Fucked Hard

Fucked Hard

Guess who just left my apartment? None other than Mr. MusicBiz. He’s so fucking sexy. I love that I can smell the remnants of his cologne in the T-shirt I’m wearing. I am going to masturbate tonight, vibrator in one hand, and sniffing my T-shirt with the other.

Surprisingly he’s still in London. And even more surprisingly he had time to come visit me again. He arrived at my flat around 7:30

I’m still in my work clothes when he arrives: Tight titty-hugging H&M pink V-neck T-shirt and brown Benetton mini-skirt. He says hello in the best way: by kissing me in the foyer of my apartment. We continue kissing as we walk into the lounge. He notices the bathtub filled with water as we walk past the bathroom I tell him how I was going to take a bath.

I didn’t have time to eat before he came over. Just before he arrived I was on the iTunes store buying 10 of his songs. I created a special playlist just for him. It was going to be a mix of the songs I bought, along with the ones of his that I already had in my collection. On each previous visit with him, his songs never seem to play. I’m thinking that the “random” feature on iTunes isn’t really that random. So this time I wanted to hear his music. 1. Because it’s damn good and 2. Because I want him to know that I appreciate his music. So I wanted to hear his stuff all night long. Is that weird? Would that be considered narcissistic for him? Would he actually sing along while we’re fucking? Or would he be thinking about his time in the recording studio? And if he’s thinking about the recording studio while he’s fucking me does that mean I’m doing a bad job fucking? Maybe I’m thinking about this a bit to much.

I order take out from an Indian place around the corner. I don’t have any money in my wallet, so I have to run down stairs to get some cash for the food. Mr.MusicBiz kindly offers to pay so I don’t have to go downstairs. I feel bad accepting because I don’t want to give the impression that I’m the sort of girl who expects things to be bought for her. I’m not a leach. Sure, gifts are nice, but generally, I’m the sort of girl who can take care of herself.

We keep kissing. He starts feeling up my breasts. Oh shit! I am wearing my uncool bra! It’s the brassiere equivalent to “Granny pants.” My boring whit e Marks & Spencer’s bra with no underwire. The bra is that I wear when I know I’m not getting laid. Ooops! Of course I‘d be loathe to show any guy this bra. Why didn’t I change when I got home? I have SO MANY sex bras and only one uncool one.

He's not too crazy about my playlist idea, so we end up listing to a bunch of tunes that had some meaning to me in August 2006.

We move onto the sofa. Luckily Doggums is away at the crèche so we don’t have worry about her jumping all over us. Mr.MusicBiz sits on my couch. I sit on his lap. My skirt is really short and I’m not wearing any knickers. I’m sitting on Mr.MusicBiz’s lap. We’re kissing. He’s lifting up my skirt and fingering my clit. We spend a few minutes kissing. I then get up and go to the bathroom. I take of my shirt, bra and skirt. I slip into the bathtub. I make sure that my pussy and other parts are nice and clean. My bath lasts just under 10 minutes. I put on my plush pink terry cloth and beckon Mr. MusicBiz

Before I can even dry off, Mr.MusicBiz backs me onto the bed. My bathrobe is open but still draped around my shoulders. Mr.MusicBiz lowers his head and immediately goes down on me. I have small orgasm while he’s licking my clit. His tongue soon explores my pussy, going in and out of my hole. His tongue explores further. He spends lots of time rimming me; He sticks a finger inside. It feels slightly uncomfortable, but I guess I have a ways to go.

Following my tongue-bath, Mr.MusicBiz mounts me. His cock thrusts inside me. Mmmmmmm.. God, it feels good. He pumps me hard and harder. We start off in the missionary position. He passionately kisses me on the mouth. He cums after ten minutes in me. I was secretly hoping that the food would come first. But whatever, not a huge deal.

We sit and watch Grand Designs, followed by an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm Series 4. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we have moments of silence. Sometimes I ask him questions about his kids and life in LA. Sometimes I ask him about meeting other celebs: Yes, he’s met at least one of the Beatles. Yes, he’s met a couple of the Stones. He’d never tour with Amy Winehouse. He’s not keen on Keane, Madonna, the Chilli Peppers nor Henry Rollins. He thinks Amy MacDonald is fab. Every time he mentions her name I think about bumping into her and her wide face at the Digital Music Awards. But even our moments of silence are comfortable moments.

I tell him that I think he’s a natural-born helper. I know him as an Individual who is quite caring and quite giving. He’s generally easy-going and easy to be with. He’s also just a nice guy.

While we sit on the sofa I think about his life in LA; how different it must be from here. I think about his kidney-shaped swimming pool and the Santa Ana winds that blow against palm trees in his front yard. There is probably a maid, and a gardener; A nanny and a pool boy; A personal assistant and manger. There is probably a home-gym so that his actress girlfriend can keep in shape without leaving home. Between the celebrity friends and the VIP rooms I wonder, what the hell is he doing here with me?

Yeah, I know I’m a good fuck, but surely there are a lot of good fucks in Los Angeles

He gives me the impression that his life at home is well-oiled machine. Whether he is there or not, life goes on. And even when he arrives back home, he’s more of an interloper rather than an essential piece of the puzzle; It seems ironic. Without him, there’d be no family, yet now the family functions perfectly even perfunctorily with out him.

I try to detect some sadness around this fact, but there was none forthcoming. He seemed resigned to the fact that, that’s how his life is now. He wasn’t resigned in a forlorn way. On the contrary, he was quite practical, matter-of-fact and accepting of his circumstance.

If anything, what I detect in him, more or less, is boredom; a lack of challenge. There is no new big conquest. He’s a natural-born helper yet his ability to help at home is no longer needed. His own family has made him obsolete; yet the situation isn’t miserable. At it’s worst it’s “acceptable,” sexless and on occasion, lonely. It’s not miserable enough to make him leave.

So here he is, Mr.MusicBiz a man in limbo. I’m reminded of that quote from Nikki Giovanni: "We love because it's the only true adventure."

What I think he needs:
1. To be needed; to be able to help; to contribute more than a pay cheque to his family unit.
2. To do something to rekindle his sense of adventure; whether this be through, work, sex, love, charity, etc.
3. For someone to be there for him.

Then again, I could be wrong.

We turn to More 4 to watch the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm. For the first time that night, he puts his arm around me. I rest my head on his should. Slowly my hand creeps down to his crotch. First I start rubbing it over his jeans. Soon he unbuttons his jeans exposing his hard cock. I lean my head down towards it and slowly take his cock into my mouth.

I vary speeds, sometimes licking the tip with my tongue. Then I engulf his entire shaft into my mouth. He starts fucking my mouth. I almost gag at one point. I slowly ease off.

He takes his jeans off. Then he takes his underware off. He climbs on top of the sofa. I open my legs. He thrusts his cock into my pussy. Mmmmmm feels so good. He starts thrusting me, harder and harder.

I’m trying to think of an occasion where I got fucked harder? I’m not sure if one exists? Maybe with the BFE in Brazil, but even that was different. In Brazil it seemed as if the BFE was fucking me to vent his anger. It wasn’t so much about sex or love. He was screwing me literally and figuratively! It was easier for him to vent his frustrations at me by shagging the living daylights out of me. I guess that’s why the asphyxiation element of it makes sense. But not to dwell on bittersweet times…

Mr.MusicBiz shags me so fucking hard. I don’t think anyone’s cock has been so deep within me. His hard cock in my wet pussy feels fantastic. I love it. I love ever minute of it. My legs are spread open and in the air. As he thrusts into me, I thrust back. We’re fucking so hard that our bodies slap together, making a loud slapping thud each time we make content.

He pulls out. I ask him if he came. He said no. He’s not sure if he has it in him. I give his cock a five-minute break then I started sucking on it again.

As it grows closer 11:30, Mr.MusicBiz assembles his belongings. We hug, kiss and say our good-byes. Before he heads out the door, he reminds me to buy his single when it's release in the next couple weeks.

He's left me with some great fucking memories. I don't know when I'll see him again?. I am, however, sure to see him in the top 10 very soon. This is good news, because he's in my top 10 as well.

Part 4 of “I Fucked him Up the Ass” coming tomorrow. Sorry for the delay.

Fucked Hard

Fucked Hard

Guess who just left my apartment? None other than Mr. MusicBiz. He’s so fucking sexy. I love that I can smell the remnants of his cologne in the T-shirt I’m wearing. I am going to masturbate tonight, vibrator in one hand, and sniffing my T-shirt with the other.

Surprisingly he’s still in London. And even more surprisingly he had time to come visit me again. He arrived at my flat around 7:30

I’m still in my work clothes when he arrives: Tight titty-hugging H&M pink V-neck T-shirt and brown Benetton mini-skirt. He says hello in the best way: by kissing me in the foyer of my apartment. We continue kissing as we walk into the lounge. He notices the bathtub filled with water as we walk past the bathroom I tell him how I was going to take a bath.

I didn’t have time to eat before he came over. Just before he arrived I was on the iTunes store buying 10 of his songs. I created a special playlist just for him. It was going to be a mix of the songs I bought, along with the ones of his that I already had in my collection. On each previous visit with him, his songs never seem to play. I’m thinking that the “random” feature on iTunes isn’t really that random. So this time I wanted to hear his music. 1. Because it’s damn good and 2. Because I want him to know that I appreciate his music. So I wanted to hear his stuff all night long. Is that weird? Would that be considered narcissistic for him? Would he actually sing along while we’re fucking? Or would he be thinking about his time in the recording studio? And if he’s thinking about the recording studio while he’s fucking me does that mean I’m doing a bad job fucking? Maybe I’m thinking about this a bit to much.

I order take out from an Indian place around the corner. I don’t have any money in my wallet, so I have to run down stairs to get some cash for the food. Mr.MusicBiz kindly offers to pay so I don’t have to I feel bad accepting because I don’t want to give the impression that I’m the sort of girl who expects things to be bought for her. I’m not a leach. Sure, gifts are nice, but generally, I’m the sort of girl who can take care of herself.

We keep kissing. He starts feeling up my breasts. Oh shit! I am wearing my uncool bra! It’s the brassiere equivalent to “Granny pants.” My boring whit e Marks & Spencer’s bra with no underwire. The bra is that I wear when I know I’m not getting laid. Ooops! Of course I‘d be loathe to show any guy this bra. Why didn’t I change when I got home? I have SO MANY sex bras and only one uncool one.

We move onto the sofa. Luckily Doggums is away at the crèche so we don’t have worry about her jumping all over us. Mr.MusicBiz sits on my couch. I sit on his lap. My skirt is really short and I’m not wearing any knickers. I’m sitting on Mr.MusicBiz’s lap. We’re kissing. He’s lifting up my skirt and fingering my clit. We spend a few minutes kissing. I then get up and go to the bathroom. I take of my shirt, bra and skirt. I slip into the bathtub. I make sure that my pussy and other parts are nice and clean. My bath lasts just under 10 minutes. I put on my plush pink terry cloth and beckon Mr. MusicBiz

Before I can even dry off, Mr.MusicBiz backs me onto the bed. My bathrobe is open but still draped around my shoulders. Mr.MusicBiz lowers his head and immediately goes down on me. I have small orgasm while he’s licking my clit. His tongue soon explores my pussy, going in and out of my hole. His tongue explores further. He spends lots of time rimming me; He sticks a finger inside. It feels slightly uncomfortable, but I guess I have a ways to go.

Following my tongue-bath, Mr.MusicBiz mounts me. His cock thrusts inside me. Mmmmmmm.. God, it feels good. He pumps me hard and harder. We start off in the missionary position. He passionately kisses me on the mouth. He cums after ten minutes in me. I was secretly hoping that the food would come first. But whatever, not a huge deal.

We sit and watch Grand Designs, followed by an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm Series 4. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we have moments of silence. Sometimes I ask him questions about his kids and life in LA. Sometimes I ask him about meeting other celebs: Yes, he’s met at least one of the Beatles. Yes, he’s met a couple of the Stones. He’d never tour with Amy Winehouse. He’s not keen on Keane, Madonna, the Chilli Peppers nor Henry Rollins. He thinks Amy MacDonald is fab. Every time he mentions her name I think about bumping into her and her wide face at the Digital Music Awards. But even our moments of silence are comfortable moments.

I tell him that I think he’s a natural-born helper. I know him as an Individual who is quite caring and quite giving. He’s generally easy-going and easy to be with. He’s also just a nice guy.

While we sit on the sofa I think about his life in LA; how different it must be from here. I think about his kidney-shaped swimming pool and the Santa Ana winds that blow against palm trees in his front yard. There is probably a maid, and a gardener; A nanny and a pool boy; A personal assistant and manger. There is probably a home-gym so that his actress girlfriend can keep in shape without leaving home. Between the celebrity friends and the VIP rooms I wonder, what the hell is he doing here with me?

Yeah, I know I’m a good fuck, but surely there are a lot of good fucks in Los Angeles

He gives me the impression that his life at home is well-oiled machine. Whether he is there or not, life goes on. And even when he arrives back home, he’s more of an interloper rather than an essential piece of the puzzle; It seems ironic. Without him, there’d be no family, yet now the family functions perfectly even perfunctorily with out him.

I try to detect some sadness around this fact, but there was none forthcoming. He seemed resigned to the fact that, that’s how his life is now. He wasn’t resigned in a forlorn way. On the contrary, he was quite practical, matter-of-fact and accepting of his circumstance.

If anything, what I detect in him, more or less, is boredom; a lack of challenge. There is no new big conquest. He’s a natural-born helper yet his ability to help at home is no longer needed. His own family has made him obsolete; yet the situation isn’t miserable. At it’s worst it’s “acceptable,” sexless and on occasion, lonely. It’s not miserable enough to make him leave.

So here he is, Mr.MusicBiz a man in limbo. I’m reminded of that quote from Nikki Giovanni: "We love because it's the only true adventure."

What I think he needs:
1. To be needed; to be able to help; to contribute more than a pay cheque to his family unit.
2. To do something to rekindle his sense of adventure; whether this be through, work, sex, love, charity, etc.
3. For someone to be there for him.

Then again, I could be wrong.

We turn to More 4 to watch the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm. For the first time that night, he puts his arm around me. I rest my head on his should. Slowly my hand creeps down to his crotch. First I start rubbing it over his jeans. Soon he unbuttons his jeans exposing his hard cock. I lean my head down towards it and slowly take his cock into my mouth.

I vary speeds, sometimes licking the tip with my tongue. Then I engulf his entire shaft into my mouth. He starts fucking my mouth. I almost gag at one point. I slowly ease off.

He takes his jeans off. Then he takes his underware off. He climbs on top of the sofa. I open my legs. He thrusts his cock into my pussy. Mmmmmm feels so good. He starts thrusting me, harder and harder.

I’m trying to think of an occasion where I got fucked harder? I’m not sure if one exists? Maybe with the BFE in Brazil, but even that was different. In Brazil it seemed as if the BFE was fucking me to vent his anger. It wasn’t so much about sex or love. He was screwing me literally and figuratively! It was easier for him to vent his frustrations at me by shagging the living daylights out of me. I guess that’s why the asphyxiation element of it makes sense. But not to dwell on bittersweet times…

Mr.MusicBiz shags me so fucking hard. I don’t think anyone’s cock has been so deep within me. His hard cock in my wet pussy feels fantastic. I love it. I love ever minute of it. My legs are spread open and in the air. As he thrusts into me, I thrust back. We’re fucking so hard that our bodies slap together, making a loud slapping thud each time we make content.

He pulls out. I ask him if he came. He said no. He’s not sure if he has it in him. I give his cock a five-minute break then I started sucking on it again.

As it grew closer 11:30, Mr.MusicBiz assembled his belongings. We hugged, kissed and said our good-bye.

I don’t know when I’ll see him again, but he has, for sure, left me with some fucking good memories.

Part 4 of “I Fucked him Up the Ass” coming tomorrow. Sorry for the delay.

Strap-ons, Sex Toys and Up the Arse

"I’m talking about fucking someone up the ass with strap-ons and you can’t even tell me what sex toy you bought!?!"

Wanda and Anjelika chat about: Strap-ons, Mr. MusicBiz, Masturbating, Usually tight sphincters, Vibrating dildo, Anal Toys, Make-overs, Strap-ons, Masturbating, Rimming, Wanda’s Message to the BFE.

Wax on, Wax off

While you're waiting for me to finish writing, part 4 of, "I Fucked Him Up the Ass" take a stroll down memory lane and listen to this podcast about waxing we did last year.

I Fucked Him Up the Ass (Part 3)

Mr.MusicBiz and I arrive at the seafood restaurant just after 6PM. The restaurant is nearly empty when we arrive and I wonder if it was really at all necessary to have made reservations?

Despite my request to be seated somewhere romantic, the waitress seats us in a corner halfway between the kitchen and the door. Since there was no one else there, I supposed it hardly mattered where we were sitting.

We skip ordering wine and opt for one bottle of still and one bottle of sparking water. For an appetizer we order a dozen oysters. Yum! Not that we need anything else to get us in the mood, but I wanted to make Round 2 even better than round one.

Our conversation ranged from light and superficial, to deep therapy-like moments. Mr.MusicBiz tells me he’s been listening to my podcasts and that he’s very concerned that I want to try cocaine. He warns me in a stark foreboding manner that indicates that perhaps at one time he was addicted to the stuff. I don’t push the question, however. Later in our conversation he does mention a stint in rehab; but even that nowadays seems de rigueur for anyone in the music industry.

He chats frankly and openly about his ex-wife, a star in her own right. I think back several years ago at having bumped elbows with her at an aftershow party in Kentish Town.

He chats about the girl he’s been living with in LA, an actress (of course!). He says they’re both busy and rarely have time for each other ergo rarely have time for sex. That she’s constantly working on a commercial or pilot or something. If it wasn’t for the writers strike they wouldn’t have had sex at all in 2007.

He mentions the kid he has with her. I observe that he talks about his kid with an eerie distance; as if it’s HER kid not his; as if this kid is an accessory to his life not his whole life. And even though being a dad gives him that warm feeling of being grounded and settled, it seems as if he could really give or take the parent thing. He probably wouldn’t even have pets if he could help it. All of that information is neither a surprise nor turn-off to me. What I see before me is a man at a cross roads. I am impressed by his honesty and kindness.

Despite the acclaim, fame and awards he is surprisingly a normal guy, who at his very core wants the following three things:
1. To feel needed.
2. To have a fulfilling sex life.
3. Passion & freedom

The conversation lightens up a bit and we chat about a few names in the music business: Simon Cowell, Amy Winehouse, Stephen Tyler, Lily Allen, etc. Feeling cheeky, I ask him why he’s never tried a strap-on before? He looks to his left, wondering if the guy at the table next to us has heard. He coyly says, “I don’t know.”

“We’ll have to try it out once we get home,” I say.

We finish our dinner. He kindly pays. We head outside and the doorman hails a cab for us.

In the cab ride home, I’m grabbing at his cock the whole way. He sighs in pleasure. He reaches up my skirt and tries to finger me, but my pantyhose are blocking the way. Damn!

I rub his cock even more. He tries not to let on to the cab driver that anything is happening but I think the driver knows. We get dropped in front of my flat. We race upstairs and are excited to get Round 2 started.

I Fucked Him Up the Ass (Part 2)

Mr.MusicBiz hikes up my skirt as he flicks his tongue against mine. His mouth is all over my face. He’s passionate, yet controlled. He smells great. His cologne is so sensual. His mouth tastes vaguely like mints. He grabs the back of my head with one hand and pushes my mouth deeper into his

We spend a few more minutes kissing then we move on to the waterbed. He sits on the edge of the bed and takes off his shirt, then his trousers, followed by his black Y-fonts. He folds his clothes neatly and stacks then on top of a small chest of drawers.

I take off my shirt, exposing my large breasts. He immediately cups them, then begins kissing, sucking and nibbling on them. Mmmmmm. I leave my black lace skirt on for no particular reason.

I sit on the edge of the waterbed. He stands up, his hard cock right there in my face. What’s a girl to do when there’s a throbbing cock in her face? Suck it, of course!

I take his cock into my mouth and cup his balls with my hand. He reaches down, lifts my skirt and starts fingering my pussy.

We both lay down on the waterbed. It feels ultra wavy. My red satin sheets add a dimension of slipperiness to the occasion.

As I lay back on the bed, he lifts my skirt again and dives head-first into my pussy. His tongue is incredible! He’s a voracious pussy-eater. I have a mini-orgasm as he flicks my clit. He plunges his tongue into my cunt. He lifts me up ever so gently and starts rimming me.

Mr.MusicBiz soon lunges forward. His throbbing cock slides into my pussy. I love it when a guy gets me wet enough that his cock slides inside me with ease. I wanted his cock so badly. When he thrusts it in to me it feels SO GOOD!

We start pumping each other and kissing. My legs are in the air resting on his shoulders. He grinds his cock deeper and deeper into me. His smooth balls brush against my clit – an amazing feeling. I have another mini-orgasm. We pump each other for a good twenty minutes or more. Our bodies are tightly entertained. He starts breathing heavier and heavier the suddenly then he cums inside me.

He lays on top of me for a few minutes with his cock still firmly in place. He then dismounts and lays on the waterbed next to me. We have some post-coital chat about LA, the music business and the Video Music Awards.

I ask him for the time. He reaches over to the nightstand and picks up his watch. The time is 5:25.

“We better get ready for dinner,” I say as I point to the strap-on which is on the floor in a small pile with the other sex toys. “Well save that bad boy for round 2!”

Part 3 coming tomorrow.

Candy from Strangers

I had a ‘Carrie moment’ yesterday.

“I was just entering my safety zone when there he was, my emotional equivalent to the big crash of ’29 - Aiden” – Carrie Sex and the City. Season 6, “To Market, to Market.” When Carrie runs into Aiden with his newborn son, Tate.

I had a moment like that yesterday. It wasn’t exactly the same but I’ll have to spare the gory details for my own sanity. And if you follow this blog regularly, I’m sure you can fill in the blanks yourself. It’s weird, no matter how hard you try getting over someone, boom! Coincidence strikes and there they are staring you in the face.

Although my night wasn’t totally ruined, it was tinged with sadness. I wasn’t my usual happy self.

On my way home to Canary Wharf, a random girl on the DLR offered me some of her chocolates. I know you’re not supposed to take candy from strangers, but the gesture seemed so gracious, so comforting. It was as if this girl was tuned into my own sadness; as if she understood on some level what I was going through. So I accepted. (And if these are the last words I ever write, clearly I’ve been poisoned!)

The lesson Carrie took away from her run-in with Aiden was that if she and Aiden could survive their relationship crash, then there’s nothing that she can’t bounce back from. I wasn't so optimistic at first. But things are looking up and now I feel the same way.

Oh also, not that this is pertinent, I ran into David Walliams and got a nice text message from Mr.MusicBiz. So the night wasn't completely without merit.

(Part two of, “I Fucked him up the Ass” coming tomorrow. Sorry!)

I Fucked Him up the Ass (Part 1)

I Fucked Him up the Ass.

On Friday Mr.MusicBiz flew into town from LA. First Class. BA. Flat bed seats. New silver iPod Nano, listening to a rough cut of his own album, that he just wrapped production on.

On Saturday he calls me from the Sanderson. He hates the Sanderson. He hates the décor. Too modern. Too smarmy. No minibar. At least the record company is paying for it. He’s tuning a guitar while he’s talking to me. At least I think it’s a guitar? He says he might switch to the Dorchester. Or he might stay where he is. Or maybe the Ritz. He thinks he’s incapable at the moment of making a definite decision. He says he’s meeting up with some friends at a gig tonight. He mentions a few famous names. I feign sounding impressed. He then asks me if I want to go out to diner on Sunday.

I say yes. He wants me to pick a restaurant. I ask him if I should get a restaurant near him or near me. He says near me since he hasn’t figured out if he’s switching hotels or not.

I ask him about the guitar and why he’s tuning it. He says it’s not a guitar. It’s a bass. He also says it’s not his. It belongs to a friend. (I guess that explains that?)

“Any special requests?” I ask him.

He pauses. The bass goes quiet. The line sounds almost dead. He then says, “I want to fuck.” He pauses again “But I also want to get fucked.”

I look at Doggums and raise an eyebrow.

An hour later I’m in Harmony Sex Shop on Tottenham Court Road. I expected the place to be filled with perverts and sleazy eastern European types. Aside from a few Germans, the clientele looked surprisingly similar to Waitrose customers.

I spend twenty minutes examining the strap-on harnesses. I wish someone would write a guide book on the subject.

Here’s what I know about strap-ons:

• They cost from £30 to £80.


• The better ones are made out of leather, some are made out of vinyl / canvas.


• Most harnesses fit up to a 48 inch (122 cm) waist.


• Some companies make harnesses for “plus size women.”


• The two main parts of a harness are the harness itself and the dong (dildo). They are usually sold together but can be bought separately.



• Some strap-one (like the one I bought) come with a mini-vibrator. So you can get pleasure while you’re giving it!



• Some strap-ons come with a device you can insert into your pussy and or anus. This is also so you can give pleasure and get pleasure.



• Don’t forget to buy lube.

I spent £125 on toys. This includes: a cat-o-nine tails, fuzzy handcuffs, a vibrator called Wanda, an anal vibrator an oral sex vibrating bug and cherry-flavored lube.

I was just getting out of the bath when Mr.MusicBiz arrived at my door. I quickly threw on come clothes: A sparkly tank top that shows mucho cleavage and a black lace skirt. No panties. No Bra.

He looked good. He looked very, LA. His hair looked lighter, his skin looked tanner. We kissed as he entered my flat. Doggums wasn’t happy about this. She barked incessantly. I finally bribed her with a half-eaten chicken leg and she seemed to quiet down.

Mr.MusicBiz and I headed into the bedroom, closing the door behind us. He kissed me passionately while I reached down and felt his hard-on. He said he hadn’t masturbated in a few days; that he was bursting, but he was saving his cum for me. “Good boy,” I told him.

We spent several minutes kissing. He moved from my mouth to my neck. Then he kissed my ear and my knees started to quiver.

Part 2 coming tomorrow.

Look What I Just Bought....

1 point if you can tell me what I'm doing tomorrow.

5 points if you can tell me who I'm doing tomorrow.

Wanda's Show & Blinding Rage

Wanda. Live. Wednesday, Feb 20, 8:00pm - 9:30pm



Unlike anything you may have seen or thought you have seen, Wanda Keenan conducts a guided tour to the edge of improvised insanity. (i'm just being myself ) You will be: amazed, exhilarated, appalled, enlightened. After less than two hours in the company of Wanda and her hand-picked team of strange guests, you will:

- Learn how to acquire superpowers.
- Watch a man turn into a dog (tbc).
- Watch her create an X-Factor audition piece.
- Change your priorities and/or lifestlye.
- Emerge humming the tune.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008
8:00pm - 9:30pm

Upstairs at Wheatsheaf Pub
Rathbone Place, £5
London, United Kingdom

Anal Sex Education

It's the 1-year anniversary of Naive London Girl, the Podcast! Wanda, Anjelika and Suzanne chat about: Blow jobs, Dating, Relationships, Anal Sex, Iain Lee and find Mr. Right.

Suzanne Portnoy
http://www.suzanneportnoy.com
Her new book, "The Not-So Invisible Woman" and "The Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker"

Edited and Produced by Mr. Charming.
(With sincere apologies to RTR)

Blow Jobs and Nook Time

Blow Jobs and Nook Time

“Why are there always bits of toilet paper on your pussy?”

This is the question the Ex asks me as I take a break from sucking his cock.

I smile a bit embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it. Not like you’re licking down there, anyhow.”

For the record, there are not always bits of toilet paper down there. Whenever I have sex with the Ex, it’s completely unexpected. I’m never prepared. I never have on my fancy pants. So whenever sex does come up with him and I, I end up racing to the bathroom to discreetly wipe my lady bits – instead of being freshly showered and ready to fuck.

It had been an Friday. Thursday night I went to bed a 9PM. I was so exhausted. At 2AM I woke up and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was restless. Either I was too hot or too cold. So I stayed up the rest of the morning ten left for work an hour earlier than usual.

By noon I was horribly tired. I felt like I had to prop my eyelids open with toothpicks. I caught myself nodding off at work. So I thought ‘I’m going to leave work early and go home and sleep.’

Around 4PM the EX messaged me on MSN. He asked if I wanted to grab a drink at the pub. Despite my tiredness I agreed. Usually, he has to work Friday nights. Even when we were dating years ago, we never went out on Fridays. The only time we ever went out on a Friday was back in 2006. [See Sloppy Seconds for the Ex]

I met him at a pub in Hempstead. As soon as I arrived I ordered a glass of wine. Then I raced into the ladies room to throw on some make up. I know he’s an Ex and I didn’t need to impress him, but I didn’t want to look as tired as I felt. A bit of foundation, eyeliner, lipstick. Bish, bash, bosh. I was looking hot. Or at least I was looking NOT tired.

We had a few drinks. I was feeling quite tipsy and silly. We then we took a taxi back to his place. We had more alcohol. Conac. He was feeling nostalgic. He put on all his old records. Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Talking Heads, David Bowie. “Doesn’t this sound much better on vinyl?” He kept sayong. “Um, I guess. I dunno. It all sounds the same to me.”

He’s 15 years older than me so there’s a bit of a musical generation gap. Yet it’s surprising that we met at a concert 4 years ago while I was still a student.

Portrait of the Ex:
Smarmy. Forty-something. Thinks he knows it all. Music buff. His father was quite famous in the 80’s. Since then the Ex been living in the shadow of his father’s fame. Initially that was good, but that’s lead him to 12 years of therapy. The Ex is supported by his family. Earn his own money through antiquing and ebay auctions. He loves, photography, “Lost”, pseudo-intelligent conversation and fine wines.

It was getting late. “I better go home soon,” I said around 11:15. I didn’t have my car there, so I’d have to take the last tube home. The last tube left just before midnight.

“You can stay a bit longer,” he urged. “You want some Nook Time?”

“Yes!” I said with a smile on my face.

Nook time: Remember the Sex in the City episode when Carrie explained that she always sleeps in the nook between Aidan’s neck and shoulder? When I get to cuddle up to the Ex, right by his shoulder and underarm, I love it. I call that “Nook Time.” Most of the time Nook Time is better than sex.

We had ten minutes of Nook Time. I then cheekily rubbed my hand on top of his crotch.

“Anjelika!” He warned.

“I just wanted to see how Charles was doing.”

Charles is the name I gave his cock. It’s French so it’s pronounced, “Shar-rells.”

We spent another 10 minutes in the nook. I looked at his clock. It’s a clock with a picture of the cast of “Hereos” on it.

“I better go,” I said.

“No, stay. You can stay for another 10 minutes.”

“I don’t want to miss my train.”

“You can play with Charles,” he offered.

YAY! That made me so happy.

I unzipped his jeans. He already had a stiffy. I pulled Charles out of his underware.

I smiled and inhaled his Cock into my mouth. Up and down I sucked on his cock while flicking my tongue against the head.

“Feels good,” the Ex said.

“I thought you didn’t like my blow jobs?” I said indignantly.

The whole time we dated the Ex hated my blow jobs. I wondered if there was something wrong with my technique. As it’s been confirmed by other men, most especially the BFE, there is nothing wrong with my blow job technique. As it turned out, the Ex just didn’t like blow jobs?

How is it possible that men don’t like blow jobs? That’s like a woman not liking cunnilingus! These women are clearly crazy.

The ex urged me to take my clothes off. I disrobed. Then I ran into the bathroom to make sure my lady bits were extra clean.

I returned to the sofa and continued sucking off the Ex. He was reaching around fingering me at the same time. I wasn’t really getting off with the fingering. I think I was focusing to much on blowing him.

“Don’t cum,” I wanted him. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll fuck you.” I didn’t trust him though. I’ve heard that line before. There was something unconvincing in his voice. I really wanted to have sex with him. I really wanted to feel him cuming in me. There was a hint of unenthusiasm in his voice. As if fucking me was some duty or favor rather than a desire.

Eventually, we got to fucking. We tried doggie style, but it was difficult to do on the sofa. I tried getting on top, but that was difficult as well. We then engaged in the missionary. Initially his cock kept falling out of my pussy. I hate when that happens. When we started fucking, we really went at it. We were both bucking up and down. So hard. Our bucking moved the sofa a whole foot.

He didn’t cum from that. I sucked him off a bit more, then he jerked himself off.

Only a bit of cum came out.

“Is that it?” I said feeling disappointed. “How is it possible that that’s all the cum in there.”

“Sorry!”

“There must be more in there!” I looked at his now-shriveled cock. “Oh my God, look how small Charles is now! I didn’t realize how tiny he is. Wow your cock gets big when you’re erect, but now it’s tiny. Is that the size it is when you pee?”

“Yes” he said not very happily.

It was past 1 AM when we finished off. We listened to more records and then I went home.

Pearl Necklaces and Happy New Year

Anjelika and Wanda Discuss

- Hello 2008
- Mr. Charming
- Short Courses
- New Year's Resolutions
- Marriage
- Pearls
- YouPorn
- Masturbation

"I've been masturbating to YouPorn."

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