Obligatory new year post, featuring resolution: Give BDSM a chance and my top five men of the past month, And other stories.

I’ve been quiet here, sorry. I’ve been very very out there in my life, however.

Christmas was an endurance test of the most ridiculous and hedonistic proportions. It started some time in November, maybe, when I moved into Dublin city, it started at a rate of three big nights out a week and steadily upped the tempo til mid December was just a barrage of inseparable nights and days drinking and sleeping with people and laughing and making new friends and drinking and waddling home with smelly armpits and heating up frozen meals and maybe washing and definitely changing clothes and RIGHT BACK OUT THERE INTO THE CARNAGE

All came to a head New Years eve where I uncharacteristically took a mystery drug offered me which turned out to be 2ci, and I went a bit weird and groped a guy’s thigh and he said (maybe influenced by the same drug)

“Sorry, I just find all of your friends more attractive than you”

despite the fact that I was wearing the shit out of a velvet skin tight  long sleeved and legged catsuit and my face was barely registering signs of liver abuse.

I went and sat in a room on my own for a while trying to send dirty messages to someone I met online (see point 5) but found my condition didn’t work with predictive text, I kept writing messages and ending them with “so he can” completely nonsensically. “I’m alone so he can.” “I wish you were here so he can”. etc.

I was later found by friends sitting alone in the room kneading my own arms and muttering “their bodies are so warm” and was put to bed where I slept through most of the party.

New year, new you, no more mystery drugs.

Not the first time I said that?

Well. But that’s not the thing.

The thing is… I’ve been enjoying the single life. I get too bogged down in individual menfolk, to the point that I get obsessive. So I’ve been casually seeing a few, and boy does that suit me. No obsession, I don’t even feel compelled to write back to them several times before getting an answer. Progress, progress!

I have a few men I like on the go.

One I fucked wonderfully a few months ago, he’s been away but has kept in touch intermittently and is keen to meet when he’s back soon. BUT he seems like the sort of guy who’s decent, and serious, and you don’t just mess around with. A total boyfriend type, and I’m not sure he’d be able to fit in with my friends, he’s not a drinker at all and that’s an awful criterion for a match but it’s true, I would hate to have to see friends and family all separate from whoever I was with. Actually no, that would be IDEAL. But he’d judge my drinking even if I cut it down to like 20%. Also, he’s a medical student and I DO NOT NEED THAT in my life. I’d be waking him up at 4am being like “honey, please, I know you said it’s not cancer but seriously is it cancer?”

Two, I’m actually sick of him now. Just use him like a short metal implement good for scratching an itch, that doesn’t quite get there. Phasing him out, although there was a relapse new year’s day when he gave me a lift home from the party I woke up in and I had the low self esteem of the weirdly rejected for a thigh grope, and I was wearing a velvet catsuit and I required some kind of validation of my rockin bod. (He gave me the validation but the sex was beyond awful and then he fell asleep which I didn’t like, in my bed! I had to get up and turn the lights on and  pretend to be looking for something noisily so he’d finally leave…)

Three, a guy I meant to tell you about ages ago because it was quite a good story. But now I have too many fresher good stories. Suffice it to say, met online, we had great sex and good conversation but it’s a feelings-free zone for both of us. But I’ll keep in touch with him, he’s a good guy. And the sex. But mostly just, he’s not the sort of person I’d usually ever meet, businessman and obsessed with getting rich, unfortunately not rich yet, but just… an easy going and different perspective.

Four…. Not from the internet, for a fucking change! Met at a party, took a little bit of a pill, got all loved up and gazed into each others’ eyes for hours talking about everything. Found we got along very well, plenty of similar interests. Unfortunately the pills made us more forthcoming and taboo-less than usual and we found ourselves discussing how we are both chronic cheaters and would be interested in open relationships. Which I didn’t really mean, because I only ever cheat from boredom or out of spite. And I’m WAY too jealous to do an open relationship, really. I think. Yes. But we had a great night, eventually great sex, and when he tried to make a second sex date I took a great leap from my usual silly position and said, BRING ME FOR A STEAK. Actually I said lobster dinner but we made a compromise. He took me for a lovely, lovely meal where we didn’t have any pills but still grinned at each other like teenagers for hours. Great easy conversation, smiling, smiling, lovely food, lovely sex… and he’s a fairly successful writer and other things. Damn. Intimidating. So I’m totally intimidated and totally into seeing him again, but there’s that silly prelude of us talking about cheating, and although yes I’ve done it and know I wouldn’t ALWAYS cheat, he said he does, always, absolutely. So that’s a bit of a red flag. But you know I’ll probably ignore it completely. Also he does seem quite keen, but he recently broke up with a woman who he says was great but he just couldn’t keep hurting her. Urgh… Yeah. Bode well, it does not. But he’s hot, and he got me steak, and he talks about books and he fucking writes. I’ll risk it probably.

FIVE… another internet one. this time, we haven’t met. It’s odd. He wrote to me a few months ago saying he’d be over in Ireland for a few days, did I want to meet. I said probably not, I’m busy. At the time I was seeing two men and felt that was enough. I’ve since stretched my….stomach? to the point that I would quite gladly add another to the mix, just to up my chances of winning. He wrote me a few times over the weeks, months, and every time I wasn’t too keen, I said maybe, maybe, he looked quite gentlemanly but dirty, tall and cocky, like the sort of person who’d fuck you proper but not get attached. But then I’d get attached. My kryptonite. But I was so damn busy, the party season kicked into full gear, I was so drunk all the time and so hung over in between, and then I didn’t have the money (read: it was being spent on alcohol) to pay for a professional wax, so I didn’t want to show up for a sex date with a guy who clearly knows how to dress and likes the finer things sporting DIY wax job and three day session face.

So I replied to him a bit but I was obviously giving him a good interesting challenge. Not a solid no, but not interested.

Eventually one night there was some sexting. I was drunk, I wrote back to a filthy message, and we got into a full on night of sexting. And surprisingly for me, the next day I didn’t recoil or lose interest. He actually spoke to my fantasies. He was filthy in a way I am, but never really let to the surface for anyone. He tried to coax me out to meet him. I was busy! I just met guy number four, I was going to a good party, I didn’t want to bring a guy over to my single bed and cold apartment. Then we had another night of intense sexy texting and I thought, fuck, I DO want to meet him. Desperately! We must meet. And then I got my poxy period. And no way was I going to meet him with that, because I was really keen on him going down on me as he promised, for ages.

So he came and went, and as he left we got into a very intense and constant discussion of fantasies and fetishes and fuck, it was like the floodgates opened. Normally I have a high sex drive. Since talking to him in the last… five days? Maybe? I’ve been constantly humming with the need to fornicate. I’m light headed with it. Giddy, distracted. We’ve stayed up chatting for hours. We’ve had phone sex, cum incredibly hard, discussed really out there things and somehow landed in this weird we’ve never met, sort of…. dominant and submissive relationship.

I’m kind of reeling from it. I’ve never considered myself in any way submissive, except for one time years ago when a friend and I got into some jokey game where I had to call him master and he called me his pet, and I sat at his feet and obeyed him, but it was silly, a game, and the only reason I remember it is because I remember being really excited by it and thinking if only I could let him know I wanted to do that for real, without having to ASK.

But with this guy… he’s confident. Authoritative. His voice enthralls me. It’s so steady, it commands respect. I’m weak with him… But I’m not a submissive person. I’m not! I’m an outgoing, loud, vulgar woman! I’m dominant, obviously.

And then I found this blog post that described Alpha female submissives…. and it was all about me.

http://dominantsoul.wordpress.com/self-understanding/alpha-submissives/

I’m not saying I AM a submissive, fuck I haven’t tried any of this stuff for real and I have always tended to cringe when it comes to templates for relationships… why the whips and chains? Why not a bit of fucking subtlety? Why pvc? WHY PVC?

BUT.. in the article which I can’t find now, it’s bookmarked on my phone, I’ll add it later..

I read about myself, my past relationships, why a strong supposedly great woman can’t find a fucking man who suits her.

Because I’m a strong woman, men think I’ll be a dominant one in the bedroom. When really I just want a really strong man to hold me down, be rough with me, and maybe not exactly punish me or do any cliché stuff like in that recent book I won’t dignify by naming, but definitely make me feel smaller, weaker, less in control.

I’m in control of my own life. Hence why it’s in such disarray… but yes, I make every decision. No one influences me really. I have to make every bloody decision about everything. I don’t want that, but I’m not just about to give up my power for anyone.

It would, I believe, take a very special man to make me cede the remote. But if I meet that man, then cede it I will. Because I don’t want the control. I never did. I’ve been independent in some ways since I was a child, headstrong and unwilling to accept authority…. unless I respected the person. I never had a problem with authority, just with the wrong people having it.

Now, I don’t know where I’m going with this.

I haven’t met this guy, we’ve just talked. And there’s a lot going on. The sexual thing is clearly very strong. But there’s something else here, something that excites me far more. The idea of exploring this, well, we’ve already started exploring some parts. And it wasn’t like he said “I want you to submit to me”. Fuck, most of it was my idea.

He lives in England, but said he’ll come back soon. We’ll meet. We’ll see what it’s actually like. I kind of hope nothing happens because I have college to go to next year and I NEED to make something of my life, and the last thing I need is to fall madly in love with someone in another country. Again. I can clearly not be trusted to make the right choices.

And yes, it’s premature saying that, but you don’t know… it’s been so intense lately. Just talking to someone. I’ve never felt this excited about a stranger, I’ve never felt so keen to please someone while so free from the pathos that has always come with my being overly nice and eager with regular vanilla type boyfriends.

So I’m finally getting to the point….

New years resolution

Give BDSM a chance.

if this is the right thing for me…. well, it wouldn’t surprise me. At all. The submissive alpha thing I read makes a shit ton of sense to me. I felt like smacking myself in the forehead and not just because I’m also slightly masochistic. It was like DUH!

Of course your relationships with “nice guys” don’t work, because they don’t treat you roughly in private.

Of course the dominant guys don’t go for you, because you seem like you’d dominate them in private.

And it made all my relationships look like jigsaw puzzles for toddlers. Four corner pieces. How could I not see this before?

Even if my new internet dominant ends up being an evolutionary dead end in my sex life, he will at least have flung up all these things that must be some use to me in my quest to find a good man who doesn’t bore me to tears. Like maybe I could just stop being so damn overbearing all the time and maybe let men I meet realise I’m not actually an ogre in the sack or kitchen. Just the bathroom.

Anyway. I haven’t written anything in ages… I’m tired (drunk also)

I have another NY resolution, it’s to write a motherfucking book.

I have decided to take the pressure off so I am not planning on writing a good book just A BOOk. I think that’s a good plan. Anyway it’s going to be an erotic novel, because that’s a pretty shitty medium, so again no pressure.

But I’m into the first chapter (sorta) and I’m finding it very hard because I keep having to masturbate because it’s really turning me on. I take that to mean I’m writing a very good erotic novel. I’ll keep you posted.

On both the novel and the masturbation, probably.

G’night

NEXT DAY UPDATE:

last night, weird footnote with my supposed new dominant. He was being pushy, asking for a video, saying he’d send one in return. I wasn’t comfortable so I said look, I just don’t think it’s right you remaining a complete stranger while I totally submit to you. I think it’s more important to establish trust first, than keep mystery. What do you think?

No reply. He’s been online all night and all day and no answer.

At first I felt crushed, like I’ve pissed him off with my disobedience. Why did I have to do that?

and then I realised I’m being pathetic, not submissive, and he’s being pushy, not dominant. I may not be cut out for the world of BDSM but maybe I am, maybe to some extent. And from my little bits of research on the subject, I think this guy is a bit too domineering and not quite enough into making me feel comfortble.

So. Don’t feel shit about letting him down any more, think he might be a bit of a dick really, just like all the men I go crazy over.

But now I’m in this position where I desperately want to push my limits, try something new that scares me a little, be dominated… and I’ve no one to do it with. I have zero intention of showing up to some latex and dyed black hair meeting and finding some new guy purely to be dominated by. I liked how this kind of happened organically, although he was pushy from the start, which I liked. Now I have my other guys left, well, realistically I have guy 1 and 4, but guy 1 is too romantic and guy 4 doesn’t have as high a sex drive as I’d like and is a self proclaimed incorrigible cheater.

If my sexuality is a scab, I shouldn’t have started picking it. But then who can resist picking at something?

Or maybe it’s a door that I should have left closed. But you can reclose doors, can’t you?

Yeah, it’s probably a scab.

Or floodgates! I’m not sure what they are but I’d say they are harder to close than doors.

Stupid metaphors.

My first real date and my foray into online whatever it is-ery

I went on my first online date the other day.

I’m not really looking for anything right now- my head’s full of problems and resolutions, life changing decisions and life avoiding hangovers. The last thing I need is a boyfriend, and for the first time in my life I really mean it. 

I’ve sworn off men countless times, like the halfhearted alcoholics swear off the booze every morning they wake up with a sense of having gone a little two far the night before.

I’ve never sworn off drink because I won’t even insult my own intelligence with that kind of clearly bullshit declaration.

But men… probably bolstered by a long talk with a girlfriend where we expand upon the myriad reasons men are shit and we are strong independent women they could only possibly reject because we are TOO intelligent and TOO interesting for them to handle. They’re intimidated, we say. They want a dumb bimbo to make them feel like men. You deserve someone special, we both deserve someone special. If only vaginas weren’t so gross and complicated…

And I say I’m sick of them, I’m done with men… wait until someone special comes along.

And two weeks later I’m in the arms of someone making excuses for him while our skin cools. 

Putting him high up on a pedestal where my standards can’t reach and examine his dandruff of a personality.

 

But this time I felt all the cynicism of my past few years condense into a pure solid truth.

I’m sick of men. 

Yes, some day, meet someone great, yes, sure, whatever.

Some day.

But for now? No thank you. I don’t need the headfuck.

But I have this profile on a dating site, I made it when I was in France. I used it as my own personal ego booster.

Every day I’d wake up sick of men, and every day I’d check my fan mail.

Sure, it’s mostly “hey sexy what u at baby xxx lol ;)”

And some of it is “Id fuck de arse off u”

And some of it is less appealing all together..

But I have one nice photo up there and I get a constant stream of impersonal compliments that tide me over while I’m at home in the middle of nowhere, without even a couple of builders to walk past and make me feel like an attractive woman. 

Sad, yes, I know. But effective! 

I just check my mails… I reply to some of the nicer ones. Not nicer looking… they’re all pretty low rent. But some are sweet. I reply graciously, get into the odd conversation, and then make excuses when they offer to meet for coffee.

Some get angry. No reply for a day? “WHAT A SHAME I THOUGHT WE HAD SOMETHING YOU’RE JUST LIKE THE REST OF THOSE GIRLS I MEET I THOUGHT YOU WERE SPECIAL YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY NOT.”

Some I consider meeting, and pore over their photos. You just can’t tell, though. Photos are weird.

One day I clicked like on someone because he had a nice smile and a casual, friendly profile. He liked me first, I just felt like returning the compliment. No interest in a date, not really feeling that way right now as I said.

I’m off men.

Except for this guy I’ve been fucking, but that’s just… excercise.

 

Anyway, this guy writes to me, friendly, nice, interesting. Like me, a kind of multicultural mix and non-standard background. He asks me for a coffee… I say, sure why not.

Because I’m bored and why not? Anyway I’ve never been on a date.

So we fix a time, I make it in way too early. Walk past Topshop and see a sign for sales… I shouldn’t, because I’m broke, but I’m way too early and shopping feels right. Imagine going shopping for underwear and having this stranger on my date ask to see what I bought and me say just underwear, and then he might think I’ve bought special underwear for the date, like a freak… I wonder if he’s weird? Mightn’t he be really weird? We did meet online….

I’m sidetracked by the dresses on the sale rail. Pick up a handfull of things that are too big or small and still too expensive anyway. As I make it to the dressing room I find out they’re closing and I can’t try anything on. Good. That was close…  

I’m at the bar first, and I’m suddenly hyper aware of my posture, my arms, what I’m doing with my coat and my handbag. What if he’s weird. What if he’s ugly. What if he poached those photos from someone’s facebook page and now I’m about to be accosted by some middle aged ugmo… What if he thinks I look nothing like my photo. Am I underdressed? Is my coat too serious? Am I flashing too much leg?

I’m jerking my limbs around trying to get into a casual pose for when this guy appears. I’m doing a crossword at the table outside. He’s not a smoker, but I make the decision to smoke anyway because come on, I don’t even WANT a man, it’s just a casual meeting. No need to change things about myself for someone I haven’t even met and don’t really even want to meet any more. I’m feeling so uncomfortable and considering getting up and running away.

He arrives suddenly. “ABBY? Abay?” 

“Abby.”

“Is it you?”

“Yes… it’s me.”

Suddenly the whole thing is weird. It’s like a job interview but we’re in public and it’s a job interview not for an unemployed person and a company needing assistance, but for two people who can’t get dates on their own.

Not that I am one. But this is my first real date. So yeah, count me in that category.

He doesn’t look… his photo had this big warm boyish smile. He looks more tired, more… maybe it’s an older photo. 

His accent is kind of strange. He seems like someone I would maybe be friends with but not… 

I’m afraid by smiling at him and being warm and friendly I’m going to give him an impression I’m interested. 

Then I remember I’m not required by law to sleep with anyone I smile at, and decide to be nice and friendly and let HIM deal with the rejection he’ll get if he tries anything, instead of my preventing it with a condom made of bitchiness.

I’ll just be nice. Maybe we can be friends?

He sits down and starts talking. “Were you waiting long? Do you want a coffee? Oh, you have one… I want a coffee. Do you want a beer? I’ll get us two beers.”

I sit there while he gets us two beers. I’m embarassed. What am I doing here meeting a stranger, I’m attractive enough to meet someone in real life without putting all my hopes and dreams and sexual preferences into a questionaire first. 

We drink our beers, he’s very chatty. As chatty as me, even. We talk about ourselves, our hopes, our dreams. He’s cold… we go inside. 

I want to stay outside and smoke but like most smokers in the presence of a non smoker, I’m keen to pretend I don’t actually need or want to smoke, I can take it or leave it, it’s just this thing I do sometimes and nowhere near as often as I really do.

We go inside but every table is angled towards a massive flatscreen tv showing sports.

Do we want to go somewhere else? Yeah, actually… I have a bar in mind. But it’s a bit far…

I tell him I have two places in mind, one is close and nice, but the further one has this drink I love. 

We’re going there, he says.

We walk to this bar I really like. It’s not very well known, and as he’s foreign (but of an English speaking nation) I feel sort of like I’m fulfilling my role as a local by taking him some place a little less obvious.

The bar is cosy and there’s a smoking area that’s just as warm and pretty to sit in.

We sit outside and he sits on the bench beside me. He has one of my rollies. I feel bad for corrupting him, I say, but really I’m delighted to not have to feel so shit while I smoke and he doesn’t. 

I introduce him to my favorite drink. He’s not a big drinker, but he loves my drink. 

We talk about science. Physics… we each have some little physics fact to teach. He’s an educated person, and I’m not. It feels good to have some bits of interesting knowledge to share with someone clever. It’s intimidating being around a clever man, I’m not often in this position and I don’t often feel humbled by someone’s intelligence. But it feels good. I have just as much to talk about as he does, and I loosen up. As we talk we find we have a lot in common. I’m really enjoying talking to him and I’m studying his face, thinking, yes… he is attractive. He’s attractive when he laughs and smiles. 

He starts to get tipsy from the two beers, and it’s a turn off. I can handle my drink, and a man who can’t… it feels a bit embarassing. Especially in Ireland, it’s stupid but it starts to make me tense up again.

He leans in to kiss me and I stop him. 

Sorry, I’m just… I don’t like pdas. It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like to kiss people in public.

Ok, I just don’t care what people think…

It’s not that. I just feel weird… I come to this bar quite a lot. I’m sure no one is even looking but it makes me feel awkward.

Ok, I understand… I don’t want to make you feel awkward.

He tries again later but I’m just really enjoying talking to him. I don’t want to ruin it with sloppy half drunk kissing in my bar.

I say no. I start to check my phone. The last train home is in an hour and a half. And then I have a long walk…

I mention the last train. 

No reaction. He says he’s feeling pretty drunk, he hasn’t drank anything in ages. 

He wouldn’t let me pay for any drinks so far, and we’ve had three or four pints each maybe.

I’m a tiny bit tipsy. Tiny bit. I’m kind of embarassed that he’s drunk after this little. I drink a lot faster too…

He asks if I’m feeling at all drunk. I tell him I probably am drunk, and that I get to this point where I’m convinced I’m sober but really I’m not.

I go to the toilet and trip over the bin in the ladies. Ah, I guess I am a bit drunk. This makes me feel better about him.

Back at the table I tell him I must be more drunk than I thought. But still I am sober enough to know I have to get the last train.

He offers me to come back with him. He only lives a little bit away, and we could watch a movie.

He’s such a generous, sweet, non threatening guy (seemingly anyway) that I think, fuck it…

I don’t care. I can always not sleep with him if I’m not into it.

We get a taxi back to his place and he apologises profusely for his house. It’s just temporary, he says. 

I don’t care. 

He has nothing to drink except some tequila. I drink most of the tequila and feel myself catching up a little in drunkeness.

Outside we share a cigarette and he grabs my face and kisses me. He’s a great kisser. I’m really enjoying myself and enjoying his company. He’s a great, great kisser. We pull apart and grin at each other through the haze of drink.

I didn’t think of him as someone who might be up to my standards sexually, but that’s a great kiss.

 

We go up to his room and he apologises for his room and I wave it all away, I don’t care. It’s sparse enough, not many personal effects. All his stuff is in his friends’ houses. He points to clothes in his wardrobe and says he didn’t want to wear anything too fancy on a first day. Didn’t want to give too eager an impression.

I look down. I’m wearing a skater skirt and t shirt tucked in. I look pretty nice but it’s casual for a night out.

Me either. I didn’t want to dress up too much. We giggle at the fact that we met online. I finish my tequila sitting on the edge of his bed. He puts on music and asks if it’s ok he takes off his jeans. I shrug, I don’t care.

He takes off his jeans and jumper and gets on the bed beside me. We sit cross legged facing each other and talking, and then we kiss and it’s passionate as fuck and he crushes his body against mine and pulls off my clothes and his hands are all over me and it’s all totally unexpected from this mild mannered guy who I spent all night talking to about science and growing up in the countryside. 

We fuck.. and it’s intense. He’s rough but respectful, he fucks the shit out of me but it’s not the woman-hating kind of fucking. He knows exactly what he’s doing and again I’m surprised by him, he seemed so romantic and not the kind of guy to press his hand on a woman’s throat while fucking her relentlessly. 

But he does it all very well. Just the right side of scary rough. He slaps me hard on my ass and squeezes me everywhere tightly and it’s absolutely exactly the righ amount of everything. 

We do it again and again that night. Falling apart drenched in sweat. Snuggling up together, his hands tracing gentle patterns across my body, whispering secrets and memories. I’m so happy and comfortable there with him.

He’s good to talk to. He likes my stories. We’ve done totally opposite things in our lives- he’s doing his second degree, and it’s in a very difficult subject. I’ve been married, I’ve been here and there and living life like a computer game character with endless save points. But we have a lot to talk about.

We fuck again, again, and again. At some points he can’t stay hard with a condom on and I protest but the let him inside naked just for a second even though I know it’s not just a second, it’s so good without a condom, oh fuck it’s so good, that’s amazing… but no, oh, no, stop, you can’t, seriously, stop. 

I stop him and make him put on a condom. And then sometimes it’s amazing and sometimes he can’t stay hard. I don’t care because I know that night is an all you can eat buffet of sex and the only thing that matters is we don’t run out of condoms.

And speaking of all you can eat, he really did treat me to some excellent times. I could tell I wasn’t going to cum, skilled as he was, because I just wasn’t able to, sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t. But I thought I’d fake him a nice courtesy orgasm because that’s what I do, otherwise they’ll just keep at it until they get sick of it and I’d rather never have a man get bored down there. So I did one of my finer, more elaborate productions for him and he just ignored it. Huh.

Eventually I told him to stop, put on a condom and fuck me, and so he did. After he came, and wow, he came noisily and with gusto, he flung me back on the bed and went down again. Because he wanted to taste me again, he said.

We did this all night. At 7am his alarm went off and we decided to go to sleep for a while. He was supposed to get a flight at 10 but he said, (I suspect he’s rich) that he hadn’t booked it yet and could always get another flight.

I tossed and turned for hours and woke him several times. At 12 we woke up properly and lay with our limbs entwined. I played with his hair far too affectionately for someone I’d only met. He stroked my body and told me I had a perfect body. I said oh, I feel like I’ve got a bit flabby since I’ve been unemployed. He said, “what are you talking about, you’re perfect. This is what women’s bodies are supposed to be like.”  We talked about everything and nothing.

We had sex again. Then we found ourselves playing with each other, and playing with ourselves at the same time. We both came although a little out of sync. He marvelled at the fact that he was able to do that with a stranger.

“We just met last night… isn’t that crazy?” he said.

“On the internet” I replied.

“No, don’t say that…”

“Ok, in real life. If anyone aks, you’re my friend from real life.”

“Right. That’s what we’ll say.”

We finally got up because we were so thirsy despite cup after cup of water. Every time I said I was thirsty he got up and went downstairs and brought me back a cup. This, alone, is the most gentlemanly  behaviour I have ever encountered. Sad, huh…

We got dressed. Downstairs he stood in the kitchen making coffee. As I entered the kitchen via three little steps in the doorway, I sat down. 

“I like that there are steps here.”

“I like you in my kitchen… So I can look at you. You’re beautiful”

We grinned at each other like two kids about to get dessert.

He had to go into town to get his bike and eat something… Did I wanna come? I said sure. I had to get a train home anyway.

I worried… this is some guy I’ve just met, and I’m weird about things in public. How is it going to be in my home city, walking around in daylight with this guy…. I hope he doesn’t hold my hand.

There in his kitchen I could kiss him passionately and hold his body against mine and think of how lovely his dick was, the first time in ages I’ve come across one with a proper natural bush… nothing excessive, but definitely not trimmed. Just soft and springy and not intrusive like I would have expected. The last guy I was with had shaved his and it wasn’t pleasant…

But I didn’t want to go outside with him and have our intimacy on display. I guess my line about being weird in public wasn’t an excuse not to kiss him, but a legitimate issue for me.

I’ve always had it really, but then I usually don’t walk around with guys in daylight anyway. I usually just bring them home and kick them out.

And they very rarely ask me to go for lunch or anything, they would probably bring me home and kick me out too.

We got the bus into town together and he insisted on paying for the bus for me too.

We walked around, he chose a fairly pricey place and we sat down and ordered.

We had been talking about steak on the bus and so I had a steak sandwich, it wasn’t one of the most expensive things on the menu though, I wasn’t being as my mother would say “cheeky.” I watched him and thought about the things he said last night, and thought he doesn’t dress expensively, he doesn’t seem interested in money, but he clearly does come from money and he certainly has enough of it not to have to worry. He bought me lunch, we talked easily and lightly, and then he walked me to the train station where I finally got to treat him, because we went for a coffee and there was a minimum charge to use a card.

He said he wouldn’t make me awkward by kissing me goodbye but he’d be back in December to continue his studies (he’s doing a final year) and he’d love to see me again. “Don’t forget about me while I’m away…”

He said we could kiss like the french, one on each cheek, and he’d write to me sometimes.

At this point, I was a little bit smitten.

The sex was unreal, to start with, and the conversation was stimulating and positive and interesting. He gave me compliments, good ones. And he was generous and thoughtful… 

So there. He’s gone for nearly two months, but he’ll be back. 

I have no idea how much of my interest is because of the sex and… the possibility that he’s rich….

But it was a great night, a great afternoon, and I feel very unsure of myself now.

Also I have this strong suspicion that he’s completely lying to me about everything and it’s all a big massive play of some sort. Or that I’m just so damn bored right now and so unused to an intelligent, generous man, that I just totally got overeager.  

But that could be entirely because of the last guy I got all smitten with who was totally playing me. I’ll tell you about that guy soon. It’s a good story. I’m just too tired of typing now. 

But anyway. Whatever happens, or does not, guess what happened?

My dream came true. I got a man to buy me steak, and he didn’t even get in my pants because of it. He had already got in my pants then so the steak was not necessary. Result! 

And I’ve faced my fear of dating.

I was going to use a fantastically clever pun for my title but decided against it.

Dear Amazon,

I am very pissed off with you.

I bought a kindle about 2 months ago, and it cost like 180 dollars or something.

I liked my kindle. I was happy with my kindle. Sure, the internet on it was pretty shitty. Sure, it was black and white. But I LIKED IT. I was happy. I had the best ebook reader that money could buy. I don’t have a smartphone, but I had a smart fucking book reading device.

AND NOW WHAT DID YOU HAVE TO GO AND DO? HUH?

You brought out a touch screen, full colour, movie-playing, super awesome, internet fucking capable kindle and guess what? It costs 199 dollers.

YEAH I GOT JIPPED. In the eye.

I feel like I have just received a full load of jizz right in my eye, and it’s Amazon’s jizz, and it’s painful and it’s humiliating.

I don’t deserve this shit.

I was sucking Amazon’s dick, I was their customer… and I’m repaid with a load of salty insult?

End of analogy.

But why did Amazon have to go and fucking EMAIL me about it? Why? Could they not let me be happy with my kindle for a little while longer?

 

Anyway. That’s that dealt with. Crushing blow. Technology, why you gotta play me like that? You know I’m your girl. You know I never gonna treat you bad. Ok, so I dragged my first couple of laptops around by the cables, and my current laptop has food all over the keyboard, and I took it apart lazily one day and now I have three screws left over which is a mystery to me. But why, technology… I thought we were in this together?

I better stop being upset about this or I will never manage to cope with real life problems. It’s just a little  mini-gripe. I like mini gripes, because ultimately I’m not going to fall into abject depression because of exploring them. It’s a safer way to rage.

Ok what else to talk about?

Ah, I swept the floor today! YEP!

Ok not that impressive, but actually it is. My floor was so fucking dirty, I swept up like a full pedal-bin bag of dust and crud. I found five empty water bottles under my bed. I found 4 euros in coins… small coins. I found hair elastics I didn’t know I had. I found a pair of shoes I thought I left in London. I found some mystery cupcake-experiments in the oven. I couldn’t see or remember what they had once contained, under the white downy fuzz.

That particular smell threw me… but I got back on the horse, the cleaning horse, and gallopped around emptying ashtrays and changing sheets.

OH speaking of ashtrays, guess what?

I’m kinda trying to maybe give up smoking!

YES!

Ok don’t give me much credit yet.

I did decide to quit smoking because over the last 3 days, every cigarette has been tortuously unenjoyable. I have still tried to smoke, despite my sick-breath mingling with the smooth virginia tobacco mix…mmmm….resulting in what tastes like an ancient pervert in a bar ramming his woolen coat sleeve into my mouth.

I still kept trucking, trying to force the smokes… coughing and wheezing and feeling like a disgusting pathetic creature.

I usually smoke when I’m sick, I’m like the fucking cigarette-bride.

In sickness and in health, til death do us part… oh yeaaaahh.

But then I also ran out of tobacco.

And then I was in a tobacconist and I sort of whimsically decided not to smoke, or to see how long til I crack, really. And today I haven’t smoked at all, at all! I am not lying. I normally lie about these things, I always lie when I pretend to have properly given up smoking… but I honestly haven’t had a single one. And I found a cigarette in my sweeping today and I threw it in the bin. And I could half see myself desperately digging through the bins later on to find that single smoke, so I took the bins out!

I am so good.

Anyway yes, I’m better, more or less, and I’m not smoking, and I cleaned the topcoat of dust in the house, and I feel GOOD.

And tomorrow I am going out but only for a low key night with Andrea, and she invited me out so she obviously doesn’t think I’m a MASSIVE FREAK for whatever nonsense I was babbling about the other night.

Life is good.

Well, today I feel that way. More or less. It’s a fucking rollercoaster, I can’t even commit to optimism or pessimism in one blog post. Anyway, I’ll bow out now. While I’m still flying on the natural high of having cleaned my apartment more or less.

Also I had this really cool jacket (I thought it was super cool) that was blue soft leather and I got it in Amsterdam second hand. It’s the kind of leather you would refer to as “buttery”, and it had massive shoulder pads and it was electric blue. It was humungously unflattering to my figure, but I loved it for how awesomely cool it was, 80s style but not in that atrocious lame teeny bopper re-imagingin of the decade that gave us big shoulders, most of the music I like, and oh yeah, ME.

But it got mouldy from when we were living in the damp house. One sleeve was permanently damaged with flecks of mould. I tried cleaning it, no dice. So today I was looking at the jacket and I finally forced myself to admit it- the jacket looks like a heap of 80s crap. It’s ugly. It’s unflattering. Cool it may be, but there’s nothing cool about looking how I looked in that jacket. And then I started thinking, is it even cool? It’s just soft blue leather. It has shoulder pads. It’s not cool… I love it for some reason, but it is not cool…

So before I could start talking myself into keeping it, I hacked off the good arm and cut it up, attached it to a hardback cover of a book I didn’t like, used some glue and shit and made an awesome sexy soft cover for my kindle.

Oh I was so happy. I did this like half an hour before reading my emails, wherein I learned that my kindle is now A RELIC, a black and white tv, a Nokia 3210, a vhs player.

Man I’m so weird about technology, I get these pangs of guilt when I talk shit about my electronic goods. I feel like my poor kindle is going to get all suicidal because I don’t love it. I have an urge to run into the kitchen where my kindle is sleeping (sheesh) and proclaim “I’m sorry, I DO love you!”

So I’m not going to run in and relieve the guilt and put my kindle’s mind at ease. I am going to work on my sanity, the only way I know how…

That’s right, I’m going to watch some Seinfeld. You know I downloaded ALL the seinfeld? I’m starting to work through them from series one to the very end. I have seen most of the episodes many times but I am being thorough because ehhhh I don’t have anything ELSE going on in mah life right now, also, I love Seinfeld.

Peace out.

What are you saying, Amazon? What the fuck? Do you want to start something?

Dude. Check this shit out.

I was browsing amazon looking for some hot juice with which to inseminate my virgin new kindle, and look at this bullshit.

This is why I Robot was realistic. In the future, artificial intelligence will be such a gimp it will make you want to smack it in its stupid Windows Aero themed face, and there will be lots of advertisements all the time.

Don’t worry about it Will Smith, people will forgive you for taking all that “vintage converse 2000” money when they see how eerily accurate that movie turns out to be…

But look. I just want to bitch slap somebody for this insult to my intelligence and integrity. I mean, come on. Also, I bought a fucking kindle. And let me tell you I’m well pissed off too because I registered my kindle in the US to get the 3G access they won’t give Europeans, I made up a bullshit address in beverly hills like I always used to use it online because it was the easiest zip code to remember and my home country doesn’t have enough land mass to warrant zip codes, and all was working fine, I had my free internet and woopdee doo, I could just about make out my email… but what most made me happy was the fact that Amazon likes Americans. Amazon gave me free games, free books.. just for saying I live on 123 Happy Boulevard, 90210. And then it was like, hey wait a second. You aren’t buying books in the country you live in. And I’m like, mind your own business, fuck off, how dare you spy on my shit? And then Amazon is all, well you can just call up customer service because you can’t buy any more books outside your country. So I got onto Sanjeed on the chat, and he was very helpful. I told him I’m from the U S of A, and I love guns and bitches as much as the next red blooded patriot, and restricting my book buying online was unAmerican and went against my freedom, and shit. Dang… Amazon. But Sanjeed just told me to put the right country in the box. I’m like, fuck no, Sanjeed. I’m on holiday. I’m hardly going to put the hotel’s address here am I? Sanjeed tells me the hotel address will do fine. I’m like… no. I find that inconvenient. Remove all restrictions at one! Post haste! Henceforth I shall roam free on the plains of my birthright, through fields of monochrome porn and I’ll do it without a firewall too… You know it feels SO much better without a firewall…  (I’m no longer an American now that Sanjeed’s inability to spot nationalities has become clear.) Sanjeed tells me he is sorry but it should work fine if I put the hotel address. Nargghhh.. Ok fine. You win this time, Amazon.

Well played. So I change my address to Italy. And I felt like an ugly girl with a nice ass and shiny hair, who gets wolf-whistled or grabbed from behind, and then turns around sharply and her face… oh god no her face… and the guy abandons his enterprise like a rat from a sinking ship, like Amazon from an Italian. COME BACK, free games! Come back free WIFI! I can only get wikipedia now. This sucks.

And now look how the bastards like to rub it in:

Salt in the wound, motherfuckers.

Salt in the wound.

Ok Update, I switched back to good old USA and have wifi again. I also have a DEVIOUS plan for when I actually want to purchase some books fo sho… I’m going to use my other amazon account (I even have aliases when I buy books, that’s how paranoid I am) to buy the shit “from Italy” and send it as a gift to me, in my trailer deep in the heart of Texas sipping root beer and eating twinkies. Is that real? Is tv real? You never know, maybe Americans are misrepresented too.

I’m reading Vernon God Little right now, it was in the house for AGES before I picked it up because my mother has led me seriously astray with books before and she said it was good so I was not interested. Don’t feel bad for my mum, it’s her fault for recommending “the secret life of bees” and some Paolo Coelho shit to me those two unforgettable times I took her advice on books. Never more. But this book is Awesome. Anyway where was I? I beat Amazon. Suck it, massively rich multinational. Eat my scorn! Mwahahahahah I win.