allow me to live here in my hotel room-esque skank pad and buy brand-name chickpeas.

I was really desperate for a job, Ireland is not a good place right now for finding employment. It’s not the sandbox yuppie paradise of my youth. That’s all over… this time I had to pull out all the stops and dust off my lady suit. Unfortunately, when I bought my lady pants suit 6 years ago, I spent a lot of weekends shaking my money maker in dark rooms, quaffing substances whose side effects included a loss of appetite. The lady suit no longer hangs off my body like men on my every word, and it has a bit of a problem in the camel toe department. A frantic rummage through my wardrobe revealed just how lucky I was in my last job- I have NO skirts of an appropriate length for dropping a pencil on the ground. And the interview lady seemed to place quite a high value on dressing professionally… maybe she just meant “neat dress essential” but I wasn’t taking any chances. Also, have I mentioned how great my legs are? I need to cover those puppies if I want to avoid initial she-hatred from my woman superiors.

So, though I was already broke as a back mountain, and had no guarantees I’d even get the job- I hit the shops and blew my last monetary load all over Zara and New Look and all the purveyors of pencil skirts and little jackets. My first outfit was a black skirt whose hem was so barely above the knee, I could have bent down in front of that interviewer and touched my toes without exposing anything more than my chronic unfittness.

I nailed that interview like it was a man who complimented my appearance.

I laid it on so thick with the bullshit, it started to bother my gag reflex.

I got the job, baby! And I was told again, make sure you keep attire professional. Nothing too formal but… keep it classy.

I emptied my bank accounts and made a small dent in my mother’s.

I tried on skirts and jackets and felt like the world’s most professional legitimate businesswoman. I forced myself to NOT buy a white suit with massive gold buttons. I looked fantastic in it, but really… it’s too much. I need a slightly better job first…

Now it’s the weekend, and it’s Jesus week so I have a long four days to recoup and refresh and iron my skirts before work recomences.

Or just to bang a whole load of dudes…

Last weekend one of my greatest friends came to visit. We had a wonderful meal in her family’s house, with 27 bottles of wine between I think 9 people… The craic was, I believe, mighty, and towards the end of the night I found myself wearing a piece of coloured foil wrapping paper on my head and singing spongebob squarepants songs with a lungfull of helium balloon. What I mean to say is, it was quite literally OFF THE HOOK.

The next night I had pre-drinks drinks in my apartment with my friend and her cousin. We hit the mean streets of Dublin town pretty late, like midnight, and met up with an old chumaroo from school. Actually the same one I was out with recently, when I met Ross… The girls wanted to smoke a fat one around the corner so we tottered down a side street and sat on some steps. I’m surprised this has never happened to me before, but as soon as my bum hit the step, I realised what else people use side street doorways for other than smoking joints.

My bottom was marinating in a drunk man’s piss.

I stood up quickly and tried to make it not have happened with my mind. I pretended I had not sat in pee. Eventually, as I failed repeatedly to understand the watery conversation occuring around me… my hand found its way to my ass and touched and I brought it up to my face for a sniff. Hoping for a whiff of beer or vodka, but no… it was as I knew, it was pee. It was stinky, stinky pee. The kind of pee some charlatan like Gillian McKeith would probably tell you implied a very sick and dehydrated individual.

I stood for a few moments trying to force it to not be the reality, that I had sat in my nice navy coat in my nice gold dress with my nice black spandex bridget jones pants (for modesty, that’s a short dress..) in a puddle of piss.

I couldn’t make myself ignore it. I had pee on my bum. I was soaked. Around me my friends laughed and smoked… they were totally irrelevant to my situation. All I knew was the pee, the pee, the junkie pee on my bum. I told them about the pee and when they failed to provide any miraculous solutions or tell me that it didn’t matter, I gave up and went inside to the bathroom. The bathroom was full of cackling knackers with caked on makeup and shiny legs. I took off my coat and washed its lower half with copious hand soap. I smelled it- ok. Pee smell gone. But what about the spandex shorts and my gold dress? There was nothing for it but to hoist myself up onto the counter and SIT my whole bum in the sink. I took the shorts off and washed my ass while girls emerging from toilets stared at me in fear and shock. I mumbled at each emerging lassie, “I’m not… I sat in pee.. it’s not my pee, I sat on a step..” but I don’t think anyone believed me. I wouldn’t have believed me.

I washed my ass until you could have eaten off it if you so wished.

I washed the shorts but they were too wet to put back on.

The dress was made of a metallic fabric that dried instantly under the hand driers. I wringed out my coat as much as possible, and rejoined my friends, feeling like I had a dirty little secret and anyone who came too near would either smell pee on me or feel my wet coat and think I was a filthy bitch.

My friend whose fake-blog name I can’t remember, I’ll call her Georgia… maybe she had another name two weeks ago… whatevs. Anyway Georgia has recently discovered ecstasy. She is in the honeymoon period of pill abuse where the whole city feels like a massive playground populated entirely with people who are cool enough to know about the secret drug culture and must know how amazing it is, and people who just don’t get it.

I know it’s a lot of fun but really I draw the line…. she brought me down to the toilets again where I took advantage of the hand dryers and she ground up a pill and snorted it. I   refused the proferred nose candy because eww, no thanks.. My pill snorting days are over * *well, actually…

We rejoined the others, I with a sinking feeling that most of the people I know in Dublin are serious party creatures. My other friend and her cousin and I decided to ditch this scene anyway,  because it had a sickly feel to it, full of eternal teenagers…. people who haven’t changed physically in 6 years… people who look exactly the same as they did when we were in school… Weird.

Then we hit some very exclusive bar where I couldn’t get the barman’s attention over the middle aged men’s orders of champagne cocktails. Money trumped my soggy ass that night. I was invisible to the bar staff with my wrinkled 20 euro note whimpering for a neat whiskey…. We met up with some guys the girls knew, one of them having been at the meal the night before. He was sat beside me presumably because we were the single ones, and we had some banter and I for some reason fell into my old habit of acting all bitchy and aggressive in a flirtatious manner. I didn’t mean it really, I guess I just had my period so I was being a bit aggro.

He drove me home the next morning, actually.. I mean, the morning that later turned into the night we were out on… I mean, I had gone home before my friends joined me in my apartment. Wanted to tidy up a bit and shower before they came over… so he drove me in and we had a slightly sexual conversation because OH MY GAWD I am incapable of talking about anything else. He called me a nymphomaniac and I said hey, everyone’s got their hobbies…

His eyes flicked over to my knees in the passenger seat. He mentioned jokingly that I should give him a blow job, as the lift wasn’t free… I didn’t have anything witty to say back to that so I just laughed. I wasn’t attracted to him.

But we were out in this bar later that night, and soon the bar was closing and we hit a chipper and he bought me garlic chips and we all piled into a taxi back to my friend’s cousin’s house. I wanted to go back to mine but I just don’t have the bed space for everyone… we stayed up all night drinking…

The girls hit the hay some time in the morning. Myself and this guy drank until daylight and kept going. Around 9am I gave up and lay on the couch and grabbed the duvet that had been supplied for me. There was a bed upstairs for him, apparently, but he chose that moment to make his move. Admittedly he had taken advantage of my drunken condition to ask me lots of questions about my sexual self. I obliged with the number of people I have slept with, the story about my lesbian antics at the festival, my threesome… there was no stopping me. I babbled incessantly. I lay down on the couch probably fully intending to get some sleep, but he leapt on top and we writhed around for a bit, kissing…

I grew bored and got up after a while. I lay in the garden under the midday sun… it was beautiful. The girls got up and laughed at me because it was obvious he hadn’t gone to his own bed. But I was a bit indignant and embarassed… I had my period, I had no plans for sex. It felt stupid to have been “caught” for something so lame as a bit of kissin’.

He found me alone in the garden and lay down beside me but I got up like a shot…

He asked me if he could park his car at my house, he didn’t want to drive home yet… And was that ok? I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t decide if I should or not. As usual I let “going with the flow” decide for me. The path of least resistance, that’s how I roll.

We were picked up soon and dropped to my house. My friend had to fly home later so she left and I was there in my apartment with this guy. By this stage my full blown horniness had kicked in. It’s really irrelevant who the guy is, I just get horny and that’s the end of it.

He pounced again, full of ridiculous energy… I realised I must have been teasing him inadvertently for hours. Look, stop ,I have my period, fuck that… it’s like, really heavy too… I’m sorry if I led you on….

He didn’t care about my period. We had ferocious, filthy sex for 5 hours. It was great. I had a terrible heavy period… I’m really not the kind of girl to have period sex normally but like… I Was so hung over, and I had a horny man in my bed…

He actually went to the effort of making me orgasm, too. That is pretty fucking unusual for me. You see I don’t just have orgasms from sex. I’m not one of those people who can’t… I CAN. I have orgasms all the time. By myself.

I have had them with other people too, but only when I have a sexual partner who is willing to fuck me while I kind of just lie there and pleasure myself. It’s difficul to cum with someone else… for me.

But this is a guy who has probably, albeit surprisingly, had more action than me. You have no idea.. or maybe you have a lot of idea… how rare that is…

I NEVER come across men who have more experience than I do. I rarely come across women who have. I’m not saying I’m like the world’s greatest slut or anything but I do have a lot of sex and I just don’t encounter many of my own kind in the real world.

When I was almost pass-out drunk, he told me he had fucked over 60 women. Now whether or not I believe that.. and I know men are supposed to lie about that shit… but if I have had sex with the amount of people I have… ok I’ll tell you because I don’t know why I’m withholding that information, you know everything else anyway… it’s around 40.

So if I have fucked 40 people (give or take) and I spent 3 years in a mostly monogamous relationship, and another previous year in another, again mostly being faithful… then someone who is ridiculously capable in the sack could easily have fucked 20 more than me. Easily. I have had huge dry spells too. I mean if I have sex now with a different person or people, ha ha, every two weeks… then in 4 more years (the age difference) I will have hit that magic number. A century of cock.

The number thing actually doesn’t bother me at all.

I realised lately, that the only thing making me feel slutty or dirty about sex is when I have bad sex. There are many things in life to regret, and a jolly good rogering is not one of them. I feel bad about myself when I have bad sex or when I show someone a wonderful time with my mouth and they don’t even have the decency to leave a tip or call  me two days later.

I had a great time, last weekend. I may have been no-inhibitions fucked by some guy who I will definitely see again in awkward family friend type environments, and yeah we even talked dirty and yeah it was fun, and yeah it’s kind of a case of shitting where you eat because my friend’s family meals are wonderful and he’s gonna be there at a lot of them…

But fuck it, I had a good time and it worked wonders on those period pains.

So that was last weekend.

One night last weekend, Ross actually drunk dialed me at 3.30 am and when I drunkenly accused him of calling on my booty, he said ” I respect you too much to do that, I just want to talk!” I acted all indignant because I was actually not in Dublin so I couldn’t go meet him anyway… but I told him, look if you really like me, call me when you’re sober. That would show you have respect for me.

But I got tired waiting..

So on Wednesday I texted him hi how are ya what’s up…

and he asked me to meet him for a coffee yesterday.

I met him in a pub after work, and admittedly it was a bit awkward.

We kissed on the cheek but it sort of paused mid kiss and became a weird little face hug.

We had beers. I was fresh from a day of work, wearing a lady suit, and the pub was full of alternative, young types.

I felt old and businesspersonlike…

We had some beers and the conversation was good.

I know it was supposed to be coffee but I don’t think either of us really had that intention.

We wound up walking around town, entering pubs at random, having a couple of drinks and then moving on. We had whiskeys, he drank his with coke and I felt like a badass, Don Draper type, in my suit, drinking mine neat.

The conversation flowed wonderfully. I dropped the n-bomb. I mean, nerd. I dropped the nerd bomb. And we had that in common. We talked about Skyrim and Fallout and science fiction and porn and the internet. We pretended to be nazis, we pretended to be jesus freaks and had these bizzare and inappropriate conversations.

It was nice. Then we left and went back to mine, at last orders… a good 6 hours after we started our pub crawl.

In my apartment he noticed my black satin slut sheets. I pretended like I had just accidentally put them on the bed and they just happened to be the only clean sheets.

He looked through my music folder and I was embarassed and he teased me about my Bryan Ferry. Hey, Bryan Ferry is the bawm. But yeah I really don’t have a great collection of music.

We had sex a number of times. It was pretty fucking good… he has a massive penis. Like, too big for my mouth massive. I know because I tried to fit it in there and started to feel like I was going to get lockjaw. I gave him as good head as I could manage considering, and I got the job done, and he seemed pretty impressed. I do take pride in a blow job well done…

The sex was great. Invigorating… he saw my condom collection and asked about it. Why do you have so many? I didn’t know what to say so I told him “I collect condoms”.

He’s like, no, really, how come you have so many?

I’m like… “uhhh I talk about sex a lot, so people… give me condoms?”

Yeah you’re not fooling anyone. He had a packet with him. He tore off the plastic and I didn’t think about it, that he had clearly invited me for coffee and bought condoms for the occassion. Fuck it, I’m happy… but yeah, it probably means he’s a little bit full of shit about having sooo much respect for me. It was a booty call after all, but at least he bought me a lot of drinks before getting me into bed.

The only complaint I have… and I don’t really care about it too much..

is that he didn’t really pay much attention to ME.

Now, he didn’t do much vaginal research the last time, either… but maybe I didn’t notice that time because I’m kind of used to these great lummoxes who fuck with their dicks and don’t do a whole lot else.

And then last weekend, the guy actually MADE ME ORGASM WITH HIS HAND. That might not seem like a big deal but like… it takes a long time. I can do it myself in less than a minute but I get all nervous with a guy and it’s harder. It took ages, and at one point I was like, look if your hand is cramping up don’t worry about it, and he was like, no it’s fine… and continued… and it was excellent, I’ve so rarely come across a man who is good to go, no need for guidance…

So I did like that… and there was a lot more “ME worship” last weekend, just in general… like he was all not caring about my period, in fact he tried to go down on me and I was like, dude, I’m not saying it isn’t massively arousing that you are willing to do that, but I am not… entirely comfortable… so he just kissed around my thighs and stuff. He told me I had a crackin’ body… Even though I had eaten more than a month’s calories in one sitting the night before and was a tad on the bloated side. He also said I was a fantastic kisser… that’s really nice to hear because I zone out when I’m having a nice kiss, there’s no effort or technique it’s just… kissing… It’s a nice thing to hear…

We talked dirty. I never do that.. I’ve always just cringed and thought ahhh how awful, I hope he doesn’t remember what I said…  but it was actually sexy and I didn’t feel like I was bullshitting… I was just talking about what would turn me on. It felt like it added something to the experience….

Then I compare that day of lusty goings on, with Ross, the dude I briefly was very obsessed with… and it’s like, yes he has a big dick but there’s very little… excitement…

At one point I can’t remember what we were talking about but I merely MENTIONED periods in passing and his reaction was something like “EWW”. Then I talked about my not being able to cum easily. And he was like, so what do you do? And I’m like, well I have a vibrator. He was like what? So I showed him my little gold bullet. He wrinkled up his face. “That’s really small!”

I was like, “man, it doesn’t go INSIDE. It’s for the outside…”  and again he was like “ewww” and so with a sigh I put it away in my bedside toiletries bag with my lube and my condoms and thought, oh well, I’ll just have a really good wank once he leaves.

So there’s that…

But I shouldn’t compare men. This one just has a massive cock, maybe that’s made him lazy. I’m sure I could train him… but then I’m not too keen to go around educating men in how to please me, because it’s a total turn off, giving instruction. For me it is, anyway.

But sure… the sex was fun. It was passionate and it was also quite gentle and close… we have a lot in common, but I guess I’m just more of a wild creature in bed. It’s kinda funny and annoying how hard it is to tick ALL the boxes with another person.

Attractive: check.

Likes geeky stuff: check

Taller than me: check.

Has a job, can buy me drinks sometimes: check.

Is nice: check

Has a good sense of humour: check.

Fantastic penis: check.

Is adventurous in bed: hmm not really, no.

So that’s my two latest conquests. I am pretty satisfied with both as I feel like I got some excercise, taped some new footage for my internal big screen…

Heard some compliments and got to feel sexy.

But like.. I would like to tick all those boxes. Also, I need to like… start working out. I have shit stamina. I really… really have shit stamina. Although I do think if I was a little bit more fit I would be pretty fucking awesome in bed. I really have done a 180 here… It was only some months ago that I was whining about how bad I was in the sack. I guess something like 10 more guys passing through my revolving doors (nicee…) must have had some effect on my mad sexy skillz.. I just need some fucking stamina, because it’s embarassing, I get up on some man and there’s a tightening of the balls and I know this is a GOOD position and I am doing excellent things and also, my kegels are paying off.. but then I only last a few minutes and I have to clamber down and assume the lazy person’s role before my thighs snap off.

So that’s pretty much it for me. This weekend ( I started writing this on Friday day I think…) actually took a turn for the messy as I went to a party on Friday night that was quite literally OFF THE HOOK. I had a lot of fun and as the sun rose on my drunkeness, I gave into temptation and hoovered a load of crystals up my right nostril. I know, I know… but I was finding it difficult to dance with everyone else and the booze was nearly finished. I had a huge amount of fun that night. Or morning. Or whatever…

As I grew more and more demented, I began to unleash my deeepest darkest secrets on everyone. I hope nobody remembers. I had a long and deep conversation about Age of Empires with a muscular dude wearing a giant hoop earring. He told me his name so we could become friends and play a game of AOE, but when I woke up and looked in my phone where I apparently made a note of it, it  just said Valhllalla R6ising so I think maybe that’s a book or film or game someone recommended, and not his name at all…

Fun though.

Big fun…

Went home at 6pm in a condition of ultimate destroyedness, having napped for about an hour on the couch and then rejoined the party and had a can of Guinness. My friend proceeded to tell me I look exactly like a puppet which he thought was really funny but it started to plunge me into a spiral of insecurity. A puppet? Is it my fleshy white nose? Oh no… everyone thinks I am a hideous puppet woman. Everyone HATES me.

Went home in a taxi.

Hit my bed like a sack of potatoes and slept in utter despair for hours… Woke up at 7am and realised I need to pee and drink water so I threw myself towards the bathroom but nearly collapsed on the way. Not surprising as I had eaten nothing but a can of guinness in 36 hours. Started googling “how long go without food before dying”.

Forced some water and an oat cake and two mandarins down my gullet, hugged my laptop to my chest and slept some more.

And then I had to go out and get the sunday paper to do the crossword, that was pretty rough… I MAY be going to have some pints tonight. I’m not saying I want to, but I might… I’m just lonely. It is lonely being alone at home… I don’t know why but I didn’t really feel is so much in Italy.

Probably because I had a decent internet conection. Definitely.

2 responses to “I am the queen of jobs. Blow, and the other kind…

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