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.

MFO went to the bank, and all you got was this lousy blog post

Fuck me in the right nostril, I DID buy myself a kindle yesterday.

I thought it was only pretend- buying, because my old card details were saved and they were for a prepaid card that generates a virtual code, but actually, I must have put in the card’s real physical number and stuff, so the sale went through.

To discover this, I had to spend an hour of futile argument with the wench at the bank. I sauntered in after a long extended breakfast and shower period, around 3pm, and there was a congregation of queue zombies shifty-eyeing me as I walked past them. They fumed as I navigated past their feeble attempts to block me with wasted bodies… the elderly save up the wrath of all the injustices in their lives to spew out vengeance on the young queue jumpers… I toyed with them, pretending I was going to skip to the head; but at the last minute I made a sharp right turn and BAM! Haha, I was going to customer service all along. Peripheral vision registered the de-puffing of old tired chests, the release of held breath anticipating the need for them to form a vigilante horde of decreptitude against the shameless queue skipper.

Ah yes. Justice and order… That’s right. I’m a little smug after messing with them. So easy.

The woman at the desk ignored me for a while. Eventually she allowed me some eye contact, and I requested a new password for my prepaid card. Ok, she says. It will arrive by post in a week or so. What? I need it now. I have proof of ID. My name is on the card. I know the pin to take all the money out, I just don’t remember the password to use it online.

No, I’m sorry, she says. That’s not possible.

I repeat myself. I could take all the money out right now, out of a bank machine. There isn’t that much money in there, but I can prove who I am and I have all the rest of the information.

She leans in confidentially.

“You see, it’s for security reasons. You could… I mean no offense but someone could come in with a false passport and… if I just gave out a password… then they could commit fraud with your card.”

“Yes” I say. “But I have the pin. I have two forms of photo ID that are quite DIFFICULT to falsify, and I have the pin that would allow me right now to withdraw ALL THE MONEY in my account.”

“Ah” she says. “That’s just how it is. It’s just in case someone comes in pretending to be you.”

“Right, but with this supposedly falsifiable passport and national Id card I have here, as well as my social security number and knowledge of all my personal info you have on file, I could go up to that counter and withdraw in cash everything on my card and in my current account which is a lot more. There’s no talk of someone using fake passports in that case, is there?”

“Yes but this is different.”

“Ok, so what if I ask you to make me another card, right now, and you give me the password for that card right now,and I clear out my other account, and put the money on the new card.”

“Oh yes,” she says brightly. “that’s no problem.”

“Right then. Let’s do that.”

“The cost for the new card will be €10.”

I rant and rave and refuse to pay for a card I already have.

The woman squints at me. “You’re not Italian, are you?”

I hate this. Why does that matter? Bank people always ask me this shit. I’m here arguing about my money, a matter more sacred than life or death, and all that is standing in the way of my online shopping is this woman, the guardian of my own money. I tell her I am Italian. I actually am technically. I’m a halfie. Obviously it’s the half I’m least proud of, so I don’t go around saying it in public. But on these occasions, because Italians in general seem to become hopelessly perplexed with any piece of information that doesn’t seem entirely normal to them, I like to fuck with them a bit. They can’t comprehend that someone might BE Italian, but not have grown up in the country, or that someone might be black or look asian but also be Italian and have a perfect Italian accent, or whatever. Their minds boggle. I can’t be Italian, because I would need to look and sound Italian, wouldn’t I?

She nods and says, “I see, yes and no.”

I say, “No, I am Italian. So just yes.”

She says… “Because you talk…”

I’m getting a little pissed now, we’re talking my money here and she’s quizzing me about my nationality. Racist cunt.

“Yeah, I know my Italian isn’t perfect. I didn’t grow up here.”

She still looks a bit doubtful.

“Are you American?”

I look extremely pissed off so she drops it and gets back to actual bank work.

“Why don’t you try just putting in the physical card details online? What is it that’s urgent, are you booking a flight?”

For some reason, I deny this. “No! Not a flight…” shit, a flight is urgent. Should have said yes. Instead: “No I have to buy something on Amazon.” Stupid. Not getting any sympathy here. Then I should have said it was a present for my sister which had to arrive before her birthday, but it didn’t occur to me, so I just blathered about how I really really needed my stuff to arrive before… before… before I left the country. She asked me when I was leaving the country. I say Monday. Then realise of course nothing would arrive in the post that soon. “I mean, not Monday. thursday. No I don’t know yet.” Right. Woman realises I am just some immigrant with a strong desire to go online shopping today, and she disregards anything I say after. I go home and decide to try the physical card numbers.

Check my balance with the ATM outside. What? 17,45? There should be like 150 euro left. what? Why? I know I used my card on holidays… I definitely spent a bit of money… but shit, I thought there’d be more left. The ATM won’t let me see any movements for this month other than a deposit of 200 euro. Why no other movements? I spend half an hour on the phone navigating the stupid circular menu of the automatic robot voice customer service number. Eventually get through to someone who gives me another number to call. Spend another 20 minutes on hold. Finally talking to a person. I lay into him angrily. “This is ridiculous, I can’t see any of my withdrawals with this card, and it says there is only 17,45 left on the card!” He tells me the last use of the card was yesterday when I bought something on Amazon. OH now I get it. I actually did buy the kindle. It all makes sense now, I used the real card details and I had more money on it than I thought. He asks if I did or didn’t make that purchase… I tell him “Yeah that was me…I… eh, forgot I bought that,” and not to report my card stolen. He bid me good day, frostily.

YAY I’M GETTING A KINDLE! I know, I bought it myself. Stupid girl, shouldn’t be spending money. Feels like Christmas though, even though I spent the money. YAYYYYYY! Happy days.

You like hearing about my trips to the supermarket? You’ll enjoy this post, then.

Tomorrow I have the day off work, woop woop!

I decided to celebrate by breaking two of my big important recent rules… actually three.

1. No drinking alone.

2. No eating chocolate and cheese, even separately.

3. No buying crazy expensive shit.

You see, the first rule was easy to break because, come on, I only have three episodes of Game of Thrones left to watch so by the time my night is through (yes I’m just about to watch all three like a foolish glutton) I will have to return to the “shit I downloaded earlier but that didn’t really grab me by the tits” folder and watch something crap. So wine will kind of help make things more watchable.

Also, I finished work a bit late thanks to a seriously inconsiderate biddy who wouldn’t leave the shop, and so I had to run to the late closing supermarket (late for Italy, barbaric by any other country’s standards) and as I entered the guy told me I had TWO minutes. And it was like supermarket sweep, except where I pay for everything. I was urged on by panic, indecision, greed and the fun of it all. Would I even remember what I needed, nay wanted? Would I do it in two minutes? Did I even have any money on me? Coffee. I needed coffee. There was none left, what a shitty way to wake up on my day off with no coffee. And milk! For what, I didn’t know, but milk is a good thing to have. Grabbed milk. Passed some wine on display. Grabbed a bottle that later (now) revealed notes of cheap lipstick and old cork, with mouldy grape undertones.  Didn’t have time to question my grabbing wine, the clock was ticking! And I was the only one playing supermarket sweep so there was no counting on joining the queue at the last second… I realised the milk was leaking. For the love of god and all that is inexistent, there’s no time! I ran back to leave the milk and grabbed another pack, this time a plastic bottle to be on the safe side. What else? What else would I need? Special K… clothes pegs! Marjoram! No, no, it’s not free, it’s a bank card… Don’t buy stupid shit. Just the special K will do fine. Kids, we’re eatin’ dinner tonight!

The supermarket guy starts bellowing “make your way to the tills” and I realise he’s not even giving me the full two minutes that are counting down on my phone, it was a figure of speech. The second milk leaks out the top, all over my new bag. Garrrr… I deposit it back as half the lights are switched off and grab a third milk. Rush past aisles of things I now realise I want very much, like cheese and crisps and fruit and anything really, panic has me in its clutches… I’m sweating,  shopper’s adrenaline floods my body. I want all of them! I want all of them! I grab a pack of chocolate. I run to the tills. I made it. The man is not in any way impressed with my still being here at all. He wants to go home. He’s kinda hot… But I have that manic shopping look in my eyes, half crazed and drenched in sweat…. I pay and leave. (Like I have the balls to do anything else anyway…)

Outside in the cold blue-grey evening I look at my purchases, and am disappointed. At least I got coffee I guess. But I really ballsed up the supermarket sweep.

So that covers why I have broken commandments ONE and TWO, but the third…

I was very bored today at work what with it being a long day and my generally being bored all the time anyway, so I decided to do some pretend online shopping, ie, pretend it’s pretend, and then at the last second whip out the credit card… so I couldn’t remember my amazon password or even what email address I used to sign up and the details were in all my email accounts because of my tendency to have my mail from 3 addresses arrive in all my 3 inboxes and it’s a big mess at times like this. So when I finally did get my password sorted I was so fucking happy, I logged in and forgot it was play shopping and continued to the checkout with a kindle 3G  in my basket and said yes, I buy now. Then my previous details and credit card stuff came up and asked did I want to use the same info… and I was like, hee hee hee, that’s a virtual credit card number generated by a prepaid card, it can’t be used again, it’s a one use only number. So I clicked to buy, and then it was like yeah thanks your order has been submitted, or whatever. So now I don’t know what the fuck, is amazon charging my old unusable card for a kindle I want but seriously would be a fool to buy now with my money problems… mmm kindle, want one so bad… Oh I want it so fucking bad. Yeah I’ll just see what happens and if they cancel my order or something similarly likely, I will pay for it fair and square. But I wonder maybe the credit card saved on file wasn’t my prepaid card at all, maybe it was… oh shit maybe it was my mum’s card or something, maybe the last time I bought something on amazon my mum used her card… that’s not likely but it’s possible…. I didn’t check the billing information I was just like, hey that’s not a real number mwahahahaha free kindle for me! Although not going to happen obviously. Ok one can dream.

Anyway. The wine is open long enough, I wonder will its delicate notes and fragrances have aired sufficiently to be enjoyed without pinching my nose… No. The answer is no.

There may be a drunk post later, but I’m not promising anything.