Spilt Orange Juice

Spilt Orange Juice

Despite the fact that I was running late for work I felt that it was almost obligatory to stop and get some freshly squeezed orange juice. I’m rather devastated that I woke up this morning with 3, count ‘em, 3 spots on my face. This is horrible! I hate spots. Hate, hate, hate them. I feel decidedly ugly now .And what I hate even more than spots is my temptation to squeeze them. I figured out a couple months ago, that my desire to squeeze spots is entirely sexual. Like, I get sexually aroused.

Ok, I admit I’m a freak. I once masturbated to a video clip of a guy squeezing the pus out of this huge spot he had. Actually it was more like a boil. Hmmm I guess I’m not supposed to admit that sort of thing, eh? Yeah., I told you I’m a freak. There was just something about seeing the release of fluid that was uber exciting. Maybe it’s not too different than seeing a guy cum? The build up of fluid and then the explosion. So I spent a whole week searching the net for pimple-popping videos. I play them in a loop while fingering my clit. I do hate to admit it but those were some of the best self-induced orgasms I’ve experienced.

To be clear, I don’t think I would be into seeing someone pop their zits in person. Well, maybe with someone I love but in general it grosses me out. There was something safe about seeing it on the video.

Instead of being sensible and putting the Oxy / Clearsil on these 3 zits, I squeezed them. I know, that’s bad news. There’s something about seeing the pus squirt out that gets my heart racing; especially when it squirts out an hits a mirror. I somehow feel a real sense of accomplishment having done that. All of that is a tell tale sign of OCD, obsessive compulsive disorder (as confirmed by my dermatologist who offered to prescribe me Prozac to stop those urges.). Anyhow, so now instead of 3 harmless spots that probably would have disappeared in 2 days, I now have 3 misshapen pimples that look way worse than before. Thank God for make up. I think I’ve done a good job covering them up, but today I feel self-conscious and ugly.

In any case, the point of the orange juice is that if you have spots, try to drink a lot of water and natural juices. It aids in repairing the skin. So despite the fact that I was late for work, I went out of my way to get a large 16 ounce cup of freshly squeezed OJ.

I took a taxi to work. Last week when I hailed a cab the driver told me that I better not drink my juice in the car. Asshole. I didn’t tip him. He said that I should put the drink on the floor of the cab. So on that cab ride the orange juice stayed on the floor with my feet holding it in place. Just so I wouldn’t get any arguments today I did the same thing with my juice. I know it was a different cab driver and a different cab. I just didn’t want to argue. Or even talk for that matter. This taxi driver was one of the talkative type, “Oh it looks like it’s going to rain...” Yadda, yadda, yadda. I mean isn’t every day in London a day that it looks like it’s going to rain? If you’re a taxi driver and you insist on talking to me, at least make the conversation original, okay?

So maybe it’s because I was wearing a very lederhosen-like outfit. Short, flowy skirt, short-sleeved scoop-neck shirt with plenty of cleavage and high heels. My skirt was so short that any small gust of wind exposed my panties. Usually I wear matching panties, but today I wore a cute red and white stripped pair that I bought at La Senza a few days ago. In the cab the driver asks me if I’m a “promotions girl.” I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or insulted. When I thought of promotions girls I thought of all the women in the Big Brother House. I felt insulted. I mean, I could be a freakin’ nuclear physicist and this dude has me pegged as a promotions girl?!?

I took one sup of my orange juice during the whole ride. Suddenly the taxi went around a corner. All of my orange juice spilled on to the floor of the cab. Luckily the driver didn’t see it. So I figured I could play it 2 ways. 1. Don’t say anything. Just get out of the cab and pay the guy. Maybe give him a bit of a bigger tip. Or 2. Be honest. I’m such a mug, cuz I decided to be honest. I offered to clean up the juice I spilt.

As soon as I got into the office I made a bee line for the kitchen. I got some hot water and towels. I went back to the cab and offered up my goods. Literally and figuratively. I forgot I was wearing the short skirt and as I was bending over to clean out the cab, the driver was staring at my panties. For Christ’s sakes. I felt annoyed but he was probably more annoyed that I spilled the juice. Although judging by the look on his face it looked like he would have been happy watching me clean all day.

As I got up the last of the OJ I apologized again to the driver. He then stuck out his lips as if waiting for a kiss. I somehow forgot he was a cab driver I didn’t know. I must have thought I was on a date or something. So I end up kissing this guy. The doorman at my work looks at me like I’m crazy. It was then at that moment that I realized “Oh shit, WHY am I kissing this guy?” I pulled away and scurried inside totally forgetting to collect et my change from the driver.

This means basically:
1. Not only did the driver get a peek at my panties he got a kiss. THIS IS FURTHER THAN MOST GUYS GET WITH ME ON THE FIRST DATE.
2. He got paid £15 for a £11 cab ride
3. I spent £20 before 10AM without even trying.

And to make matters worse, I was still fucking thirsty!

What a shitty morning.

More info for you deviants

Cockblockers and the DG of the DG

Cockblockers and the DG of the DG

Ok, I’ll let you guys know form the start there’s no sex in this entry. So you can tune out now if that’s what you’re here for.

There are a few things I want to discuss today. Namely: Cockblockers, irrational jealousy, drunken mistakes & this new URL.

I’m not sure where to start? This is a bit of a concentric story. Well, perhaps not concentric, but somewhat self-referential. Hopefully you’ll find it interesting, nonetheless. In the end, it all leads to why I switched URLs.

So in a very roundabout way here I go.

My work bores shitless. I don’t hate my job per se, I just hate the project I’m working on. I’ve been producing this World War II documentary for about 6 months. Three months pre-production and three months actual production. It looks like there’s three more weeks left of production. Most of the production involves interviewing veterans and present-day military strategists; getting their perspective on the war. Additionally, I’ve started research and pre production on a reality TV show that we’ve obtained the rights from a cable network in the US. Balancing both projects has been quite difficult. Or rather, balancing both projects and having a full social life has been quite difficult.

The documentary is based off a book, a former best seller. I have to correspond with the author on a regular basis. The author is okay. I don’t mind dealing with him. His assistant, on the other hand, is a huge bitch and usually I have to deal with her.

It was probably the least desirable out of all the projects that were up for grabs. I am sort of doing it as a favor for CS. If you’ve been keeping up with my entries here you’ll know that CS is my boss. I want to shag him. I think he wants to shag me. He’s ten years older than me. Married. Kids. Executive producer by day. Crossdresser by night.

His secret fantasy is to fuck me while wearing a skirt. And you know what? That doesn’t even weird me out. I’m into that. I would do it. I would get down on my knees lift up his skirt and give him the blow job of his life. OK, I wouldn’t swallow, but it would still be good.

At first I was really freaked out about all of this cross dresser thing, but now that I’ve had months to think about it. I dig it. I mean, I don’t necessarily want to be a cross dresser, but I do feel that it would be so kinky to shag him while he’s in drag. There’s something about androgyny that appeals to me in Marc Bolan / David Bowie ala Ziggy Stardust type way.

But back to my boring job. I want out. My contract expires in a few days. The documentary isn’t complete. Most likely my contract will be extended. Still, I’m looking for other opportunities.

There’s an executive producer position that just opened up in another department. I want that job. It would be a bit of a stretch for me, since I’m perhaps on the junior level, but still I want to go for it. The guy that’s the head of the department is a buddy of mine. I’m not assuming that that it’s a foregone conclusion that I get this job, but I’ve got a pretty good chance. I’m putting my best assets forward. If you know what I mean. ;-)

I call this department head, the DG because he has a vague resemblance to Mr. Best-shag-ever. DG, of course, being short for doppelganger. Yes, I realize the irony and perhaps my incorrect use of doppelganger. How can someone with a “vague” resemblance be a ghostly double? Well, I suppose I am trying to be funny. Anyhow, the more I got to know Mr. Best Shag Ever the more I realized that he didn’t actually look that much alike the DG. They did have similar styles and a similar look.

The freaky thing is, that guy D. the one I met at the hotel a couple weeks ago. The one I thought was so hot. He is the doppelganger of the doppelganger. The DG of the DG. He’s the fucking splitting image of the DG. I think that’s why I like him.

Fooling around with D was weird and amazing because he looked uncannily like the DG. It felt so wrong yet felt so right at the same time. In thinking about it a few days later, being with D made me realize that I actually have some feelings for the DG. I reluctantly admitted to myself, that I fancy him. But I fancy him in a very different way than CS.

I just want to shag CS. It’s the curiosity factor. It’s the power trip. I wanna know what it’s like to shag the boss. I want to revel in the power. I want to be kinky and submissive with him. The DG, however, is the sort of guy I could fall in love with. He is real sweetheart. We once kissed after work drinks. This is months ago. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. He catches the train from Charring Cross I catch the train from Leicester Square. I once made up an excuse that I had to take a train from Charring Cross just so I could walk with him.

We were waiting on the same platform for separate trains. I was slightly intoxicated. I think he was too. We kissed on the lips. It was simple. No tongue involved. I pulled away, he pulled me back and we kissed again. This is etched in my mind.

We’ve had a few naughty chats on the instant messenger, but nothing else physical besides the kiss has emerged.

Nothing else will happen because he’s married. I respect the fact that he’s married. I wouldn’t try anything on with him unless he pursues me. I know, however, that won’t happen. He is very much in love with his wife and very happy in his marriage. I don’t want to break that up.

I suppose I should respect CS's marriage and not fool around with him. I guess the difference in my mind is that CS obviously has secrets from his wife already. And if I were his wife I’d much rather hear that he was having an affair rather than he’s a closeted cross-dresser who's ex was a suicidal transvestite. Some things just go down better than others.

Oy Vey. Married guys are trouble.

So last Friday was work drinks. CS was in Prague. Lots of people from work were down in the bar. I ended up chatting to CS’s boss for a long time. I also managed to down 3 white wines way too quickly. While I was doing that, I failed to notice that a young freelance production assistant had been talking to the DG. This freelancer is Australian, round faced and was showing plenty of cleavage. That’s the DG’s thing. He loves tits. He loves my tits. He loves anyone who has sort of biggish tits. My goal for Friday night was to walk with the DG to Charring Cross; Ask him what my chances are for this job; flirt with him; see if we could reproduce that kiss.

He just isn’t in the pub all that often so I was determined to talk to him tonight; or at least let my breasts do the talking. Everything would have gone as planned but that Australian chick cockblocked me. I ended up walking to Charring Cross. The DG and the Aussie walked to Leicester Square together. The awful thing was, I didn’t even need to go to Charring cross. I was just going there as an excuse to walk with the DG. God, why do I bother?

I waited on the train platform for him, but never showed. I even intentionally missed a train, hoping to see him. He must have taken the tube and gone home the long way. It just sort of gets my goat that all the times I’ve walked to Leicester Square never once did he go out of his way for me. Oh God, I’m being so petty. Logically, I am acutely aware that this is not even worth worrying about, let alone writing a blog entry. But emotionally I feel hurt.

Anyhow I was drunk. I went home. Saw CS online. Started talking to him. I know, drunken instant messaging is always a bad idea. I told him about the cockblocker situation. He knows I fancy the DG. Similarly the DG knows I fancy CS. I love playing them off each other. Yeah, I’m a bitch.

CS was curious why I wanted to see him dressed as a woman. He thought that I fancied manly men. Then he accused me of liking a guy at work. But not just any guy at work. The same guy at work who replied to my ad; hereafter known as the Reply Guy

Apparently CS has seen the way that I look at the guy at Reply Guy. So does that mean CS is looking at me look at other guys? How weird?

So while I’m messaging CS, the DG pops on instant messenger. Crazy. I literally have not seen him on instant messenger in 3 months! So he pops up on the instant messengers. It’s crazy because I’m instant messaging them both at the same time. Neither one of them know. The last time something like that happened was in Prague, the night CS and I first kissed. I went back to my hotel room. Even though I was dead fucking tired I turned on my laptop as soon as it booted up the DG was instant messaging me. He was asking me how my night went. It was crazy. Less than 5 minutes ago I was snogging CS.

Anyhow, the DG wanted to know that I got home okay. Then he told me it took him ages to get home. Of course it took him ages. He took the long way home. He said he was really tired. Even too tired to look at porn. Crikey! That must be pretty tired.

So I got pretty confused since I was drunk and chatting to both CS and the DG. At one point I was talking to both of them about lingerie. It was pretty confusing, but v v good for my ego. Then I didn’t feel so bad that the Aussie Cockblocker got to walk back to the tube with the DG.

I told CS that I don’t fancy the Reply Guy. The Reply Guy is just a mate. Then in my inebriated state I e-mailed Reply Guy’s reply -- you know, the reply where he offers to eat my pussy -- I acutally e-mailed that to CS. This is why I'm not in Mensa. I also forgot that in the signature of my e-mail there’s a link to my blog. If CS clicked on the link he would have seen all the text messages he sent me on my blog. I therefore immediately took down everything on my blog that referenced CS.

And that’s why I’ve changed blog address. I dunno if CS will even click on the link, but I figure why take a chance?

I sincerely hope you weren’t too bored by that long-winded conversation. If you ever fancy a drunken instant message conversation with me. I’m on MSN: naive_lodnon_girl@msn.com

He said, she said

July 17, 2006 23:14
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
I want you to suck my cock

July 17, 2006 23:20
From: AJ <+447XXXXXXXXX>
Would love to gag on it while
sticking a finger in your arse

July 17, 2006 23:21
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
I would love to make you come
while licking your arse.

July 17, 2006 23:20
From: AJ <+447XXXXXXXXX>
I have to warn you. I’m
a screamer and cum loudly.
You will have to
discipline me not to be
so loud. Force me
to cum quietly

July 17, 2006 23:29
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
Im going to spank you if you
make any noise at all you will
suck my cock quietly. If you
are a good girl Ill lick you out.

July 17, 2006 23:29
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
Im listening to the Cure

July 17, 2006 23:30
From: AJ <+447XXXXXXXXX>
Try listening to “Fascination
Street” I’m sure that song is
About oral sex.

July 17, 2006 23:35
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
“Let’s cut the conversation
and get out for a bit”

July 17, 2006 23:41
From: AJ <+447XXXXXXXXX>
“yeah i like you in that
like i like you to scream
but if you open your mouth
then I cant be responsible
for quite what goes in or
to care what comes out...”

July 17, 2006 23:39
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
"Show me how you do that
trick. The one that makes
me scream"

July 17, 2006 23:41
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
Your kisses are fine

July 17, 2006 23:47
From: AJ <+447XXXXXXXXX>
Ta. I enjoyed your hand up my
skirt. And you kissing my ear.
Wow.

July 17, 2006 23:44
From: AJ <+447XXXXXXXXX>
I want your cock

July 17, 2006 23:48
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
You are so going to get it

July 18, 2006 12:02
From: CS <+447XXXXXXXXX>
You are in trouble now.

Click here: You have 1 missed call

Not worth the cab fare

Not worth the cab fare.

The thought of having a lunch where I’m the one that gets eaten is very exciting. Unfortunately when it came to the reality of it, it wasn’t so great. In fact it was simply not worth the cab fare that it cost me to from work and back.

I met the guy outside my flat. He wasn’t bad looking. For some reason I though he sounded Australian, but he was actually English. As I was massaging his back he reached around and fingered me. To his credit, he made me cum. Generally, I find it really hard to cum if someone fingers me.

Unfortunately, after I orgasmed I just wasn’t in the mood anymore. Usually that doesn’t happen to me. Usually what happens is that after I cum, if I wait five minutes I’ll be ready to cum again. This time I was just SO OVER the experience. I feigned being interested in him from that point on.

He was very skilled at licking my clit and eating out my pussy. But since I was only feigning interest I wasn’t really horny. When you’re not horny and someone is playing with your private bits it’s just sort of boring. It didn’t not feel good but it didn’t feel great either.

I’m not a big fan of faking orgasms. And really the only time where I have done it was when I was dating the best-shag-ever guy. He would get lost in my pussy for hours. Yes, of course, I loved it. But even too much of a good thing can get boring. So I faked with him, but only after I had actually already cum 5 times. Oh god, now I’m starting to reminisce about him now. I can’t believe that one night when we were in bed, I woke up and he was going down on me.

I woke up all sleepy and tired and said, “Hon, what are you doing?” And he said that he had always wanted to do that. Wake up a girl by going down on her. The thing is with me is, however, once I’m asleep I like to stay asleep. If I have a choice between sex and sleep usually sleep will win. This of course, depends upon how tired I am. If I’m already sleep, I don’t want to be awakened for sex. If I haven’t fallen asleep yet, then sex is okay.

But I digress… so back to not-worth-the-cab-fare guy. I faked an orgasm with him just so I could get him off me.

I jerked him off for a while tactically sticking a finger in his arse. He came quite quickly. I was rather impressed wth myself.

We got dressed, said our goodbyes and then I went back to work. In total it cost me £24 in cab fare.

It was definitely NOT worth it.

Sometimes the best shag is the worst thing ever

Sometimes the best shag is the worst thing ever.

I didn’t get my clit licked weekend. I guess I could have let Grandpa lick it, but the fact that he was all to eager to do it made me want to say no. Also, I don’t want to rush things with him.

In lieu of what would usually be a bean-flicking festival I’m going to tell you about the best shag I ever had.

It was February this year. I don’t want to mention or allude to his identity as I’m quite protective of him. There is a magnanimous side of me that just wants the absolute best for him. (Then again there is a horny side of me that wants to shag him rotten). All you need to know about “the guy” is that at the time we were seeing each other he was faced with some difficult decisions.

There was some raw attraction that had been lurking behind our platonic friendship. Then one day there was a break-through: our feelings surfaced we went out on an “official” date. Later that night we made love. It was fantastic. That, however, wasn’t the best shag I had with him. It was several weeks later.

There’s something really exciting about having a new cock inside you. I think guys feel the same way, about pussies; that there’s something exiting about putting your cock in a new pussy. Am I right about that? The excitement and newness of it all makes it worth the pursuit.

Despite my flirtatious nature and love of oral sex I’ve only been penetrated by 5 different guys in my whole life. As I explained in an earlier entry, I have a very tight pussy. I’m not at all saying that to brag – but physically it is tight. My gyno has confirmed that it is indeed tight. Because it’s so tight I haven’t slept with many men That’s another reason why I prefer receiving oral sex. I really do not like being penetrated unless it’s with someone I trust implicitly.

My bastard ex-boyfriend who I'll refer to as N. was a bit of a sadist. He knew that if he positioned his cock a certain way in my pussy that it would hurt. I shouldn’t say hurt, rather it fucking killed. It’s the sort of pain that makes you walk funny for days afterwards. In the days when we were having sex he would intentionally fuck me so I would feel pain. He wouldn’t feel satisfied until he saw tears. The very first time it happened I yelled, “What are you doing?” He replied, “I’m gonna fuck you til you cry.” The moment I would shout out in unbearable pain was the moment he’d cum. He said those were his favorite shags. Remind me why I stayed with that bastard so long? Oh right, because back then I was fat and had no self confidence. My, my, my how times have changed!

Oh, and one more thing. I’m getting e-mail from guys who want to be #6; Guys who want to be the 6th guy to penetrate me. Honestly, do you think I’m just going to let any guy do that to me? I’m very choosy and IF I decide I want to be penetrated it will be by someone who is charming, romantic and deserving of my attention. And if he were rich too that would help ;-)

Anyhow, I digress…

One night Mr. Best Shag ever for dinner in Mayfair. We later took a taxi back to his place in W1. After drinking copious amounts of white wine he led me upstairs to the bedroom. He was so gentle leading me up the stairs. As soon as we entered the bedroom he turned into an animal. I loved it! He lifted me up, and propped me on his bed. He buried his head under my dress. He pulled down my panties with his teeth. Licked my clit and ate me out so well! It was as if he thrived off pussy juice and couldn’t get enough. I came 3 times. Two small orgasms and one huge one.

He came out from under my dress and I saw that his mouth was covered in my pussy juice. He had this devilish look on his face as if he were a hungry kid who just ate the last Toblerone.

We snogged and then I licked my own juices off his face. He was so forceful except when it came for me to take off my dress. He was so cute in that he was concerned that if he ripped it off me that it would ruin the dress. So he was gentle in handling the dress, but then when back to being the testosterone-driven no-nonsense stud.

He took off his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and pulled down his trousers. He was wearing Y-fronts. I could see a massive hard on bulging out from udnerneath. I lowered his pants and took the whole of his cock in my mouth. He sighed a sigh of pleasure.

Normally, I really do not like giving blowjobs. I trusted this guy so much and cared a great deal for him. Sucking his cock was a pleasure; a desire. During the time we were seeing each other I woke up every morning thirsting for the taste of his cum in my month. I’ve never, EVER been like that about any other guy. I mean I used to really hate, hate, hate giving blowjobs. Being with this guy changed how I felt about fellatio. I woke up every morning gagging for his cock – although I never told him that.

I sucked him off for about 10 minutes. I didn’t want him to cum because I wanted him to fuck me. As soon as I took his cock out of his mouth, he flipped me over so that I was on my stomach with my arse in the air. He fingered my pussy for a few brief seconds then stuck his cock inside. We were in a straight-legged doggie style type position.

He grabbed both of my hands and clasped them behind my back. He used the weight of his body to keep my hands in place all the while he was thrusting me. He then found my sweet spot. I go absolutely wild when a guy kisses my ear. I started bucking back and forth. This really got him going. I tried to resist him kissing me on the ear, but the more I reacted the more he would kiss it. He loved seeing me thrash around.

He kept fucking me, harder and hard; simultaneously he was driving me wild by kissing my ear. Then suddenly it hit me. He had control over my body. I was pinned I couldn’t get him off if I wanted to. My face was buried in the pillows so I could hardly talk. I started panicking

“Stop, please stop.” I muttered.

Either he couldn’t hear me or didn’t want to.

“I’m serious, please stop.”

He kept going. He seemed to turn into even more of a mad man.

After being pinned down for 20 minutes, he finally came.

“Fuck, yeah, fuck, yeah. Oh fuuuuck.” He yelled.

He got off me but soon saw the scared look on my face.

He immediately apologized and said he didn’t mean to scare me. I didn’t tell him but that was unquestionably the best sex I ever had. The panicked feeling heightened t the tension. We embraced for a long while. He apologized a further 3 times. I told him that it was fine; that there was nothing to apologize for.

So here it is now, 6 months later. I still think about that steamy night. Sometimes when I use my vibrator I try to recreate that scenario in my mind. It was hot, raw, wrong yet amazing at the same tme. The reason why I say that the best shag is the worst thing is because the moment is over and can't be repeated. It's like having the most fantastic meal ever at your favorite restaurant -- and now that restaurant is closed permantely. You can reminisce all you want, but you'll never eat there again. And even though there are other dishes to be had at other restaurant, it still inspires a tinge of sadness. Enough of that metaphor!

Incidentlly, that same logic is the exact reason why I never order the daily specials from restaurants. I'm afraid I'll like it too much and never get it again.

He's a good guy. Whatever he’s doing now, I just hope he’s happy. That’s all I really want for him. I do wonder sometimes if he ever thinks about that night too.

I hope so.

Second date with Grandpa: Pull the String

Second date with Grandpa: Pull the String

When we last left off, Grandpa had asked me to have his babies. On tonight’s date he asked me to marry him. Not bad for a second date. He brought pictures of his country house with him. Was this to entice me to say yes?

Expensive dinner. I ordered the lobster. Conversation was okay.

I’m not attracted to him either. I did invite him back to my place. Not for sex. Not for anything really, except to talk.

He was totally horny and asked if he could make love to me. I said no, because I’m a proper girl. And I don’t do that on the second date. He then asked if he could go down on me. Is it ironic that I said no to that? He then asked if I would suck his cock. I again said no. I was feeling horny, however.

So I let Grandpa finger fuck me with my tampon still in place. The curtain were open and I’m sure the neighbors could see everything. My legs were spread apart and his chubby arm had gone up my skirt and pulled my pruple Victoria’s Secret panties aside. I came twice. He was busting and begging me to just let it go further.

But I’m a proper girl and would never do anything so sordid!

Second date with J: Faking it

Second date with J: Faking it.

I was totally late for my date with J. I totally forgot about it. I forgot what time and where we were meeting. I finished working on the documentary early. I went down to pub and was joined by my work colleagues including my buddy who responded to my ad. Additionally, my boss, CS was there.

I sent J a text to ask where we were meeting but I got a response from someone else. Apparently I didn’t have J’s number in my phone. All last week when I though he was being a stalker by texting me, it was actually someone else texting me. Oh my!

I stayed a little too long for work drinks. I had been conscious of CS and how close in proximity he was to me. He must have walked past my desk 20 times today. How weird. I think he was trying to get my attention. He has no reason to walk past my desk to get to his unless he really wants to.

Anyhow at the pub, I left before him. As I was walking back to the tube, I noticed that he was beside me. Shit he must have walked fast to catch up with me. I left work way before him. He was on the phone to his wife. It sounded like he was in shit with her.

The whole train ride I could tell that him finger fucking me days before was the furthest thing from his mind. He told me that felt guilty for being late meeting his wife. I dunno, maybe he felt guilty for other reasons. He seemed thoroughly uninterested in me at the moment. Two rejections in a day. YAY!


I stroked his hair for a bit. He looked über uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked

He said, “yeah”

He talked about his wife the whole time.

I pretended to be interested.

When I got off the tube and exited the station, I got a text form Jay asking where I was. I then remember we were meeting at a pub on Frith street. Shit. Then it all came back to me. I was the one who suggested meeting there. How did I forget my own suggestion? That takes a special type of talent Anyhow, I was only an hour late, but oh well. I know, I shouldn’t be late.

Jay and I went out for drinks followed by dinner. He’s a perfect gentleman. He’s nice and he’s very sweet. We got along fine but at the end of the day I don’t think I’m attracted to him. Still that didn’t stop me from snogging him at the end of the night. I snogged him as if I really, really fancied him. I was faking it. I was snogging him as if there’s some future for us. I was faking it. I was looking into his eyes and snogging him as if I fancied a quick fuck in a dirty alley. I know I’m a bitch but I was faking it.

There’s not even going to be a third date. He’s also a horrible kisser. He’s like one of THE worse people I’ve ever kissed.

Why did I spend a half hour snogging him?

Cuz it was better than doing nothing, that’s why.

Second Date with T: the F word

Second Date with T: T, me & the F word

Thursday night went out on a second date with T the big shot political journalist. We met on the West End and had Italian food then went out for drinks.

Initially when I saw him again I thought, he eh, he’s not that great looking. But I think it was just the angle of the light. Also he was sweating a bit. The heat does no one favors.

At dinner I realized that he is cute and funny and charming. We get along great. I’m sure we can be pals. But can we be anything more?

He was a total gentleman the whole time. He seemed a bit shy at the end of the date. I was hoping for a goodnight kiss, but it never happened. It was just a sort of a friendly hug followed up by, “I had a great time tonight.” Somehow, though, I believed him. It came out earnestly.

What I really liked about him is that he didn't seem so eager, so keen, so INTO me like all the others. I hate feeling like the only reason why a guy is going out with me is because he wants to get into my pants. I didn't get that vibe from him therefore I felt über relaxed.

He’s chill, relaxed and maybe even a bit guarded. On a perverse subconscious level those are qualities I'm drawn to.

I just had a feeling about him. I felt like we made some connection.

Then understandably I was quite surprised the next day when I got an e-mail from him saying that we should be just friends.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why is it that the guys I actually like are the ones that aren’t too keen on me? The ones that actually fancy me, I’ll have nothing to do with. Am I just weird?

It’s as if the most attractive thing about a guy is how much he rejects me. That’s fucked up, I know.

An old flatmate of mine had a saying,

Here’s to the men that we love.
and here’s to the men that love us

But the men that we love
Aren’t the men who love us

So to hell with the men,
Here’s to us.

Aunt Flo

Aunt Flo

I got my period a couple days ago. I’ve been out of commission since then. I’m one of these lucky women that have a 3-day period. It is ending today. YAY.

Now the pussy eating resume…

Heavy Petting on the Northern Line

Heavy Petting on the Northern Line Charing Cross Branch to Mill Hill East.

Fucking your boss is never a great idea, but it sure as hell has its advantages.

No, I’m not fucking my boss… yet… but I somehow get a thrill thinking about doing it one day. It’s all about power. Power is sexy. I want to be on top of the guy who’s on top. Tony Soprano is sexy because of all the power he wields. I understand why Monica Lewinsky went for Bill Clinton. It’s such an ego boost. It’s like, “Hey I’m fucking the top guy. That must make me shit.”

This adventure here in which I get finger-fucked on the Northern Line has a long back-story. I’m a bit sick of reiterating in detail (as I’ve already told several people), but I’ll summarize it quickly.

A couple years ago when I was hired here at this Big Media/Television company I began my career here as a production assistant. Sometimes being a PA is shit work. It’s a lot of running around followed by a lot of waiting. I was assisting on a semi-popular reality TV show. At the end of filming there was a wrap party for the cast, crew & participants. At the wrap party after a few glasses of champagne the 1st AD and I began talking. I call him CS.

I never talked to CS (or at least don’t remember) while we were filming. He’s tall, blond hair, blue eyes. He is THE alpha male in the office. He loves cracking jokes and getting the attention of everyone in the room. I guess somehow, I was the only person he failed to impress with his so-called wit and humor. When he speaks, the whole room listens. I, on the other hand, could not care less. I do not shower him with attention like the others. Somehow he managed to catch my attention at the wrap party. He cornered me, literally and we spoke for an hour. A the end of the party we nearly snogged. At the last second he dodged my lips and went for the kiss on the cheek.

He eventually went on to become a director and would request me, specifically to work on his projects. We got to know each other better during the year. For about a year we were flirty with each other but nothing happened. Then one day we were on a shoot in Prague. There were 8 of us crew members out drinking. Slowly that number dwindled down to the two of us.

We went back to his hotel room. I didn’t fuck him. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. We snogged a few times. I purposely was playing hard to get so I didn’t let things go any further. Finally, CS asked me what it would take for me to fuck him. Without missing a beat I told him I wanted a promotion and raise. At the time, he wasn’t the one making those sort of decisions. He did, however, have influence. He put in a very good word for me, which lead to a promotion an sizable salary increase within 2 months. I know, it’s a cheeky way to move up the corporate ladder. At the time I was promoted, he too was promoted again, and officially became my boss. My promotion lead to the job I hold currently.

Now, in that 2 month period between asking for the promotion and getting it a few interesting things happened:
1. CS became besotted with me [read: obsessed]
2. CS admitted that he fancied me and it wasn’t just about the sex. (I know, could be a line.)
3. One drunken night during after-work drinks he pulled me aside and said that he had a secret to tell me. He said, “I have to tell you something, but I don’t know if I should.” He was nervous and serious. My curiosity piqued. “Oh go on” I encouraged him. He sighed and then said, “I’m a transvestite.” I looked him in the eye and said, “OK, no big deal. I’m a New Yorker. I’ve heard more shocking things.” I think he was stunned at how blasé my response was.

So outwardly, I was cool as a cucumber. Inside I was freaked the fuck out! Inside I was screaming, “OH MY GOD! That is some fucked-up shit” And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, he said. “There’s more.”

He then proceeded to tell me about how in his twenties he fell in love with a tranny named Stephan(ie). Now Stephanie identified as a woman. I didn’t ask if (s)he kept her bait and tackle. Anyhow, according to CS they were a love-struck, drugged-up, fucked-up couple on the dole living in a bedsit in Grimsby. CS said that Stephanie was profoundly unhappy and the drugs made it worse. He went on to say that one day he came back to the bedsit and found that Stephanie, the love of his life, had killed herself.

At this point I was overwhelmingly confused. How do you go from a drugged-up, on the dole, sort of gay relationship in Grimsby to married with kids and a great job and big house in London? Shit like that happens in the movies. How does that happen in real life? Also, why is he telling me this? Does he think that I look like a tranny? It was at that point in our conversation that I realized that I will never lead a normal life. I will always be surrounded by freaks.

I then started wondering what he would look like as a woman. How often does he dress up? Why hasn’t he told his wife? Who else knows? What is the point in telling me all this? Is there a such thing as a straight transvestite? And more importantly, how do I respond?

There was a lull in our conversation and finally I summed up everything with one word, “Crikey.”

So now, I have this huge secret about my boss. How bizarre? I mean to think that he’s one of the major people at the big Media/Television company? What would everyone else at the company say? This shit is unreal and if it weren’t happening to me, I would believe it.

I honestly don’t blame people for e-mailing me saying how all these stories are fantasies. These “stories” aren’t fantasies. This is my life. I know. It’s crazy. It’s fucked up. It’s wonderful. It’s sad. But it’s all me. This isn’t a fantasy life. There is no escape hatch for me.

So that is the back story with me & CS.

So last night, after work drinks. He left at quarter after 10. On his way out, I said to him, wait for me on the next corner. I went back into the pub, exited undetected through the side door and met CS at the corner.

We held hands as we walked several blocks together. We were somehow quietly confident that none of our co-workers were nearby.

We got on the Northern line. Our train car was more than half empty. We took to seats near the end. I told him that I had had a particularly naughty week. He urged me to tell him about it. I played it coy. “Tell me” he seductively whispered into my ear. I think proceeded to tell him about Humbert Humbert guy, who I called “daddy.” I also told him about D the really cute guy I met at the hotel.

CS grew more and more interested. Then I put my hand on his thigh. I felt a large bugle. “Oh my!” I said. I looked down, and realized that the bulge wasn’t his cock. It was just something in his pocket. “For a minute there, I thought that was your cock,” I said. He laughed, “Well, it could be…”

“Really?” I asked “Is your cock large?”

He looked a bit confused, “I don’t know. I don’t know who to compare it with?”

“Can I have a feel then” I asked, “I mean, is that too cheeky a thing to ask?”

He smiled. “Yes, go for it.”

I felt over his jeans for his cock. When I found it I smiled. I stroked it a few times. “Is that okay,” I asked? He answered yes, but I could tell that there was part of him feeling very guilty. He was between agony and ecstasy; right and wrong; cheating and remaining faithful.

I moved from stroking his cock over his jeans to squeezing it every so gently. By this time a couple took a seat across from us. I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned he and I were the only ones on the train.

I could feel his cock swell. “Anjelika,“ he hesitated “I’m married. I fancy you and I know that you fancy me.”

I looked at him strangely, “Who said anything about me fancying you?” I questioned him.

“Anjelika your hand is on my cock. I take it from that, that you fancy me.”

“Oh , right” I said. What a good way of looking at it. Sometimes with all my book smarts I just don’t have common sense. I honestly did not realize that I had fancied him until that moment. All this time I saw the situation as that he was a challenge to be conquered.

“But, I’m married and I don’t know…” his voice drifted off.

It’s cool. I’ll stop. I removed my hand from his cock and placed it by my side.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

I placed my hand on his jeans again. I felt for his cock. I kept squeezing. He wrapped on arm around me and reached for my bum.

“Oh,” he said sounding surprised “you’re wearing a thong.”

“Yes, it’s bright pink. Victoria’s secret. I’ll have to show you some time.”

I kept squeezing his cock. He brushed my hair aside and began kissing my ear which drives me crazy! He reposition himself and then stuck his hand up my jean skirt and began finger fucking me.

No, I didn’t cum. He only did it for 3 stops. I was really, really turned on at that point. He told me that I was a bad girl and I should be disciplined. I should be spanked. I concurred.

I wanted his cock so badly. I know that he wanted me too. But as he’s still married and drawn to his wife he got off the train at his usual stop.

Twenty minutes later I got call from him. He was on the overland train with a raging hard on. My panties were soaked through and I really wanted someone to fuck. But not just anyone. I wanted him.

CS and I exchanged a few saucy texts. At a certain point I stopped returning the texts. It’s my strategy to make him want more. He called me again, but I didn’t answer. I checked my voicemail later. He said that I’m very naughty and should be taken over his knee and spanked.

I’m going to save that voicemail. You never know when I may need to add to my cache of blackmail material about him.

Milk Spilt

Yesterday took a late extended lunch to meet with a man who needed to relieve some tension.

All hotels in London were booked yesterday. How is that even possible? We compromised by meeting at my flat. My flatmates weren’t in and I was praying that they wouldn’t be home any time soon.

As my bedroom was a mass of disorder, guy and I ended up on the spare mattress in the living area.

He didn’t eat me out, but I did cum just from rubbing my naked body up against him. I love the feeling of the head of the penis rubbing against my clit. There’s something about the pressure that feels so good.

The guy jerked himself off from a standing position while I was laying flat on the mattress. I don’t think anyone has ever cum on me from such a distance. It’s weird how his cum felt quite hot. Not hot enough to burn, but surprisingly warm. There was a lot of splash and some cum got in my hair and on the sheets and on the carpet. I was not really happy about that, but I guess you can’t cry over spilt milk, right?

Daddy, Daddy you bastard, I’m through

“Daddy, Daddy you bastard, I’m through”

That’s the last line of Sylvia Plath’s poem, “Daddy,” I used to think it was an incredible poem, but now having reread it, I think it’s just OK. When I was a miserable ugly teen I went through a period of liking the confessional poets, i.e. Sexton, Plath and the lot. I haven’t been much into poetry since then. I have, however, recently grown to appreciate selected works by Sir John Betjema and Maya Angelou.

So if you’re wondering why I’ve opened this entry with “Daddy, Daddy you bastard, I’m through” it’s because having said the word “Daddy” so frequently tonight I was reminded of this poem. The sentiment of the poem, nevertheless, did not apply to the highly sexual situation.

And if you’re wondering why I’ve said, “Daddy” so many times tonight it’s because tonight’s session was with a very Humbert Humbert-like man. I was his Lolita for the night.

I showed up on his doorstep licking an apple-flavored Chuppa Chupp.

I think the most amazing thing about tonight was how long that Chuppa Chupp lasted. It must have been 2 hours in total. Definitely worth the 15P.

My favorite Chuppa Chupp moment was when I was completely naked leaning back on the pillows of his 4-post bed. My knees were bent. My legs were apart. He was at the end of the bed with his head buried between my legs, smothering my pussy in a very good way; his tongue flicking my clit, up and down; the heat his mouth heightening the tension. Then every once and a while he would look up and see me, his young, sweet nymphette coquettishly licking the lollypop while simultaneously enjoying the feeling of being licked.

Sex with the Ex

Sex with the Ex

I had been trying to seduce my ex for the past few weeks. BINGO. I got laid tonight.

Despite how sexy I may look or feel the Ex doesn’t notice it. I don’t get that. How can so many men look at me with lust and desire yet when he looks at me he is utterly uninterested?

No, I don’t fancy him any more. We are indeed friends. We make better friends than boyfriend and girlfriend. The only thing that still bothers me about him is that a couple years ago when we were going out (and I was still fat) I asked him if we would ever have sex again. We had stopped having sex for like 6 months. Anyhow he responded with, “We’ll have sex again when you lose some weight. I’m just not attracted to you anymore.”

Guys, a word of advice here. That is absolutely THE WORST thing you can say to a girl. Well, maybe it’s the second worst thing. So I snapped back, “Even if I lost 4 stone tomorrow I’d find someone better than you!”

And we that we broke up.

Anyhow it’s years later. I’m 5 stone lighter. I guess I’m what you would call “a babe” but he is still short and balding and miserable. I love Karma.

He asked me to help him pick out some curtains for my flat. And even though I was going to get a manicure, I cancelled so I could help him.

We picked out some curtains from Morley’s then went back to his flat. I was wearing the same pink top as yesterday. The pink one that showed off my boobs.

After installing the curtains we lounged on the sofa together and watched Big Brother.

I laid my head on his shoulder. Then I turned to him and gave him “the eye.” The eye that says, “I want you.”

I kissed his chin, his ear, his mouth and neck while simultaneously rubbing his cock under his trousers but over his pants.

He soon moved his my hand under his pants. I gently stroked his cock while the TV yapped on, “Day 59 in the Big Brother house...”

I took a short break from stroking his cock so that he could take off his shirt and I could take off mine. We both got completely naked.

I lowered my head to his waist and took his monstrous cock into my mouth. He pushed my head down further onto his cock until I was literally gagging.

He slapped my bare ass with his hand.

“Suck it, suck it, suck it,” he kept saying. He slapped my ass again, but much harder. It hurt, but felt good at the same time.

With my head still bobbing up and down on his cock, he reached around and began fingering my clit with his thumb. He’s so good at that. I almost came, but I didn’t.

I removed my mouth from his cock.

“Will you lick me?” I asked.

He said yes. I spread my legs open, spread eagle, and he obediently went down. Sadly he was only down there for about three minutes. He lifted his head up, then repositioned his body and thrust his cock into my pussy.

“Wow, you’re so wet!” he remarked. He pumped me for a few minutes then wanted to change position. He pushed me against the arm of the sofa and fucked me doggie style. The sofa cushions were uneven and were falling onto the floor. We had to change position again. He insisted that I suck him off again. I lowered my head. My own juices were on his cock. I licked them off then snogged him.

He fucked me again for a good half hour. I was hoping that he would cum inside me. He decided instead to jerk himself off to finish the job.

“Cum on my tits?” I requested.

“Yeah,” he said.

Either he forgot or had bad aim. I thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of his hot spunk dripping, oozing onto my clit.

I still wish he came in me. I just feel so connected to him when he does that.

He wants me to have his baby

He wants me to have his baby

What do you say to a guy who tells you that?

So I had a date with a guy, let’s call him, Grandpa. Yeah, as you’ve guessed it’s a May – December thing. I met him through this online dating agency. Usually, before I meet someone I exchange pictures. In this case, he had seen my picture, but I had not seen his. I knew he was older. I knew he was upper class. I just didn’t know what he looked like.

We had several conversations on the phone. He has an impressive voice and speaks with impeccable English; the Queen’s English. He’s a banker. Wealthy.

As I was returning from my sex-capades with dude, Grandpa was waiting for me outside my flat in his Jaguar.

I could have run inside my flat and had a shower, but I secretly got off on the fact that I had the scent of another man on my body.

I was wearing a baby pink halter top with ruffles. It showed off my large breast in just the right way. The pink hinted at innocence, while the cleavage hinted at more…

Additionally, I wore my favorite denim skirt. Short. Just above the knee. And I had on a great pair of Steve Madden high heels.

Grandpa, was about 53 years old (I think) So technically, no, he couldn’t be my grandfather. He was white, had white hair, and a round face and belly.

Because we were in his car, parking proved to be a problem. We ended up driving quite far out of central London. I think we were in Edgeware? I had a feeling that he was driving me away from London just so that he could spend more time in the car with me.

In the car we discussed investments, financials, property market and investment strategies. I love when a guy assumes I’m dumb and it turns out I can hold any conversation with him on any topic. I’m sure Grandpa was expecting me to be one of those ditzy girls; the pretty type with no brains.

Thanks to the fact that I grew up an ugly ducking I’ve had a lot of time to work on my personality and education. I’m extremely intelligent. Guys look at my boobs and seem to forget that. I would guess that I’m more intelligent than 95% of the guys I go out with.

I can have an informed conversation with you about geothermal energy resources and think about sucking your cock at the same time.

When we finally found a restaurant. He parked the car. We got out of the car. It was at that point that he proclaimed how much he fancied me; that he thinks I’m lovely, and delightful and “mind-blowingly sexy.” He gave me a big bear hug; wrapping his fat arms around me. He then planted a kiss on my mouth. Whooooa… moving bit too fast there! Not that I would have a problem kissing him. But HELLO we just met like 30 minutes ago. Now he’s trying to stick his tongue down my mouth? STEADY!

He then proceeded to tell me that he can’t wait to get me into bed and would do his best to please me.

Now that’s all well and good. But this isn’t THAT kind of date.

We ate at an Italian restaurant. I insisted on paying. I don’t mind paying for a dinner date with a guy if I know I’m not interested. It’s like, I don’t want to be beholden to him.

By the end of the date, Grandpa was in love with me. He asked me to be his girlfriend. He said that he’d take great care of me; and that he knows that he could make me happy.

This is moving like way too fucking fast! I just met him 2 hours ago now he wants to take care of me for the rest of my life. Either:
1. I’m THAT good (and any guy should be lucky to have me) or
2. This guy is a right nutter!

I told him that we should go out on a few more dates. I mean he hardly knows me. He has an idea of who I am. He’s fallen in love with the idea of me, not the real me. Really, we should go on a few more dates. He hasn’t had the opportunity to find out all my bad points!

And before I got out of the car at the end of our date he said to me, that should I fall pregnant, I can be assured that he’d take care of me and the baby.

He also made a comment about how he “wouldn’t mind raising an interracial child.” Should I be offended by that comment? He also said that most white guys my age would never consider having a family with someone not white. Is that true? I have no idea. Would like a point of view from any twenty / thirty year old white guys on the topic.

I hope Grandpa isn’t insinuating that I should be lucky to have found him since he’d be willing to impregnate me where most other (white) men wouldn’t.

Hold on! I don’t even want kids! Maybe one day. Not now. I haven’t even thought about it. Gees!

Grandpa ended the date by saying that he would be most pleased for me to be pregnant with his child. “There’s nothing more romantic,” he said, than knowing the woman you love is carrying your child in her stomach.”

This is a perfect example of too much, too soon. Grandpa, here’s some advice. Don’t lay all your cards on the table. I like you, but not THAT much. You’re supposed to slowly reveal things about yourself to make me like you. Not all at once! Get a clue!

3rd Time Lucky?

It was hot.

Went to his office. No air conditioning. It was really hot, but I like the way our bodies stuck together with sweat. I tasted his salty sweat when I ran my tongue up his back.

He was totally hot for me. I love it guys are like that because they’ll do anything to please me. An obedient man is just the sort that I like.

Previously, I had been so horny that afternoon that I masturbated twice before I even got to dude’s office. The first time I used my vibrator. The second time I used an Evian bottle I had in my bedroom. I straddled the bottled so it was hitting just the right places.

So by the time I got to dude office I wasn’t as horny as I could have been. He ate me out, but it was only a small orgasm. Small but still good. He was able to get me worked up into a state, that I orgasmed again by just rubbing against his cock.

He had a great cock. Not too big and not too small. The thing is, my pussy is tight so a medium size cock feels good. Not a lot of cocks have entered that territory. As far as actually fucking goes, I’ve fucked 5 guys total. Everyone else I’ve only done oral with. So yeah, I’m tight and the guys that have been lucky enough to fuck me love it.

I was so wanting dude to fuck me, that’s how great it felt rubbing against him. If it slipped in just a little bit would it matter? I CANNOT DO THAT. I’ve made the decision that I will not be penetrated. The next time I shag a guy, it’ll be a guy I’m in a relationship with.

After we parted. I got on a bus. Later I got a text from him. He wants to take me on a “proper date.” Wine me, dine me, etc… I dunno, maybe. If it were D, the guy from my last session , I would say yes, unconditionally, without giving it a second thought.

But I think that Dude 3# just wants to fuck. And I don’t do that on first dates.

C U Next Tuesday

C U Next Tuesday

OHMYGOD! I just got a response to my ad from a guy I work with! SHIT!

He used a fake name and an e-mail address I’ve never seen before. He responded with 2 pictures. They were unmistakably him! I feel so freaked out. He’s my buddy. My cool asexual buddy. And now… ewwww! He’s a dirty old man looking for sex on the internet!

Then again, I’m looking for sex on the net --- but! I’m totally a sexual person. I think people can look at me and just tell that I like sex. That I ooze sex. And when I’m at the pub with work mates, I’m quite honest and frank about my sex life. No, I probably will not tell them about my shenanigans here as they wouldn’t understand. But I am not embarrassed about sex. And I’ve never pretended to be anything other than the sexual person I am.

My buddy tho, he’s so clean cut and normal. I am so fucking freaked out now. As Cartman would say, “You have corrupted my fragile little mind!” Reading his e-mail is so incestuous. This guy is a senior producer. I’ve looked up to him my whole career. He’s taught me so much about the business. We drink together at the pub 3 days a week. Now he’s offering to pay me to lick my clit?!? My image of him is shattered. And his poor wife! Why can’t he eat her out? She’s lovely!

I’m guessing the best thing to do is to pretend I never saw it. He’s off work on Monday. Guess I’ll be seeing him after his long weekend, the cunt.

Note to self: Always ask for a photo before I send mine.

Date with T

Date With T.

Thursday night an hour after my amazing oral sex session with D, I had a date with T, a white boy political journalist for a major British newspaper. It was kinda funny, I took a cab from my session with D and went straight into a date with T. I did stop at home briefly to brush my teeth and change out of the army trousers.

I met T 15 minutes late at a put around the corner from my house. I initially met T on an online dating site. He liked my profile. I guess I liked his. We exchanged a few e-mails and he asked me out for a drink. When I saw him in person I saw that he looked exactly like his picture. Most people don’t. He wasn’t wasn’t great looking, but he wasn’t bad either. I think he’s a grower. The more I get to know him I bet I’ll think he’s better and better looking.

He was funny in a self deprecating way. In general I liked him. I didn’t feel a spark of attraction . I did feel, however, that he would make a really good friend. I know, I know, guys hate the F word. But I really did not get the feeling that he was attracted to me.

We had some great political conversations but I don’t think we’re well matched. I would actually like to go out with him again, but I doubt he’s interested. He didn’t act like it.

At the end of the night he walked me to my door I gave him a kiss on the cheek. He seemed a bit reserved about that. He said he’d call me or e-mail me, but whatever. All guy say that. That’s their. “Get out of jail’ card. It’s how they get out of the end of the date without sounding like a complete asshole.

Princess Superstar was right

Yesterday I had an amazing sexual experience.

I spent Thursday at work doing sweet F.A. I was supposed to be logging shots for a World War 2 documentary I’m working on. I hate logging shots. This is grunt work for interns. Not me! And aren’t there enough WWII docs?!? Apparently this one I’m working on will be “groundbreaking.” It’s based off a recent NY Times best seller. Anyhow I read the book when I was on holiday in Brazil. It wasn’t holiday reading. I’m bored just thinking about it now. I suppose horniness is the devil’s answer for being bored at work.

Thursday I spent a considerable amount of time answering e-mails. There was one particular e-mail that caught my eye. It was from a guy who wanted the 3C / 68 special. We exchanged e-mails. I had a few meetings at the end of the day but I manage to end the last one early so I could slip out and meet D, the gentleman I had been e-mailing.

D and I met in West London. I couldn’t believe my eyes. OHMYGOD he’s so cute. Just so cute. And the whole time we were in the taxi I just wanted to blurt out, “You’re beautiful” (but no, not in a James Blunt sort of way). He’s just this really cute guy. I dunno I have a really soft spot in my heart for sort of geeky-looking white guys. I wouldn’t even classify him as a geek. He was so cute and I was instantly smitten!

I think I’ve been working on the documentary too long. Yesterday I went to work in Army trousers. I must have done that subconsciously. Anyhow when I met D I kept apologizing that I wasn’t wearing a skirt. I just wanted to make my best impression. I wasn’t even wearing that much make up. God, I hope he didn’t think I was ugly.

We arrived at the hotel together. He checked in and we both went up to our room. It’s funny, in the elevator there was an America couple there. I made small talk with them and I thought, if only my countrymen knew what I was doing.

“Where are you from?” I asked in a devilish way. In the sort of way that you don’t really care what the answer is; in the sort of way where you can only think about getting your clit licked by your handsome companion.

“Kansas City,” the Midwestern couple answered.

“Oh, is that in Kansas?” I asked.

“No, it’s in Missouri.”

“Oh,” I answered sheepishly. This is probably why I’m not in Mensa. Great. Now I bet D thinks I’m ugly AND dumb.

I hope somehow that despite this I made a good impression on him.

As soon as we got into the hotel we started kissing. I’m not big on kissing. Kissing strangers, particularly. But there was something deep inside me that wanted to kiss him.

When we kissed I closed my eyes and it was great. To me it didn’t feel like 2 strangers kissing. I know it sounds crazy but was a spark. (6:58 are you sure where my spark is?)

I don’t know how long we spent just kissing. 5-10 minutes maybe. He undressed. I undressed until I was in my bra and knickers. Eventually both the bra and knickers came off. We headed to the bed and continued kissing. I laid on top of him and used my hands to explore his body. I teased his nipples with my teeth. I stroked his cock – not because I was trying to make him cum but just because I wanted to stroke it.

We did a lot of kissing, which was nice. I like kissing him and being kissed by him. We never even got around to doing the 3C / 68. I just enjoyed his company. I enjoyed being seduced by him. He said he wanted to go down on me and was ever so polite in asking ‘How do you want me to go down on you?’ How English and polite I thought! American guys wouldn’t bother to ask!

I propped my head on a pillow by the baseboard of the bed. I spread my legs and arched my back slightly. Without hesitation D dove in. He had an excellent tongue – but I could tell that by the way that he kissed. He used his tongue very well. He also used his fingers ever so slightly. I came HARD. After I came we kissed again. I love kissing a guy after he’s gone down on me and made me cum.

When I’m coming my voice lets out a raw guttural sound. I think it sounds like a cow dying. But hopefully it’s pleasant for men to hear.

Right before I came, I thought, I really want to fuck him. I really, really do. I wouldn’t have done it, but I was very, very tempted. And there not many men who are able to tempt me or inspire such desire in me.

We took a shower together and continued to pleasure each other in the shower. When he was ready to cum, I bent over in the bathtub. He jerked himself off and came on my back. He rubbed his cum into my back. He then politely washed my back removing all his spunk (or at least I hope he removed it all. I haven’t checked back there since).

We dried off and got dressed. He left a generous present on top of my purse. I stood in amazement.

In the words of the immortal Princess Superstar,
“One day you'll know how nice it is to get laid while you gettin’ paid”

You always remember your first

He was the professional 9-5 type, seemed to have a successful business and in general was quite good looking.

He was neat and clean, so touching his body was a pleasure.

He opted for the 3C or the 68 as I call it. (Elvis 68 comeback special?) I really liked massaging his body. My favorite part was grinding my pussy into his back. This felt very pleasurable for me. I especially liked it when he reached around and fingered me during that. It wasn’t in the rulebook, per se, but it turned me on. I liked touching his body so much that I found myself kissing the nape of his neck. I then kissed his ear and breathing heavily into it. I think this really turned him on. Soon after I started doing that he was ready to turn over. That was perfectly cool with me. Truth be told, I could have easily spent another 20 minutes massaging him.

As soon as he flipped over I saw that he was hard as a rock. Impressive. I positioned my pussy over his face then reached down his body and took hold of his cock. He was very good at pussy eating. My only criticism was that he had a bit of a 5 o’clock shadow. It looked good, but it’s a bit rough on the minge, if you know what I mean. But that didn’t really bother me until after I left. At the time it felt sensual.

I did cum. It wasn’t one of those mind blowing best ever orgasms. But a nice small one. Those are equally good, because after a small orgasm I have an instant recovery time and am ready for the next orgasm. The sad thing about that is that it leaves you hungry for more. (Hungry like the wolf?)

I will assume that my jerk off technique worked rather well. He came within 10 minutes of flipping over.

I Hate Stalkers

I hate stalkers

Sometimes when men like me, they REALLY like me. Or I should say FANCY instead of like. I never understand why British people use the word fancy. This is a real change from when I grew up. I was such an ugly ducking when I grew up no body wanted me. I mean sexually, no body wanted me. From the time I was 13-23 my longest relationship lasted 1 month. I had one boyfriend when I was 15. I grew accustomed to NOT being desired.

So now it’s weird. It’s weird that there are guys that actually fancy me. But it really freaks me the fuck out when guys are clingy or stalker-like.

For instance, take this guy J that I went out on a date with on Tuesday. Yes we had a good time. It was drinks and dinner. It was nice. He’s been texting me every fucking day. For fuck’s sake! He texts me at 2AM when I’m sleeping. And then when I text back to say “I’m sleeping” he texts again to say sorry. He texts me to see where I’ve been. Who I’m out with? If I’m alone, with friends with a date? I have gotten 53 texts from this guy and we only met 4 days ago.

J get a fucking clue!

You are WAY to clingy and now I’m regretting saying yes to a second date with you. Don’t be surprised if I cancel!

6 Feet Away

Sometimes a sexy pair of underwear makes you feel dead sexy.

That's how I feel today.

On a recent trip to Brazil I bought several classy thongs. So now I am wearing a black thong, the back of the thong is jewel encrusted. Diamonds -- well fake diamonds. The front of the thong has jewels on it in the shape of a 4-leaf clover.

I wearing a short black skirt and sleeveless black top.

What I am thinking about right now:
I am sitting in one of those dark editing suites. It's just me and the editor. I know he's married / taken but I want him right now. I don't want him in general. I don't think about him when I'm not here. I am just so turned on and he is the nearest guy. We're both at a big table which holds the computers. The table is waist high.

I want this guy to crawl under the table – on the guise of plugging in something. I want him to see my thong; the jewels on the thong. I want him to put his hands on my thighs, spread my legs and move my thong to one side. I think the one thing sexier than removing panties is to have the guy just push them aside and lick you anyhow.

I want him to take a deep breath and then plunge tongue first into my pussy. The thrill of possibly getting caught really turns me on.

The thing is, I am just really shy. So I am sitting here at this table desiring a guy 6 feet away.

And he has no clue...

Wood Eye?

Would I ever accept money to perform any of the scenarios?

It all depends really.

Sure, the puritanical answer is to say, “No, never, I’m not that type of girl!” Truth be told, I am horny enough this week that I would do those things without payment. Maybe it’s just a phenomenon this week that I feel this way. I am extra turned on. That being said, I wouldn't mind some extra cash coming my way.

My question is: Where do you draw the line?

- If a man bought me dinner, would I give him a hand job??
- If the man took me away for an expensive weekend, would I give him a hand job?
- What if a man bought me a piece of jewelry would I give him job?

Are all three of these scenarios tantamount to prostitution?

Is taking me away for the weekend any less of an evil than being taken to dinner?

These are all good theoretical questions that I do not have the answer for. All I can do is trust in my heart.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “To believe in yourself. To believe that what is true for you in your own private heart is true for all men – now that is genius.”

Eyes on the Pies

Eyes on the Pies


Thanks to everyone on responded.

Here are the answers to the questions I previously asked. There were 178 people who responed. 173 men, 1 woman and 2 couples.

Would a man pay for a hand job?





How much would a man pay for a no frills hand job?


Eyes on the Pies

How much would a man pay for scenario 3A:

3a. A lady comes to your house / flat. She's dressed in sexy, yet class clothes. Heels and a nice shirt & nice skirt. (Something to show of my legs). She stays clothed, but you strip naked. She stand up and give you a back rub. After a 10 minute back rub / relaxation session, you turn over. She massages your cock and balls. She then jerk you off until you cum.




How much would a man pay for scenario 3B:

3b. A lady comes to your house / flat. She's dressed in sexy, yet class clothes. You take off your clothes. She removes her panties and lifts up her skirt. You are faced down on the bed. She climbs on your back. Her bare pussy rubs against your back as she's messaging you. Hopefully you're both turned on. After 10-15 minutes she hop off of you. You turn over. She massages your cock and balls. She then jerks you off until you cum.




How much would a man pay for scenario 3C:

3c. A lady comes to your house / flat. She's dressed in sexy, yet class clothes. You take off your clothes. She removes her panties and skirt. You are faced down on the bed. Her bare pussy rubs against your back as she's messaging you. You don’t mind pussy juice on your back do you? After 10-15 minutes she hops off of you. You turn over. She massages your cock & balls while you simultaneous pleasure herorally. Maybe you would call that the 68?

Theoretically speaking...

I an definately the inquisitive type. I ask tons of questions. I didn't realize asking these quesitons on Craig's List would get me banned, but there you go! Here's the post - amended slightly.

Hiya,

This is the Naïve London Girl again.

Thanks for your answers regarding my previous questions regarding being naughty. To be clear, I’m not interested in doing any of those things that have been suggested, but I was just curious what qualifies as naughty. And I guess now I know.

I was also pleased that most men who replied were respectful and did not seem like perverts. I guess you’re all guys who are looking for a good time, so to speak.
Ok so I have another question, here.

One of the guys who replied asked me if I would consider getting paid to let him do a plethora of things to me. At first I was kind of shocked. But then I thought about it and realized that there is just no way in hell that I want to get paid for some stranger penetrating me. I really only enjoy the fucking part of sex with someone I’m close with. I just don’t want to be corrupted in that way.

OK so here are my questions. Please let me know if I’m being silly:

1. Would British guys pay for a hand job?

2. Theoretically, of course, how much would you pay for just a hand job?

3. Again, theoretically, how much would you pay for each of the following scenarios:

3a. A lady comes to your house / flat. She's dressed in sexy, yet