Dirty Discourse

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...

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.

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.

Clarity?

What was I thinking? I mean really, what on earth did I think was going to happen? That somehow getting involved with several men at once wouldn't end in tears and would in fact result in everlasting happiness? With the benefit of hindsight it's laughable that I could have been such a twat for so long.

The weekend was every bit as depressing as I thought it would be. I was angry and upset and I didn't really do anything except get my hair cut and eat my body weight in Phish Food. However I came out of it with the realisation that I deserve everything I get. If I mess around and choose to sleep with whoever then I must expect emotions to eventually get tangled up. It's not true of all women of course, I don't subscribe to the theory that all women are unable to separate love from sex but I know that with me it's only a matter of time. Two or three sessions, I'm detached. Any more than that though and apparently I start to yearn. Still, at least I've learnt my limits although frankly I feel like steering well clear of it all for a while.

Having said that though, I've had some truly lovely emails from N while he's been travelling. He's still got around 8 weeks to go which is a shame as I'm finding I'm really missing him. I've spent a long time trying to ascertain whether I miss him because I'm hurt and need the comfort or whether I actually like him. At the moment I'm pretty sure it's the latter but I guess this will become more evident in time. It's just refreshing how honest he is about how he's been feeling and how much he's been thinking about me. I'm touched that in just two weeks together I seem to have had such an impact. He managed to get under my skin too though. I cried the last time I saw him (although he doesn't know this) and found I was extremely melancholy at the thought of possibly never seeing him again, although if the email contact keeps up to this degree it's highly likely I will.

Mug

There is a moment of clarity that, when you experience it, leaves you reeling. I had that moment this week.

On Sunday night, J (the ahem...model) took me for drinks and with his best sincere face on, told me he wanted to start seeing me properly. He told me that it wasn't all about sex, that he liked me for me, that I was special and that he even wanted to accompany me to my friends wedding in June. Finally, after weeks of ignoring his comments about the issue, I started to succumb. I actually started to wonder whether I could make it work. I talked to my friends about it, I asked opinions and relayed snippets of conversation and allt agreed he sounded sincere.

On Wednesday night, at his request, he came back. He was late. He didn't want to eat because he wasn't hungry so neither did I. He bought a DVD but fell asleep 10 minutes in. He fucked me but only he came. He told me all about this girl he could have shagged that day at the gym. The following morning, despite telling me on Sunday he'd see me this weekend, he relayed a catalogue of commitments all involving female models and booze. When I said 'But you told me you were free this weekend', he said 'Did I?' He left while I stood, dizzy from the realisation that I'd been utterly suckered. Comments on his myspace page and ones that he's left on others have confirmed my suspicions. Obviously I wasn't only sleeping with him but I didn't say one way or the other. He on the other hand, promised fidelity (even though I didn't ask for it) and yet deceived me at every stage.

I am trying not to be sad and feel foolish but I do, I really do. I have been a fool and now I have a bank holiday weekend stretching in front of me with my flatmate away and not a single plan to occupy me, bar getting my hair done. I know what will happen and I'm dreading it. I will wallow. I will cry. I will mourn the loss of yet another shred of dignity and I will lament my advancing years and the fact that I am still, despite all my efforts, single. Yes, it's melodramatic and I will probably read this back in a few days and laugh at my melancholy hyperbole but right now? Right now I can't decide whether to bawl my eyes out or find the nearest man and punch his face in.

Huh?

I am lucky enough to work for a company that not only lets you wear your own clothes every day, as opposed to those of a Jaded Wage Slave but also allows you to listen to the radio at your desk. I tend to believe, quite cynically, that it's more based around wanting us to spend more time at the aforementioned desks than to kid us into thinking we're at the very hub of workplace cool. However those are the sorts of musings that lead you to carve your way out of the office with a paper knife and into forensic history.
It is my choice to listen to Kiss FM which I realise many find wholly offensive, so I do so discreetly through my pink earphones. I happily tap away with a joyous mixture of hip hop/dance/r'n'b filtering into my brain and providing a happy soundtrack to my otherwise lacklustre days (modular office furniture is marginally less depressing to look at with Beyoncé warbling away). However, due to the inability of Kiss to play anything other than the same 25 songs in differing order throughout each show, some of the more ludicrously-lyriced numbers have got under my skin and made me ask 'Why should it possible to make a record that consists solely of faux-street nonsense?'
Case in point: Current 'hit' Da* Bump by Mr V and Miss Patty. Here is a sample of the lyrics:

This is the way we move it, This is the way we party, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, This is the way we feel it, This is the way we started, With a da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, This is the way we move it, This is the way we party, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, This is the way we feel it, This is the way we started, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump,

It's not the most inspiring start to a song is it? One might be fooled into thinking perhaps they were just using a ghetto variation of vocal warm up exercises (me me me becomes yo yo mo fo). Let's give them a chance to redeem themselves for the superlative Miss Patty's section of the song. Here she is then:

Shake what'cha momma gave ya, Shake what'cha momma gave ya, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, Wave your hands in the air, Wave'em like you just don't care, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, Sisters in the house tonite, Let me know you feel alright, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, Let me hear ya'll scream, Fellas you know what I mean, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, We all come down to the club, To get loose and have some fun, Da da dibidi bump bump, Da da dibidi bump bump, Pass the dutchie to the left hand side

Now, I realise they're not the first 'artists' to write fairly nonsensical lyrics, after all one can't fail to remember Des O'Connor's classic hit 'Dick a Dum Dum' or Abba's haunting track 'Dum Dum Diddle (my darling fiddle)'. It's just that somehow these early efforts have the veneer of innocence. In today's exceedingly verbal world, shouldn't it be easier to come up with a really awe inspiring hook for a song without resorting to the babblings of a drunk teenage girl in a bus station? Oh, and don't get me started on their shameless pillaging of the classic Musical Youth in that last line. Step away from the dutchie Miss Patty.
Also, when did it become cool to employ session chipmunks to give an edge to your efforts? First the laughably un-convict like Akon with 'Lonely' and now Mr V and Miss Patty have got da 'munk on board for Da Bump. Who is this chipmunk? Is he to become the next Ja Rule, popping up in guest spots on every new release to catastrophically ruin it (I think Mr V was doing pretty well on that front by himself).
Of course there is the argument, as Salt N Pepa took the trouble to remind us, to 'pick up the needle, press pause or turn the radio off' (name that song) but I like most of the other offerings from Radio Smooch, I really do. I even don't mind Sean Paul, the Grand Master of unintelligible lyrics but I've nothing against an honest dancehall effort, it's a different genre entirely. My only recourse is to simply persevere with songs such as 'Da Bump' and Dada's 'Lollipop' (I'll lick your ice cream, you can lick my lollipop' - oh can I? thanks awfully) and wait for the good shit in between. The Kisstory hour (see what they did?) is pretty good although like the albums entitled 'Old Skool', 'Back in the Day' and 'Now Time to Look Into a Pension' it does tend to make me feel the wrong side of young.

*Street for 'the', apparently

Jumping the gun?

Well it appears I may have been slightly premature in writing off the men in my life. N has so far been travelling for 6 days and has already emailed me 3 times. From the tone of the emails I can tell he's happier and calmer for getting out of London and getting some head space. He has told me he's missing London and me but I think that's just early days talking. I'm sure once he gets into the swing of travelling solo again and embraces his situation that will wear off. I have found that I've thought about him every day and have been delighted when his emails have appeared. I don't yet know whether this is due to him not having been gone a week yet and whether the feelings will fade. He's going to be out there for at least another 11 weeks as it is. For now though I hope he stays in touch. He almost feels like a departed lover that I am waiting at home for which is nonsense really but strikes a chord with a terminal romantic like me. A told me jokingly she thinks I'll end up marrying him (another terminal romantic) and, idiot that I am, I started daydreaming about it. Talk about impressionable.

J has also been back on the scene. He called me out of the blue from a day-long modelling assignment at the weekend to chat and tell me he'd been thinking about me in his more idle hours. On Monday he emailed me to say that although he was surrounded by pretty girls the whole time (thanks for that), 'they were muppets and it really made me appreciate you, you're really special to me.' I still have no idea what's going on but for now it's definitely just sex. The dom/sub conversations have started again and for our rendezvous tonight he's apparently bringing handcuffs and is going to 'play' because he feels I'm ready. I'm slightly apprehensive but I haven't had sex for two weeks and quite frankly I'm gagging so I'll go along with whatever.

L is the only one that really does seem to have fallen off the radar which is a great shame. I didn't hear from him all weekend and lasted until 4pm on Monday when I emailed him in an exceedingly breezy tone to ask how he weekend was and what he was up to this week. I received an email back with a detailed itinerary of all his activities which take up every night of the week with no suggestion of us getting together ever again. He may as well have just said 'I don't want to see you' but clearly that's impolite, exceedingly unBritish and not part of the rules. We exchanged a couple of matey emails but that was three days ago and I've heard nothing since. I can't work out whether his silence is due to him worrying about something personal he told me last week and perhaps my reaction to it. In which case it's up to me to contact him to offer (mute) reassurance that I'm not bothered and would like to see him. However perhaps I did something or said something to put him off the last time we met but I've been replaying the whole evening and for the life of me I can't imagine what it might have been. Finally though, perhaps he's just lost interest. One thing I've learnt about men (and myself) since I started this voracious dating is that impulses, desires and apparently genuine feelings can disappear as quickly as they arrive. It's finding the ones with staying power that's the challenge. The search continues...

...Comes Around

From having to worry about how to accommodate three men in my life, it would now appear I have to worry about none. Is this karmic retribution for my excessive sluttishness of late (two men in my bed in one weekend...three in one week...??). If history (and Hollywood) teaches us nothing else it's that naughty behaviour will always be rewarded with a MAJOR buzzkill. OK so I'm hardly Alan Rickman in that Die Hard film but you get the point.

N has gone travelling following two weeks of constant texting and three sessions of very hot sex with one last meeting of surprising tenderness. I went to his flat in St James Park the night before the night before he left and he cooked. I met his flatmates and felt oddly like his girlfriend. I found myself getting quite lumpy-throated at the prospect of this man I'd known for a mere fortnight, skipping the country for three months. We've promised to email and if I'm single when he's back and he's still into me...well who knows? I had half a bottle of wine that night and so wasn't drunk, yet when he left me at the tube I found myself blinded by tears which shocked me. He very much got under my skin and I'm already having to resist emailing him.

J has slowly gone quiet. I was supposed to see him last Sunday but I blew him out in favour of L who at the time I thought was a better investment. Instead J came over after I got home from my friend's birthday party on the Saturday night around 1am and stayed the night. I was on so nothing happened but it was lovely to see him. I was supposed to see him Friday night but have been dragged back to suburbia for bridesmaid duties and family devotion so had to blow him out again. I think that was the last straw for him because he's since not replied to my text message and seems to have lost interest. This is a shame because although I know he was wrong for me, I enjoyed his company very much and found him so exciting. I don't know that the door is fully closed but it feels that way from this side.

I met L that Sunday and we had a lovely, giggly, mutually hungover date. We went back to mine for DVDs and a take away and he stayed the night (same weekend obviously so still on - bad timing all round really). We fooled around A LOT which was totally hot. I've always had a thing for guys with long hair but never been with one before. I was right to fantasise - it just does things to me! He left at lunchtime on Bank Holiday Monday and I went out and got absolutely wasted with flatmate A and ended up puking all over our bathroom floor which made me feel shocking and very, very ashamed.

Thursday night I met up with L and his best mate for drinks. I played it so well - the friend and I were laughing and joking together after an hour which I think L was happy about. The friend left and suddenly L and I were kissing (I think I started it but I was quite drunk at the time). Suddenly L started to tell me why he couldn't sleep with me that night. There was a very good reason which I'm not going into here but suffice to say it bought us right back down to earth and although we kissed at the tube it was awkward to say the least. He emailed me the following morning to apologise for the headwreck of the night before and we emailed a bit that day but they were matey emails not really going anywhere and they smacked of 'I just want to be friends.' He seemed to go from majorly effusive to evasive and non-committal within a week and I was left wondering what the hell happened. I will wait to see whether he contacts me again but I'm trying not to care.

I've just logged into the dating website for the first time in 3 weeks...just to see what's going on. It would appear that without the prospect male attention I now panic. This is both sad and desperate so maybe that's what they can all smell on me. Perhaps I need to give it all a rest - I don't think I'm in the right frame of mind any more. Spending the weekend discussing weddings and making placeholders out of sprigs of lavender has definitely not helped.

Casual?

I offloaded the armful of gleefully-priced H&M specials I was holding onto a nearby rack and scrabbled about in my bag for my ringing phone. To my surprise it was J (model/porn star/young 'un). This was surprising given that he is currently 'on it' in Tenerife with his best friend and partner in crime. The first thing I asked was why on earth he was phoning me (possibly not the sweetest sentiment but the only thing I could think). Apparently he'd spent the day on the beach and while lazing about had been thinking about me and really wanted to talk to me. I was stunned. This is the guy who has been all about the 'filthy fucking' (his words) and who actually answered the phone at 9am the Sunday morning he stayed at mine to a football buddy and said loudly 'Nah not today mate, I'm balls-deep in some gorgeous bird'. Yet here he was being all thoughtful and sentimental. We're not even going out with each other, not really.
He told me he'd set his mate up with a couple of girls and that one of the chicks on the beach really fancied him but that he wasn't really interested. I can genuinely say I wouldn't be bothered if he did score whilst over there because let's face it, I've hardly been Little Miss Innocent have I? However he was at great pains to reassure me that this wasn't what he wanted from his time in the sun. It confused me because I do have a teeny crush on him, even though he is Captain Unsuitable but I'd managed to squash it a bit with him out of the country only to have him sweetly ring me and throw me right back into it. I woke up the following morning to a text from him, sent at 3am UK time that said:

"I don't want the sexiest girl...I want the one that likes me as I am."

First of all, he was clearly twatted when he sent that and I'll wager, has been kicking himself for it and secondly, talk about a back handed compliment! So I'm not sexy am I? I just adore you and that's all that matters. That served to bring me slightly back down to earth at least by making me feel slightly frumpy and desperate. As though I'm some safe, squashy bean bag he can collapse onto when the sleek Eames leather chair is just too streamlined to be comfortable.

I'm seeing N from the party again tonight but I know for sure this has a shelf life as he leaves the country for three months next week. He is a blissfully good shag though so I'm happy to dally (is that a word?) while he's here. He's been texting me every day since the party and seems very keen considering we both know this is casual. As mentioned, he's hinted he'd like to stay in touch and catch up when he gets back but we shall see.

I had a date with another guy from myspace on Tuesday night. We'd been emailing for about a week and getting on very well. He's not my usual type really. He's a long-haired, scruffy, muso/indie boy who is 33 but is clearly stuck around the age of 27. On the other hand he is completely gorgeous, very funny and extremely interesting company. We had a great time and a very exciting kiss at the bus stop on the Wandsworth Bridge Road that made me feel about 14 again. We've been emailing ever since and I'm supposed to be seeing him on Sunday. I don't want to put all my energies into one person at the moment, given my recent lack of judgement but at the same time I'd really like to slow down a little and get to know him. He seems keen to do the same although for all I know it could just be that he wants to hit it and quit it. Who knows? I'll give him the benefit of the doubt but he is a bloke after all.

My flatmate A finished with her boyfriend this week and has been understandably low. We both have extremely busy bank holidays coming up but are making time to see each other on Monday for lunch and drinks. It's funny how you can live with someone and hardly ever see them but we get on well so it should be nice. I have the day off work tomorrow but the bank wants to see me. Apparently I have a great credit rating and they want to do nice things with interest rates for me. Frankly, given the amount of debt I'm in I should imagine it's a cheap ploy to get me through the door so they can wrestle my cards off me and poke me with sharp things for being so utterly rubbish with money.

A Little Glimpse...

My friends from home came to stay on Friday night. It was lovely to see them but due to the remnants of my hangover and the emergence of a head cold, I was less than on form. Fortunately we'd only decided to stay in and get a take away so it wasn't too taxing. Having decided to edit a lot of my recent stories for their consumption I found myself being utterly honest with them - porn stars, French foot fetishists (don't ask) and all. I don't know why but I think it had to do with being too tired to put on the same front I use for my mother and although they are both younger than me, married and clean-living I figured they could handle it. Although there were raised eyebrows they seemed to find it more funny than anything and even did that thing of justifying my behaviour for me which only real friends do.

They left on Saturday morning and I went back to bed after cobbling together a half-arsed breakfast of croissants and toast (with a side of Lemsip for me). N from the party began texting me at lunchtime and by 4pm we'd agreed he was coming over. I wasn't sure what to expect as I couldn't really remember what he looked like or anything about his personality but he was capable of writing some class A filth over text so I figured it was worth a punt. He arrived and fortunately I found him attractive which was a relief. We drank wine and talked for ages, getting on really well, before the inevitable happened and we wound up in bed. We resurfaced for pizza and a dvd around 10pm at which point I suddenly found myself having an extremely coupley moment. We sat on the sofa and I stretched my legs out and rested them on his lap. He stroked my feet and we chatted companionably about nothing but I found I was happier than I'd been for ages. He stayed the night and stuck around until around 2pm on Sunday. It's a shame he's going travelling because I quite liked the little I got to know of him (and yes, the sex was fabulous...really amazing). He's been quite open about the fact that he'd like to see me again before he goes and potentially stay in touch while he's away. He kept saying that 3 months wasn't that long and that we could get together when he's back. It's a nice idea but given how much has happened to me in the last 3 months I have no idea what my life will be like then. He did cause me a moment of self-doubt when he announced I wasn't the type he normally went for, I quote: "I normally go for tall brunettes who are really skinny with no tits." My first reaction, whilst straddling him in my underwear was to glance down at my own ample chest and mutter "For God's sake, why?" He went on to say I was 'unconventionally sexy' whatever that means. Needless to say I've been dissecting it ever since and still have no idea.

I haven't logged onto the dating website for days. I feel as though my head and my diary are too full to start anything else at the moment. However I'm feeling to compelled to check my messages because...well I could be missing something great. Let's face it, at the core of all this messing about is the desire for intimacy, passion and above all, love. This was bought home to me by N who obviously fucked me but who, during one session, was so tender and so gentle including just holding me afterwards that oddly I almost cried. It was as though the veneer of carelessness I've built up since The Ex finished things last year, slipped briefly and the loneliness and vulnerability I've felt showed through. Embarrassing though this is to admit, it would appear part of me is still on the lookout for The One.

That's the side that will keep me on the straight and narrow food-wise because despite the exercise I've been getting recently (of sorts) I've also been eating for England. Having weighed myself and therefore scared myself this morning, I will be positively angelic this week. I may be booking a holiday soon with my friend F and am about as bikini ready as a double decker bus.

Fake Lesbians and Real Martinis

The media party was fairly lame in the end but A and I were up for debauchery. At the time it seemed like a great idea to guzzle free wine by the bucketload in between doing kamikaze shots. It seemed like a good idea for A to give me a lap dance while several leering men filmed us on their mobiles. It seemed like a terrific idea for us to dance with each other in such a shockingly provocative fashion even I had to double check I hadn't suddenly become a lesbian. It seemed a brilliant idea to grab random blokes and force them to dance with us for ages. It seemed really clever to take one of the random blokes up on his offer of going onto Soho House for XO Martinis. It seemed the right thing to do when I found myself piling into a taxi at 3am with one of these random blokes, going home and shagging him stupid.

I was late for work this morning and still drunk when I arrived. This was because my alarm genuinely didn't go off so I massively overslept and when I did try to get up, random bloke - N - firmly pulled me back into bed and proceeded to spend twenty minutes giving me a terrifically enthusiastic seeing to. I have discovered that my legs are covered in bruises but I think that's down to A's platforms kicking me in the shins when she was straddling me as opposed to vigorous sex.
I quite liked the bloke which is always nice to discover when you wake up next to them. He was handsome and had a fantastic body and was also northern so when he talked dirty it sounded really dirty. Sweetly, he's texted me a couple of times today and I've replied. He's going travelling in a couple of weeks but I've told him that if he wants to meet up again before he leaves I'd be up for it. Just to be able to take my time with him while sober - I have a feeling I'd enjoy it a lot more if the room wasn't spinning and I was on the verge of throwing up.
Fortunately rather than be cross with me this morning, my boss teased me and lent me eye drops. Everyone now knows about mine and A's debauched behaviour and have been ragging me all day. Apparently at one point I was taking off a man's shirt on the dancefloor but I really don't remember that.

J has said he may stop over this evening on his way to the airport just to have sex (what else?). Part of me would love to see him but another part doesn't want to for two reasons. Firstly I feel horrendous and not remotely sexy, plus am covered in common-looking bruises and secondly I worry that if I end up spending time with him and kissing him bon voyage at the door I may really start to yearn and I don't need that in my head. I think the mental disassociation is working because after sleeping with someone else I don't feel remotely guilty or like I've cheated in any way at all. If I really thought there was any sort of relationship here I daresay it would be eating away at me. Honestly, sometimes I think I might be turning into a man.

A More Flattering Light

S was an hour late. Not the most auspicious of beginnings for a first date but to be fair he did text me and let me know so I wasn't hanging around needlessly.

I had raced home from work at rush hour which I usually miss. With my face in a stupidly tall bloke's armpit and his arse pressing against my stomach in the sweltering heat of the tube carriage I silently hoped S was going to be worth the effort. At home I attacked the disgusting pimple on my chin with determination. I managed to sort it out (can't bring myself to expand on this) but it ended up being dark red so I spent a good twenty minutes trying to conceal it before concluding wearily that if that's the only flaw I have to worry about (barring my horrible thighs and squashy stomach) then I could handle it. I'd just take him somewhere with flattering lighting. I changed into the strapless top and heels and immediately felt sexier.

I met him at the tube and apart from the slight height deficit on his part due to my heels, he was very cute. I took him to a bar with virtually no natural light but with lots of tea lights all over the place to aid the spot-concealment.

We had a great date. Lots of laughing and talking absolute rubbish for ages. Disappointingly he did try to come home with me at the end of the date. I say disappointingly because I liked him so much I didn't want to ruin things by sleeping with him. Unfortunately at that point I was a little drunk so I had to really work hard to resist but resist I did. We kissed a lot - in the bar and again at the tube and he hinted he'd like to see me again but they always say that. He did text me on the way home to thank me for a good time which they don't often do. I'd like to see him again but I'll leave it up to him to contact me I think. If he doesn't I'll know he was only out for sex and I can be proud that I didn't give in.

Tonight is a big media party in town which I'm very excited about. Not least of all because I'm going with A from work who is such fun. We've decided our mission (after filling up on Wagamama's) is to flirt like nymphos on death row. With any luck the place will be lousy with laid back media totty hopefully in suits. I love the smell of Paco Rabanne in the morning...

From Frump to Fabulous (sort of)

Last night I spent an hour on the phone to S, my date for tonight. He was lovely, very funny and totally got my sense of humour. I'm not allowing myself to get lulled into premature satisfaction at this point because let's face it, I've met some apparently terrific guys doing this dating site thing that have very quickly turned out to be cockmonkeys. Although after the phone call, he text me to say he was really looking forward to meeting me which I thought was a nice touch. He's on myspace too so I found his page and was treated to a vast array of photos and a much more honest portrayal of him than his dating site profile. This isn't a surprise. My myspace page is definitely me but the dating profile is a little more reserved (understandably). I can see from the range of pictures that he's very cute as you would expect from an aspiring actor. He's disgustingly photogenic and one might almost say 'pretty' (delicate features bordering on the feminine etc). He is also photographed with a lot of girls, all of whom are attractive and/or slim. One has to question the motives behind his joining a dating website when he's clearly very sociable, funny and attractive. OK so he's struggling actor and works part time as a waiter but that would only be a minus point if he was a girl, on a bloke it's 'romantic'. Mind you, I've not been short of action since joining the site and I don't think I'm offensive in any way (OK verbally occasionally but I don't tend to hurl abuse on dates even when provoked). A from work says it's just another way of meeting people and doesn't mean you're physically incapable of doing so in real life which I knew already but needed to hear again.
I have just had a very in-depth discussion with A, my current favourite confidant, about my outfit for this evening. I was planning on going straight there from work but it occured to me that I hate what I'm wearing, at least in the context of a first date. The only flesh on display is my arms and my face. I'm not advocating dressing like a slut ho to ensnare a man but I wouldn't mind it if his pants tingled a little at the sight of me. We agreed that my long black strapless top with a teeny black cardi over the top to take away the ho-ness. A little bit dressy, a little bit fleshy and not frumpy. S claims this is his first date from the website which made me feel quite siren-like but also oddly a bit Mrs Robinson-y. At the very least I'll have to make it a good experience even if it doesn't work out - I don't want to be responsible for the abrupt end of his dating 'career'. I have already decided I will not be getting drunk and will definitely not be sleeping with him if things look like going that way. This is despite him meeting me walking distance from my flat and my flatmate being away. I think I could like this bloke and I really don't want to mess it up.

Being at home for a few minutes between work and date also means I can properly repair my make up and attempt to cover the spot that been on my chin for weeks now. It started out as a mini-mountain with a pulse then shrank over the course of a week or so and is now just a low level annoyance that sometimes looks like a scar and sometimes flares up into a little spot again. It's currently doing the latter (of course). It is Perma-Zit. It must be a phenomenon, I should be studied by dermatologists.

I am still talking to J. He eventually IM'd me yesterday and we talked for a while, he then rang me last night. The problem is, emotions are definitely starting to get in the way (by that I mean my crush). He told me he'd been thinking about me all day which really didn't help. Today he rang me on my mobile to say he was unable to get online and didn't want me to think he'd abandoned me. We also seem to have calmed down on the dirty talk which I find interesting. It's almost as if before he got to know me he could objectify me as just someone to fuck whereas now he gets a little of who I am, he's become much more tender and emotional. It's confusing the hell out of me and I'm more than a little worried. Not least of all because he's off to Tenerife for a week with one of his mates and I don't for a second expect that he won't shag anything he can get his mitts on (two twenty four year old single blokes surrounded by easy chicks from Essex?? please!). The real problem there is, I'm about 3 heartbeats away from caring.

God I hope tonight goes well.

Inappropriate Obsession

I decided to wear my new shoes. They're not my usual style, they're very pointy, very high stilettos in a shockingly provocative patent red. Perhaps the exhibitionist side of me that's taken over recently had an influence when I saw them glistening on the shelf in front of me. I once heard an expression that only prostitutes and children wear red shoes.

I met J on Saturday night. It was a gorgeous evening; warm and inviting. We went for drinks and shared a bottle of rosé during constant chat and giggles. I found I was confident enough to tease him both physically and verbally. We kissed between chats and I felt more comfortable with him than I have with anyone for a while. He stunned me at one point by sharing a pretty personal and dark experience from his recent past. I'm not sure exactly what his motivations were for telling me but it was so sad I had to stop from flinging my arms around him in a gesture that would have been sympathetic but would have surely come off as patronising. Suddenly he had depth and I could feel the early stirrings of a crush begin...
Back at my flat I lit candles, poured wine and put on music. I don't know why I felt the whole seduction thing was necessary given that I was onto a sure thing but I wanted to feel sexy and dare I say it, maybe just a little romantic? He seemed to appreciate it and we had some filthy but not scary (phew) sex. He stayed and in the morning we woke up early and did it again. It was without question, the best sex I've had in a very long time. I was half expecting him to bolt according to tradition but he didn't. In fact he suggested we get ourselves together, buy the papers and go and read them in the sunshine somewhere. I'm ashamed to say my heart swelled a little at the intimacy of this suggestion. OK, so we'd already been massively intimate in a physical sense but you don't agree to spend time in such a relaxed way with someone you're not into. Do you...?

We wandered down to Parson's Green, a lovely area of grass set amongst wealthy households in West London. We lazed around on the grass talking rubbish while I intermittently read him frothy articles from Glamour. We had a long lunch outside a pub, kissing a lot and generally revelling in each other. He is wrong for me in so many ways. He's too young, he has made porn and frequently models with beautiful women (not great for someone with my track record of insecurity), he is promiscuous and despite what he says I have no idea if I can trust him when he tells me he doesn't fuck around or that he wants me to be more than a fling. The crush is in full force and I'm finding it harder to hold onto these things. He said he'd call me last night but didn't. Lately I've found that when someone says that and doesn't I haven't really cared. I assumed it was because I'd grown as a person but it would appear it's because I didn't really like any of them enough. Today he's on instant messenger and so am I but he hasn't messaged me. I'm too scared to approach him in case I don't get a reply. Apparently I'm now 14 again. On the plus side he's off on holiday in a few days and it's likely I won't see him for a couple of weeks (if I do again). It could be what I need to get him out of my system.

To take the edge of this madness, I have a date tomorrow night with S from the website. He's a lovely sounding/looking guy who I've been IMing with. I'm looking forward to the distraction. On Wednesday night there's a big industry bash which I'm going to with A and P from work. I'm really looking forward to letting my hair down for the night. Again, any distraction is more than welcome right now. Stop me before I obsess again...

Goosebumps

Last night I went to see Phantom of the Opera. I didn't just go to see it though, I went to meet E, the fabulous girl I met at my cousin's wedding. She's a sound engineer and has worked on the show for the last year or so and she invited me to go along and watch it from her sound board. Now, I've always had a thing for creative types; actors, artists, musicians...they simply dazzle me and I adore being in their presence. Not least of all because if my life had turned out the way I wanted I'd be writing/acting/singing rather than wasting my days pushing paper. Anyway, I digress. I met E at the stage door (the excitement!) and she took me up to meet some of the engineers she works with. Just before the show was due to start we made our way downstairs to the sound booth which is at the back of the stalls. On the stairs we passed an unremarkable red-haired guy who greeted E warmly and smiled at me. I later learned that was the Phantom.

I felt secretly quite important being able to sit in this special little area whilst people were filing in to take their seats. E is amazing - watching her work was fascinating. We sat in front of a gigantic and scary looking bank of sliders and dials over which her hands fluttered throughout the performance. I ate chocolate raisins in silent awe.

Although I love the theatre I'm not a fan of musicals. When people sing random lines at one another, the voice in my head hisses 'Just say it for Christ's sake!' I just don't get the point. However last night I can honestly say I was impressed. For a start the sets were unbelievable. Obviously if you've seen it you'll know what I'm talking about but the scenes moved effortlessly from a theatre stage with sweeping velvet curtains and ballerinas twirling around, to the Phantom's lair complete with a moving boat, a million candles and a massive iron gate. Although the singing still annoyed me I found myself enchanted by the spectacle of it.

During the interval, after having a quick cup of tea in the sound engineer's room E gave me a quick tour of the theatre during which time we ran into several of the actors, waiting in the wings for Act Two which was very exciting. Obviously they were very down to earth and quite chatty but it was as much as I could do to form coherent sentences and suddenly felt very suburban. After the show was over we gathered our things together and I trailed round after E as she collected mics from actors and chatted with some girls from the chorus. We moved on to the theatre staff's local pub and hung out with the wardrobe manager and some of the lighting guys. It was so exciting to be with people who were so massively removed from my circle of friends. I also got on really well with E and we're both keen to go for drinks properly soon.

Elsewhere I'm trying not to be too preoccupied by my date with J on Saturday night. I have to admit to being pretty scared about it as he's been pretty graphic about the things he wants to do. I know it's absolutely my right to say I don't want to meet him but an overwhelming part of me is compelled to do so. I am tired of giving into fear. What with this dominant character suddenly on the periphery of my life, and having spent the evening watching a play about a man overpowering and capturing a young girl, I had disturbing dreams about being kidnapped and trapped last night. Whatever this phase of my life is, its beginning to get under my skin.

Getting in Deeper...

Haven't heard anything from D after Friday night which is a relief. I must have made it very clear that I wasn't remotely interested; quite an achievement when you consider I slept with him. Maybe blokes sometimes can get mixed messages in the right order.

I'm supposed to be going to see Phantom of the Opera tonight, finally. I've missed it twice and am risking E deciding she doesn't want to be friends with someone so flaky. I'm definitely going even though frankly I'd rather go home and eat a curry in my pyjamas. It doesn't help that I'm hungover today due to excessive Guiness consumption. I went out with A from work last night who is my new favourite girl! We're so astonishingly similar even though she's 4 years younger than me. She's the only person I can talk utter filth with and that will either have done it or completely get me. She doesn't judge either and although I could tell my close friends about my recent activities and they'd laugh along gamely and widen their eyes at the appropriate moments, I know I'll still see a topnote of shock in their eyes.

Speaking of which, I now have a total of five videos on my mobile phone from myspace guy all of which showing him being very...erm...graphic with himself. They are astonishingly arousing and I've watched them a shameful number of times. The more we talk, the more I feel myself becoming really attracted to the idea of this dom/sub relationship. Not in any deep way at the moment, but the idea of being controlled by this mesmerising man really turns me on. I still have reservations, or fears if I'm honest, which I told him about the other night. He was at great pains to reassure me that if we indulged in that kind of play, it would be for mutual pleasure and would stop the minute either of us wanted it to (he meant me but was being kind). He also asked me whether I saw this relationship as just sex. When I replied that I didn't know him well enough for it to be anything else, he seemed almost disappointed and told me that 'filthy fucking' aside he really liked me as a person and wanted to get to know me better. It may well have been a line but it was a sweet one nonetheless. Typically I am trying to move him around like a jigsaw piece to see if he'll fit into my life in any way but he just won't. He's too young, too wild and far too arrogant. He's very fun for now but as for long term...I think I need to detach the emotions immediately before it's too late. The problem is I'm finding that I'm not interested in any of the guys contacting me through the dating website or any that I meet in real life at the moment (which isn't many if I'm honest). I compare them to myspace guy (who I'll call J from now on) and they just seem less sexy and less exciting. Plus I'm now sleeping with a model/porn star. Who the hell can top that?

Makes an Ass of You and Me

I should really stop making assumptions about things before they happen. Having had a very definite scenario in my mind of how the weekend was going to go, I was completely taken aback by the reality.
I met D on Friday night as planned. He arrived late so I went home and met him at my flat. I don't know whether it was nerves but he immediately starting teasing me about having tidied my room in anticipation of his arrival. This was true but he pressed the point as if to suggest I was obviously enamoured to have made such an effort (no, I just didn't want you to see my dirty knickers and spot cream). Once he saw he could get a reaction, he teased me about everything which I don't take well from people I love let alone people I barely know. We went out to a couple of pubs near my flat and I realised I didn't remotely fancy him and in fact found him really annoying. This posed a problem because he was due to be staying over so I decided the only recourse was to just get drunk and make the best of it. I'm ashamed to say that even though I wasn't into him, I still slept with him. I couldn't put him anywhere else as we don't have a spare room and was too tired to try and make excuses as to why I wasn't up for sex. It was rubbish and I felt really quite hollow afterwards. As if to make matters worse, when we finally turned off the light at 4am he snored at an astonishing volume, to the point where I grabbed a blanket and went out to curl up on the sofa. I managed about two hours sleep and in the morning was so ratty I told him I had to get ready to go home so he needed to go. I hope he doesn't contact me, I'm not sure after seeing what he's really like I'd be able to be polite about letting him down.

As a result I went back home to my parents feeling tired and low. Unfortunately I had no way of offloading because I was due to meet my friend who's just had her second child. It was her husband's birthday and we were all due to be going out to dinner. It turned out to be a lovely evening but apart from one other bloke, I was the only single person there. I tried not to let it get to me but of course it played on my mind the whole time. I was driving too so I couldn't even drink to take the edge off. All in all I think I managed the whole situation rather well, baby-holding and diet coke consumption included.

I had been thinking constantly about my Sunday 'date' with myspace boy of course, especially after he text me late on Saturday night. My imaginings about the day had grown to terrifying fantasies about him rocking up to the flat with whips, chains and a gimp mask for an exhausting and painful session. I was supposed to contact him on my return to the city but almost didn't due to almost overwhelming fears of my own inadequacy. I showered when I got home and as I did my make up and got dressed I realised I really didn't want to give into fear and possibly miss out on a great new experience so I called him. He seemed pleased to hear from me and was at my flat within the hour, having suggested we go for a drink (a very welcome and normal idea!). I needn't have worried. He arrived looking as gorgeous as I'd remembered and we went off to the pub together for a lovely, giggly couple of hours. Every now and again he'd touch my leg or kiss me and I was getting more and more impatient to be alone with him. When we got back to the flat we lasted about 10 minutes before moving into the bedroom. It was amazing, truly amazing and such a good way to wipe out the grubby experience of Friday. I was worried about what his reaction to my body would be given that fact that he spends time around female models but he seemed to find me attractive and his appreciation of me made me gradually more confident until I completely let go. He was skilled but not as controlling as I was expecting. He didn't stay over which I was happy with but asked to see me this Friday, rang me when he got home and IM'd me this morning. I am not remotely considering the possibility of a relationship with this boy. He's too young and far too promiscuous (not that I can talk) for it to be a possibility but for as long as he's happy to be fuck buddies I'll be more than happy with that.

Filth

God what a random week. I feel quite exhausted and I'm still at work at 7pm killing time before meeting D who's on his way down from Warwickshire.

My date on Wednesday night turned out to be a lovely suprise. The guy was very funny and much cuter than his photos suggested. We went to The Sanderson and had cocktails in the courtyard outside the Long Bar. We stayed for hours just talking and laughing and drinking cocktails (him: Frostbite me: Pink Passion). He walked me to the tube and down onto my platform to wait with me. We ended up having an astonishingly frantic snogging session resulting in my missing three trains and his substantial hard on. Even though my flat mate was out I decided not to invite him home and instead we made do with texting filth to each other all the way home and in bed until we both admitted to coming. He hadn't seemed remotely nasty on the date (mind you, neither did I) so it was a nice surprise. He emailed me the following day to set up another date. I am wondering whether he would have done had I taken him home. If it goes anywhere I think I'll ask that question.

My contact with the myspace boy has continued apace to the point where I have ended up having to 'attend to myself' at work. I know for definite that he's done the same, because he text me a video of the evidence. I've replayed it approximately 40 times since receiving it and I am still massively aroused by it. Then yesterday, things became real when he suggested meeting up after I'd been out with friends. He was actually willing to drive the 20 minutes into London at 11pm simply to meet me. I seem to have temporarily lost all sense of decency because rather than be horrified at such an irrational and selfish suggestion, instead I found myself agreeing. He met me at the tube and we spent almost two hours in his car, talking and fooling around. I occasionally questioned what the heck I was up to, given that this guy was a 24 year old and I have such a thing about age (got to be older) but he's not a normal 24 year old. He's made porn films for crying out loud, he has a very successful job and a car that's as horny to look at as he is (well almost). I'm not going to lie, I really don't think there's anything on the personality front particularly that would keep me going back, it's purely the fact that I fancy the pants off him and knowing about his extensive and extreme sexual experience makes me desperate to learn what he could teach me. I have the flat to myself when I get back into town on Sunday so he's coming over. I'm simultaneously very excited and pretty scared. I think he has the capacity to be quite gentle but I also know the things he's described doing to me aren't just talk. This boy has done it all and when he says he wants to tie me up and lick me for hours, or spank me so hard he leaves welts, I know he means it. He made me promise not to make myself orgasm all weekend until I see him. I went along with it for the fantasy, neglecting to tell him about my date tonight and the fact that judging by last time D and I will end up getting it on tonight. As I type this, I feel worry creep in. It would appear I have morphed into a super-slut. When did that happen?

Wishing I Was Bettie

Gosh it's been a busy few days! I spent a lovely Easter weekend at home with the family including my nan who I haven't seen for ages. She had bought along reams of old family photos and some letters/newspapers from the war so on Sunday we tripped off down memory lane and learnt about our immediate ancestors. My dad then caught the history bug and dug out his slide projector. We sat long into the evening going through photos he took around London when he was 21 and throughout his early twenties in general. All the way through to my parent's wedding photos which I'd never seen. It was really emotional and I felt strangely detached from reality having spent a large portion of the day in the past.

I had a date a couple of weeks ago from the website with a guy that lives in Warwickshire. Heck of a way to come but the plan is he move down to London soon and I really liked the sound of him so I decided to go for it. When I saw him the first time I was momentarily stunned because at 6ft 4" I practically had to look directly upwards to meet his eye and as previously mentioned, I'm not short. After so many dates with shorter, slimmer blokes, to meet a guy that was not only tall but seriously built with it was fantastic. He turned out to be lovely and although I got embarrassingly drunk on the date (must stop doing that) he didn't seem to mind and came home with me (must stop doing that too). The following morning we fooled around for a while longer, making me late for work. I had assumed that once again I'd ruined any chances for a repeat performance but he's been texting me ever since. I've been waiting in vain for him to suggest a second date and yesterday when I got another 'how are you' text, I lost patience and asked him out on Friday. Happily he said yes which pleased me immensely as I haven't been able to stop thinking about him.

In the meantime, I've got a date with someone else from the website tonight which was arranged ages ago. He's taking me to The Sanderson in Soho which is very posh and makes me think finally I've got a date with someone that's not afraid to spend a bit of cash! I'm not overly excited about it but it'll be a nice distraction.

I've also been emailing a guy who hit me up through my myspace page. The only reason I bothered replying to his first email (among the reams of loonies that contact girls on a daily basis) was because he was unbelievably fine. He's a male model and had some astonishing photos on his profile. The emails escalated to instant messaging and culminated in us writing absolute filth to each other yesterday afternoon. After a while we were just simultaneously spinning our own fantasy out together and I'm ashamed to say I was desperately aroused and so, apparently, was he. In the midst of my lust-glaze I gave him my mobile number and he rang me late last night. We talked for about an hour in which time I learnt that not only is he 24 (felt immediately old) and has a very successful sales career, he has also spent the last three years practising dominant/submissive relationships, with him as the dominant party. This made me nervous for however sexually open and aware I like to think I am, there's something about dedication to things like bondage and fetishes which both scares and fascinates me. He explained that it's not all he's about but that he is involved with several 'groups' who meet for parties occasionally and that he goes to erotic festivals. In the cold light of day as I type this it strikes me as surreal and a little grubby but last night, with his low voice close to my ear I was excited by it. I have always had a thing about being controlled by a man (in a very non-rape way, believe me) but just having them call the shots. Unfortunately it would seem most of the guys I've been with lately have been so lazy, it's been me doing all the work. I don't mind making the effort but it would be nice to get something in return (like...er...an orgasm maybe??).

After a while I started talking to him about what I liked to do and got onto the subject of blow jobs which culminated in me graphically describing what I would do to him, while he masturbated. Hearing him ejaculate on the other end of the phone, purely because he was listening to my voice (and touching himself, obviously) turned out to be a real power trip for me and I've been thinking about it ever since. I never realised I could describe in quite such realistic detail such acts but it would seem I have a new skill. He's now asked me out (what a shock) but I don't know whether I'll meet him. Sometimes it's best to keep these things as a fantasy. Well, that's partly the reason I might not meet him. The other reason is that because he is a male model I am completely intimidated by his physique. He's seen head and shoulders shots of me but that's all and I'm by no means model material! The crushing disappointment of rejection in person would just be too much to cope with, I fear. Anyway, it's all fantasy. The real thing I'm looking forward to is meeting D on Friday. It will either clear him out of my head or plunge me deeper into the crush. As he's so far away I kind of hope it will be the former but then when have I ever jumped to the easy option?

Twatted Lawyer and Big Cabbie

Dragon Bar on Thursday night was typically filled with uber-trendy Hoxton types. The girls looked like clones of Sandy Shaw in shift dresses and 'kooky' necklaces while the men were divided into the ridiculously slick in pork pie hats and suits to the trackie top and baggy jeans crew. It's difficult to relax when you've come straight from work and are just wearing a long black jumper and skinny jeans but I removed my demure cleavage-concealing vest from under the jumper, piled on more liquid eyeliner to almost Winehouse proportions, squirted some hairspray on my roots and decided to vamp it. I met Oz Girl and B for a night of funk, too much gin (as it turned out), to regale them with my latest date stories, and to meet Oz Girl's new boyfriend who was very tall and very lovely.

Towards the end of the night I got talking to a guy at the bar who claimed to be a lawyer. He was pretty drunk but was cute and funny and the other guy I'd been making eye contact with for an hour had just started talking to one of the Shaw clones so I was feeling a bit pissed off and was glad of the distraction. After a while we ascertained that we both lived in West London and he suggested we share a cab. I debated the pros and cons of this for about four seconds but the part of my brain that controls the 'male attention' related decisions overruled most of the cons and I agreed. I wasn't about to flag down one of the many murder cabs lined up outside so I called faithful Addison Lee after agreeing we'd go halves on the fare (naturally). When the cab arrived, Lawyer was nowhere to be seen and after pushing through the hoardes I eventually found him with his head on a Shaw Clone's shoulder, practically passed out. I managed to rouse him (as it were) and went outside to wait. Presently he staggered out and fell into the cab with me. Within three minutes he was trying to get me to go home with him. Every single tired old line I've heard over the last few months of voracious dating was trotted out. When he scooted over in his seat and tried to grope me, I not only got offended but really pissed off with him. To the point where I actually said 'I've had a few one night stands recently and I'm so over them right now. You picked the wrong girl to share a cab with.' It clearly didn't sink in as he didn't stop so I just resisted his octopus-like advances until we reached his stop. At which point he turned to me and said 'Have you got any cash?' Excuse me? Haven't you?? No, it would appear he didn't but I wasn't to worry because he had some indoors. Oh and if I wanted to come up with him for a while, that would be OK too, obviously.
The cab driver had been cutting him suspicious looks in the rear view and he began to look genuinely annoyed (him and me both). Lawyer promised he'd go indoors then come straight back down with the cash and dubious though I was we had no choice but to agree.
He went indoors.
We waited.
Cab driver asked me if I was OK and I got teary (too much gin as mentioned)
We waited some more.
We waited a bit more while I grew more and more embarrassed.
Cab driver decided enough was enough, turned off the engine, got out and banged on Lawyer's front door.
Lawyer eventually emerged in his socks and Grant Mitchell-alike cab driver forced him to get back into the cab to drive to a cash point much to Lawyer's annoyance (he was also clearly bricking it under big-bloke threats which pleased me). We drove around looking for a cashpoint and eventually Lawyer had to get out in his socks to get some cash. The fare was £32 so when he returned to the car and practically threw a tenner at me accompanied by an angry 'Is that enough then?' I was livid. 'No it's fucking not! You still owe me six quid, you dickhead!' I don't usually provoke drunk men like that but I had the backup of Grant so I knew I could push it a bit.
The cab driver (to whom I'd been apologising profusely for bringing this turd anywhere near his car) demanded the Lawyer give me a twenty. 'But I already did!' Lawyer whined, gesturing stupidly at the tenner I was clutching. The moron. Eventually he took that back and gave me a twenty. I slammed the cab door and we sped off leaving Idiot Boy stranded in his socks, streets away from his house and hopefully without his door key. The whole thing ended up costing me the same as if I'd gone home alone but with the added bonus of leaving me feeling so angry with men in general that I got indoors and burst into frustrated tears. If I'm honest it wasn't tossy Lawyer I was that annoyed with, it was myself. I am so messed up with men that I'm willing to share a cab with a guy so drunk he could barely focus just because I was feeling a little starved of attention and wound up being upset and very, very embarrassed. I really need a hobby.