I wonder what it is that makes men want to talk filth at me. I've been myspacing with a guy on and off for a few weeks. The emails were friendly and funny, both of us discovering mutual love of certain films and comedy shows. There was never really a hint of sexuality about them, instead it was just the odd 'hey how are you?' approach (from him, admittedly). Then before I know where I am, we've exchanged mobile numbers with a view to possibly having a date and suddenly utter filth is being pedalled via text and email. I can't remember who started it but it culminated in us have phone sex last night. We also exchanged videos - his of himself wanking and mine of me rubbing my breasts. I actually made that ages ago for J when we were sleeping together but kept it for some reason (guess this was it).
I seem to get carried away very easily but I'm not sure why. I'm kind of coming to terms with the fact that I'm a slut although it really doesn't sit well. But is it obvious over light-hearted email that I have an appetite for dirty talk that could make Roy Chubby Brown blush? This is the fourth guy in a couple of months who has led me rapidly down the primrose path of dirty talk. Maybe I just attract them. It doesn't happen to any of my friends though. They lament my seemingly unending filthy shenanigans, going on about how they never find themselves in these situations. I don't honestly know how I do though. It just...sort of...happens. Anyway, the latest filth-monger and I are having a date at some point soon and it's pretty much guaranteed we'll end up having sex. This is fine with me as I am extremely horny and I am in no way looking at him as a long term prospect. Any man who wants to bang me before they've even met me is clearly not the future father of my children, just a cock to be enjoyed.
This Saturday I'm going to Wildchild which I'm really looking forward to. It's going to be an utterly mad day commencing at 1pm with lunch and wine then continuing until...well until we literally drop I guess. Having said that, I'm going with a group of friends who frequently get on it for 24 hours straight so I may well be the first one to go! The weather's supposed to be rubbish but hopefully after several bevvies and some good DJ sets we won't care. My friend F is coming and we're treating it as her 'end of twenties' blow out. She is dreading thirty and I can't blame her. I'm 29 in two months and absolutely hating the thought. I feel as though I've only just started to enjoy my twenties thanks to a string of unsuitable relationships, and now they're about to be snatched away from me. Must make this last year count...
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Fear and Loathing in London
I have got to stop doing this. Yet again I am at work, hungover as fuck having not been home all night. A and I (who else?) were out with workmates for someone's leaving do last night. We decided pints of Stella were the way forward and consumed many, along with tequila shots. We were relatively well behaved up until the end of the night when, just as we were loitering in the main area of the bar wondering whether it was worth cabbing it into Soho, we were approached by a cute guy wearing specs asking what we were up to. At this point we were keen to do anything other than go home so we latched onto Specs and his friend who suggested we go back to Spec's flat which happened to be a couple of streets away from the bar and our office. I don't know how we manage it but again we'd found a guy who was apparently very, very wealthy and lived alone. His two bedroom flat in Marylebone looked like something out of Elle Decoration complete with a real zebra rug on the lounge floor (Specs took great delight in showing us the bullet hole in it's head - urgh), dark wood trim on everything and bathrooms with slate tiles and Molten Brown products all over the place.
The night rapidly got extremely debauched. The party favours came out, the drink flowed and A and I threw ourselves bodily into the whole night with absolutely no regard for the consequences facing us in the morning.
I can't remember at what point the porn went on but I remember glancing up at the TV, seeing it and not being remotely peturbed. I also realised at this point that the friend had gone and it was just the three of us left. Specs had been kissing me at random points throughout the night and I suddenly decided I really wanted to go down on him. A was fine where she was so I dragged him into the bedroom and started to blow him. Unfortunately my mouth was completely dry to the point where I couldn't actually produce any saliva so, embarrassingly, I had to stop and go for water. I wandered through into the lounge, sipping from a glass and sat down with A to watch the porn, temporarily losing interest in my previous activity.
Specs came in having had a shower in just a towel. He really had the most gorgeous body so the combination of that, the porn and being utterly off my face meant I decided I wanted to have sex with him, right then. I stripped off and lay back on the zebra rug (urgh) while he went down on me very enthusiastically. Now, I've never had a threesome and although this wasn't one, nothing prepared me for experiencing this kind of thing in front of one of my best friends. Had I been sober...well, had I been sober that never would have happened but hypothetically had I been sober I wouldn't have been able to relax but as it was I really got into it. After quickly slipping a condom on (thank God I had one), he fucked me. Right there, on the zebra rug in front of my friend who was texting her boyfriend.
Afterwards A and I went to bed in his room and Specs took the spare room. This morning we woke up to find him pottering about getting ready for work. He left us in the flat and we slowly got ourselves together. Fortunately we were five minutes away from work so after a quick detour to McDonalds we were able to arrive half an hour early. Luckily, because everyone here was out last night, our hangovers have blended in with everyone else's and so far no one has commented that we're wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
I worry about myself though, I really do. I don't understand what makes me do this kind of stuff or exactly what I'm trying to run away from or replace. There's got to be something because this behaviour is not normal. The self loathing is mainly due to the hangover, I know that but I also know that I need to sort myself out. I woke up really missing N and wishing he was around. Maybe all I'm doing is creatively killing time until he gets home and I can see whether I have a potential relationship on my hands. Honestly though, crochet really would be a better way of doing it.
The night rapidly got extremely debauched. The party favours came out, the drink flowed and A and I threw ourselves bodily into the whole night with absolutely no regard for the consequences facing us in the morning.
I can't remember at what point the porn went on but I remember glancing up at the TV, seeing it and not being remotely peturbed. I also realised at this point that the friend had gone and it was just the three of us left. Specs had been kissing me at random points throughout the night and I suddenly decided I really wanted to go down on him. A was fine where she was so I dragged him into the bedroom and started to blow him. Unfortunately my mouth was completely dry to the point where I couldn't actually produce any saliva so, embarrassingly, I had to stop and go for water. I wandered through into the lounge, sipping from a glass and sat down with A to watch the porn, temporarily losing interest in my previous activity.
Specs came in having had a shower in just a towel. He really had the most gorgeous body so the combination of that, the porn and being utterly off my face meant I decided I wanted to have sex with him, right then. I stripped off and lay back on the zebra rug (urgh) while he went down on me very enthusiastically. Now, I've never had a threesome and although this wasn't one, nothing prepared me for experiencing this kind of thing in front of one of my best friends. Had I been sober...well, had I been sober that never would have happened but hypothetically had I been sober I wouldn't have been able to relax but as it was I really got into it. After quickly slipping a condom on (thank God I had one), he fucked me. Right there, on the zebra rug in front of my friend who was texting her boyfriend.
Afterwards A and I went to bed in his room and Specs took the spare room. This morning we woke up to find him pottering about getting ready for work. He left us in the flat and we slowly got ourselves together. Fortunately we were five minutes away from work so after a quick detour to McDonalds we were able to arrive half an hour early. Luckily, because everyone here was out last night, our hangovers have blended in with everyone else's and so far no one has commented that we're wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
I worry about myself though, I really do. I don't understand what makes me do this kind of stuff or exactly what I'm trying to run away from or replace. There's got to be something because this behaviour is not normal. The self loathing is mainly due to the hangover, I know that but I also know that I need to sort myself out. I woke up really missing N and wishing he was around. Maybe all I'm doing is creatively killing time until he gets home and I can see whether I have a potential relationship on my hands. Honestly though, crochet really would be a better way of doing it.
Monday, June 18, 2007
An Update
I haven't felt very inspired by my life recently, hence the gap between the last post and this one. I hit a bit of a low after the J debacle and spent some time wallowing which was pointless but I obviously needed to get the frustration at being taken for a mug out of my system. Which I now have. Hurrah! Anyway, here's a quick recap of recent events...
A from work and I went on a stupidly large night out which ended up with us meeting a guy in a bar in Soho (where else), getting horrendously drunk and taking a rickshaw back to his large and astonishingly posh Covent Garden flat where we drank until the early hours and the guy and I kissed whenever A was out of the room. The three of us went to bed together, but in the 'Morcambe and Wise' sense rather than the 'skin flick' sense. We all wore pyjamas and he read us a bedtime story (this is true). Later that morning after not enough sleep, he woke me up and took me into the spare room where he proceeded to shag me senseless. It was lovely but I wish I'd been more sober to appreciate it. A and I staggered off to work around 3 hours later, still drunk, late and clutching two sausage McMuffins apiece. I stayed in touch with and recently had a date with the guy (who, it turns out lived alone in that amazing flat and is my age but stupidly wealthy) which went well but have heard nothing since.
That night, before we met the rich bloke, I blew the owner of my favourite bar in his office downstairs. Flirtation has been going on for weeks and weeks so something was bound to happen. That was it.
I am still in close contact with N who is travelling. He's been in touch almost every day since he went away which I'm really surprised by but like a great deal. We're still keen to meet up when he's back but there's around 6 weeks still to go and anything could happen even though I miss him though and think about him all the time. I'm trying not to romanticize anything we might have which would be easy to do given the 'lovers separated by the ocean' theme of it all. I'm taking care to remain a little cynical about the whole thing so as not to be utterly disappointed when he returns.
This weekend was my best friend's wedding. I was the bridesmaid. I travelled down to Hampshire on Friday and immediately got thrown into organising and helping. This continued right the way through until 1am Sunday morning when it finally finished. The bride looked stunning and the day was lovely. I developed a minor crush on the best man who was single and very flirty with me the whole time (at one point we escaped the reception and went to the local pub together for a pint - naughty but fun). There was no opportunity for anything to happen, sadly but as he was leaving he told me he thought I was gorgeous and took my phone number. This was largely pointless as he's currently travelling the world and only back for the wedding. Still a nice ego boost though.
That's about it, really. Not the most exciting couple of weeks but definitely not the most boring.
A from work and I went on a stupidly large night out which ended up with us meeting a guy in a bar in Soho (where else), getting horrendously drunk and taking a rickshaw back to his large and astonishingly posh Covent Garden flat where we drank until the early hours and the guy and I kissed whenever A was out of the room. The three of us went to bed together, but in the 'Morcambe and Wise' sense rather than the 'skin flick' sense. We all wore pyjamas and he read us a bedtime story (this is true). Later that morning after not enough sleep, he woke me up and took me into the spare room where he proceeded to shag me senseless. It was lovely but I wish I'd been more sober to appreciate it. A and I staggered off to work around 3 hours later, still drunk, late and clutching two sausage McMuffins apiece. I stayed in touch with and recently had a date with the guy (who, it turns out lived alone in that amazing flat and is my age but stupidly wealthy) which went well but have heard nothing since.
That night, before we met the rich bloke, I blew the owner of my favourite bar in his office downstairs. Flirtation has been going on for weeks and weeks so something was bound to happen. That was it.
I am still in close contact with N who is travelling. He's been in touch almost every day since he went away which I'm really surprised by but like a great deal. We're still keen to meet up when he's back but there's around 6 weeks still to go and anything could happen even though I miss him though and think about him all the time. I'm trying not to romanticize anything we might have which would be easy to do given the 'lovers separated by the ocean' theme of it all. I'm taking care to remain a little cynical about the whole thing so as not to be utterly disappointed when he returns.
This weekend was my best friend's wedding. I was the bridesmaid. I travelled down to Hampshire on Friday and immediately got thrown into organising and helping. This continued right the way through until 1am Sunday morning when it finally finished. The bride looked stunning and the day was lovely. I developed a minor crush on the best man who was single and very flirty with me the whole time (at one point we escaped the reception and went to the local pub together for a pint - naughty but fun). There was no opportunity for anything to happen, sadly but as he was leaving he told me he thought I was gorgeous and took my phone number. This was largely pointless as he's currently travelling the world and only back for the wedding. Still a nice ego boost though.
That's about it, really. Not the most exciting couple of weeks but definitely not the most boring.
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