This Week Sucks

This week sucks

I’m chilling in my flat listening to slow jams, which sometimes are the best. Earlier today I was listening to the album Rudebox by Robbie Williams. This is one of the few albums that I thought was total shit the first 10 times I listed to it then I changed my mind. The more I listened to Rudebox, the more I realized that it’s actually a solid album:



His song, “The 90’s” has been in my head most of the day. As far as songs go, I’ve heard much better. There’s nothing pretty or melodic about this song. Lyrically it’s unsophisticated. It’s not even sung property. It’s a lazy spoken-word ditty. What stands out about it, however, are the raw emotions.

Is it a song, or is psychotherapy? Just by listening to the song, you can’t help but think, “should he really be saying all of this so the public can hear?” It’s almost…. embarrassing. I find it really heard to listen to someone’s pain. But somehow the song still draws me in.

It reminds me of something Wanda once said. Regarding my podcast episode, "Fallout and Foreplay." She said that the emotions on it were so raw, that it too was hard to listen to. Funnily enough, I got more e-mail about that episode than any other episodes.

Besides that my week has been pretty shit. Work is un-relenting. It’s totally driving me insane! I got in an argument with Wanda. I got mad at Mr. Charming all over again and decided not to be friends with him. If there’s anything I’ve learned from the BFE debacle is that sometimes it’s just best to walk away.

I think Kenny Rogers said it best when he said, “You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em / know when to fold ‘em / know when to walk away / know when to run/” And the situation with Mr. Charming is indicating that I should run far, far away.

I haven’t had a paycheck in nearly 2 months, so I’m totally skint. I have MINUS £9.50 in my bank account.

I’m a month late getting my book revisions back to my agent. And on top of that, my fucking Mac died yesterday! The hard drive is busted – and if it turns out that my book can’t be recovered I am going to fucking FREAK OUT!

Here’s my shit list for this week:
1. Payroll – who can’t seem to get their shit together and pay me on time.

2. Mr. Charming – who remains an asshole. If you’re that curious listen here. (skip to 29:59)

3. The Apple Store on Regents Street – They suck and you can never get an appointment with them.

4. British Gas – How is my gas bill over £200?!?

5. Phone chargers that don’t work.

Send me positive vibes and maybe next week will be better

Wait

Wait

It’s 7PM and I’m sitting in my office waiting for a guy to call me. Is that pathetic or what? I should be out there living, feeling doing- not waiting. Not waiting by the phone in hopes that my plans will pan out.

I should be grabbing the bull by the horns and taking charge of my dating / social life. Instead, here I am, like in idiot sitting in my office waiting for a guy- and a married guy at that. I haven’t mentioned this guy before, He’s a work colleague. Today he asked me out in such a casual way that it could hardly classify as an event – let alone a date. I call him Phil Petrol...

I can hear Wanda now saying, “Get out of there. Go home. Go Swimming. Go look after your little doggie, but do not wait for this guy to call. Have you not learned anything from the BFE debacle?”

And yes, I’ve learned SO MUCH from the BFE thing. In fact, I'm pleased to share one of the I’ve learned. Perhaps this is common sense, and perhaps I should have probably already have known it, but last weekend I really realized it.

On Saturday evening I had net sex with a married guy. The DG, for those of you keeping track. I like the DG. I like him as a mate. I respect him as a former colleague. I like his attitude about life. I also fancy the pants off him! And the fact that he bares a more-than vague resemblance to the BFE probably helps as well. I frequent think about him tying me up and eating me out. He’s definitely someone I want in my bed. And we’ve fooled around before, but nothing major.

During our netsex session he was telling me how there are some positions and activities that he wants to try with me. I realize now that this is all talk; all fantasy. He doesn’t want to leave the safety net of his wife. To him, I’m like that one flavour of ice-cream at Baskin Robbins that you say, “One day I’m gonna try that” but ultimately you don’t because you don’t want to betray your favourite standby flavour. (Vanilla, most likely).

The thing is, I like him. I like him a lot. And to him, I’m a savoury sweet—once he’s had his taste, he’s had his fill and he’s gone. If we ever did end up having sex it would mean so much more to me in my head than it would to him. To him, I would be the girl he fucked.

I think that was my key mistake with the BFE. I liked him too much. I wanted him, and he wanted sex. Perhaps if we had a meeting of the minds things would have gone smoother. Of course I fooled myself to think that I was only in it for the sex – but as women can we really do that? Is it possible to ‘just fuck’ and feel nonchalant about it?

Men have a way of cutting off that emotion; that emotion that says, “You are a great fuck and you’re someone I could care for at some point” But I find it incredibly difficult. This is something that I am just realizing now.

It’s 7:50 now and my gut tells me to grab my Oyster card and hightail it out of here; that there is no good to come of this situation. I should go home now, while my dignity is in tact. Or I could possibly suffer the indignity of being stood up.

On the other hand I’ve already applied my lipstick. If I don’t go out, I just won’t know what I’m missing.

What would you do?

Date #7 Fishing from the Company Peer

Date #7 Fishing from the Company Peer

Yeah I know it’s morally questionable to sleep with someone from work; especially when he’s already involved with someone else. But it was the come hither stare on his MySpace profile picture that got me interested.

There was a dichotomy in the hard and raw essence of his photo compared to the tenderness and sweetness of meeting him in person. I was intrigued.

The sex was fab. Clearly, It was the best oral I’ve had since 2006. I think he went down on me for the better part of an hour. Of course, I had multiple orgasms. I had one super-intense orgasm. It was so intense that I felt quite satiated. It was strong enough of an orgasm that I could go another few weeks without sex. The only thing I can compare it to is having a really nice meal where you feel totally full and you think, “I can’t eat for days.” That’s sort of how I feel. I can’t fuck for days…

He’s a great guy and fantastic in bed, but ultimately he belongs to someone else. And I’ll be damned If I go through another BFE thing again!

Another shag could be a lot of fun, though.

Anal Sex for Lunch

with special Guest, Suzanne Portnoy

Anjelika and Suzanne chat about

- Anal Sex for lunch
- Anal Toys
- Strap-ons
- Rejecting the B.F.E. on Valentine's day.
- Suzanne's B.F.E.
- The Not-so Invisible Woman

Suzanne Portnoy
http://www.SuzannePortnory.com

Buy Suzanne's book:

Valentine’s Day Disasters of the past

Valentine’s Day Disasters of the past

I know in my previous near-death post I said I wasn’t going to beat on about how Valentine’s Day sucks, but since I know that some of you live Vicariously through me, I’ve written about some of my V-day disasters. I’ve even given them ratings: 1, being not so bad and 10 being completely fucking disastrous.

2006 London. "No Acknowledgement of Valentine's Day"
Whilst Dating the BFE I received nary a phone call on Valentine’s day. Flowers or chocolate, I should have been so lucky! As far our relationship went it was almost as if Valentine’s Day didn’t exist. He just called it, “Tuesday.” Keep in mind we had spent the better part of the month fucking like bunnies. There wasn’t a room in his house where we hadn’t fucked. So the Valentine’s day blackout took me totally by surprise. I later found out he spent the day trying to romance his wife. I guess he was attempting to convince her to go back with him. At the time I was livid, but now I just admire his chutzpah.
Disaster rating: 8 out of 10 broken hearts.

2005 London, Soho. "Best of the Best"
After 6 month of being girlfriend & boyfriend, The Ex and I went to a Japanese restaurant that I picked out. I picked it solely because the clientèle were Japanese. Is that wrong? During dinner he handed me a Valentine’s Day Card. I don’t remember anything about the card, but he signed it, “Best.” Not "love", "luv", or even "lurve." That was like a slap in the face. On the most romantic day of the year the best I could get was “Best.” Then he asked if we could split the bill. We later got into an argument about how he never makes the effort for me. He was a really shitty boyfriend, but now he makes a good friend. I guess this is one of those cases of clouds and silver linings. Still, when it happened, I was pretty bummed out.
Disaster rating: 6 out of 10 broken hearts.

2004 Brighton "HPY V-D 2U"
Was very casually dating this guy, Trevor. He sent me a Valentine’s Day text. Was that supposed to be romantic?
Disaster rating 3 out of 10 broken hearts.

2002 Sydney / Glebe "No hay banda"
I had started seeing this girl. Let’s call her GingerVegLez. The thing about lesbian relationships is that sometimes I can’t figure out if the girl JUST wants to be friends or if it’s more? Anyhow we got to the point where we were always hanging out, so I figured she was into me. And I was kinda into her. We made plans to spend Valentine’s day together. She asked me out, mind you. So I bought her a gift. A vegetarian cook book. And I wrote something nice on the inside cover. I don’t remember exactly what I wrote but I suppose it was quasi-romantic. We went to a quaint romantic restaurant. Then we went to see, what I thought was a romantic movie, “Mullholland Drive.” As it turned out, I had never seen a David Lynch movie before. For future reference "Mullholland Drive" is not the best initiation with Lynch. I really didn’t enjoy the film. I couldn’t figure out what it was about. Later we went back to GingerVegLez’s place. Even though we slept in the same bed, she spurned my advances. It turns out, she just wanted to be friends. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have paid for dinner, the movie and bought a gift. Even though that pretty much finished us off, weeks later, she had a house party. When no one was looking I took back the Vegetarian Cookbook that I bought her. I mailed it to Kiki in New York. GingerVegLez sent me an e-mail a couple days later. The subject of the e-mail was: Cookbook. Do you think I even bothered to read it? I just hit delete and deleted her out of my life.
Disaster rating: 5 out of 10 broken hearts.

1999 New York, Downtown, "Brazilian Nuts"
I was dating this Brazilian guy who was into tantric sex. He got me all worked up on February 13. He got me all wet and all worked up but then refused to fuck me. He wanted to tease me. He said he wanted to see how close he could get me to cum, then pull back. Yes, very cruel. He had an amazing tongue. I wanted his cock so badly. He actually got me on my knees begging for his cock, then he said no. And he said it so effortlessly. We said good-bye by kissing near the Flat-Iron building on 23rd street. He said he’d be back on Valentine’s day to finish what he started. Valentine’s day came, but he didn’t. And neither did I. In fact, I never heard from him ever again. Eduardo are you out there?
Disaster rating: 7 out of 10 broken hearts.

1993 Schenectady, "Garfield"
My first boyfriend, T. He was on the high school basketball team. Not my high school, but a rival school. He just happened to be playing against my school on Valentine’s day. I showed up for the game supporting the Rival School. Not really a good move in a small town. To make matters even more embarrassing, I bought him one of those huge 2-foot Garfield Valentine’s day cards. I gave him the card after the game. The next day, he dumped me. My little 15-year old heart was torn to pieces. Coincidently, I bumped into him 6 years later on the corner of Broadway & Mercer. He actually had the nerve to ask why I hadn’t been in touch?
Disaster rating: 9 out of 10 broken hearts.

And in case you’re wondering what I’m doing tonight, I’ve got a hot “date” with Wanda. If you have any Valentine’s day disaster stories you want to share, e-mail them to me, and I’ll read them out during our next podcast. me@naivelodnongirl.com

I Almost Died Today

I almost died today.

Normally, I would take this time to rant about how Valentine’s day sucks, and how it’s all commercial bullshit and whine and moan about how I’m perpetually single and never seem to have a decent Valentine’s day. But you know what, I’m gonna skip a lot of that. (OK I’ve left some of it in) Really, I’m just happy to be alive.

In the wee hours of this morning I narrowly escaped a fatal car crash. I still can’t believe it. On the A40 this morning two joy-riders driving a mini (I presume stolen) were careening down highway. They were coming at me, fast. I figured I better change lanes so they can go past me. So I looked again in my rear view mirror and saw the Mini, just a few feet behind me. The Mini suddenly smashes into the center guard rail. Fuck! It ricochets from the centre all the way to the left-most lane.

Simultaneously, a Green BMW swerves to avoid the Mini and instead flips over the Mini. It spins around and lands upside down. This is only a few feet away from my car.

Holy shit! Both lanes of the highway are now blocked by the wreckage. I move my car further up a safe distance in case there is a fire. I was in shock. Completely nervous. I couldn’t even figure out how to dial for an ambulance. I actually dialed 9-1-1- which, by the way, doesn’t work in England. Then I tried 000, which I think is the emergency code for Australia. I took me a long minute to think 1-1-2.

I was trembling as I spoke with the police. They kept asking me where I was. I had no clue. I was on the highway, but I didn’t know where. “I’m a foreigner. I don’t know where I am,” I kept saying. They finally figured out my location and sent an ambulance , fire crew and the police.

I timidly gave a witness statement to the police once they arrived. The passenger in the Green BMW was stuck inside. Emergency services was cutting him out of the flipped over car.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked the female copper who was taking my statement.

She looked grim. She gently touched my shoulder and said, “Thank you for your statement.” She ushered me back to my car.

I drove over to the Ex’s and cried on his shoulder. I was a nervous wreck. I leaned on his shoulder and we watched QI together. This strangely comforted me.

So instead of complaining this year that I’m yet again single on Valentine’s day, I’m just going to be happy to be alive.

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.

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."

http://www.NaiveLondonGirl.com

168 Hours and counting

168 Hours and Counting

There is nothing as horribly unsatisfying as the state of being horny. This is a state I’ve been in for the past 168 hours.

Of course, there is the old stand-by of masturbation to help “cure” it. But even Green Day noted, “When masturbation’s lost its fun you’re fucking breaking.”

I went to bed horny. I woke up horny. I traveled to work on the DLR and read the Metro horny. This is madness. I can’t remember a time when I’ve had sex on the brain so much.

Thankfully, work pulled me out of my randy stupor. I, along with the rest of my team are working on producing the new series of a reality TV show. The amount of work that this show creates for me is almost insurmountable. God, even the word, “mountable” makes me feel horny.

I had planned on going to the gym after work, but I ended up staying an hour late. I was awaiting a courier delivery of art and graphics for the new tv show. The courier was late, so I missed the gym completely. I finally left the office at 7:45 to meet the Ex for dinner. Never mind that I was due to meet him on Old Street at 7:45.

As I left the office building I noticed Tall Jake waiting outside the lobby chatting on his mobile. He mouthed, “Hi Anjelika.” I gave a quick wave and scurried away.

Tall Jake, if you remember was bloke from work who flirted shameless with me, only to reveal at the end of the night he had girlfriend. There should be a name for guys like that. I’m going to coin a term right here and now. He’s a FAKE SINGLETION. An FS. Eff-ess, or maybe even F-ass.

Spotting F-ass didn’t really catch me by surprise. It was forth time in two weeks that I’ve seen him waiting outside the office. He doesn’t work here anymore so I’ve been able to deduce that either he has a drinking buddy here or he’s dating someone here.

I’m going to guess that he’s dating someone here. He mentioned, when I spoke with him last week, how he was going to dinner. He didn’t say with whom (v v annoying). If he is dating someone here, why not just come out and say it? Why hide behind that fact? Why tell me that he’s waiting for ‘a friend’ if the real answer is that he’s dating Kelly in accounting (or whoever). There’s something shady about him that rubs me the wrong way.

I met the Ex at the Reliance on Old Street. He’s concerned about his expanding waistline so he’s decided to cut out beer and only drink cider. A move that I’m totally convinced of. After a couple drinks we went for Vietnamese food on Kingsland Road.

Whilst we were waiting for our food to arrive a Pussycat Doll’s song came on. Being the music snob that he is, the Ex groaned.

I smiled, “This song was playing in the mini cab on the night of my first date with the BFE. I remember listening to it on the way to meeting him and being so excited about our date.”

“Oh really?” the Ex asked, not terribly interested.

I recanted the whole story of the first date I had with the BFE to my Ex. I realized that as I was telling the story, I was so happy and animated. In telling the Ex about the BFE I was re-living that first date. I was remembering fond memories.

And after all the bad shit that went down between the BFE and me, it’s good to know that some warm memories do exist.

Blow Jobs, Public Orgasms and Confronting your Lover's Wife

Blow Jobs, Public Orgasms and Confronting your Lover's Wife


ANJ: Have you ever fingered yourself on a train?
WANDA: No! I've never fingered myself in public!
ANJ: I have fingered myself on a train-
WANDA: Have you? Going from where to where?
ANJ: From London to Manchester. Virgin... hardly

Wanda and Anjelika chat about...

Have you ever fingered yourself on a train?
- 5 Things that annoy Anjelika
- Getting turned on, on the train
- Blow job techniques
- Moral Quagmire: Should you confront your lover's wife?

The Table that I Came on

The Table that I Came on

"I would rather not go
Back to the old house
There's too many
Bad memories"
- The Smiths

It’s strange how the simplest of things can affect you in a weird way. I feel somewhat traumatized by something that happened a few days ago that should be relatively minor.

On Tuesday I had job interview across the road from the a friend’s house. I called him after the interview – since I was in the neighborhood – and asked it he wanted to go for lunch. Since he was working from home that day, he agreed.

“Come on over to the house” he said.

Since I was only across the road it took me about thirty seconds to get to his place. There’s something creepy and stalkerish about arriving at someone’s house faster than they can hang up the phone. So I stood at his door and waited. I applied some lipstick and waited some more. After standing at his door for what seemed like an eternity (Actual time: two minutes) I rang the doorbell. I realized that was the first time I’d been to his house since last year we ended our relationship – or whatever you call it. It never really had the legs of a full-fledged relationship.

He opened the door to let me in and I just wanted to turn around and walk out. It felt too creepy. It felt wrong. I was now in another woman’s domain. I could sense it. And even though she wasn’t there everything in the air, in the walls, in the atmosphere oozed her. She wasn’t there physically, but her presence was everywhere.

My friend and I greeted each other in the vestibule of his house. The last time I stood in that very spot was after a horrible date we had. The sad details aren’t important, but I do remember standing in that spot feeling full of hope because moments before he said, “I really want to work things out with you Anjelika.”

I averted my eyes to the kitchen. I focused immediately on the kitchen table; the table we fucked on. He looks at that table and just sees a glass top. I look at the table and think about the night he lifted me up onto the table, pushed up my skirt, pulled down panties and ate me out. I came so hard. His tongue was amazing. How many dinners has he had on that table since then?

Everything in that house reminded me of ‘us.’

The stairs up to his lounge: He used to finger me as I walked up the stairs.

The sofa I sat on in the lounge: New from Muji last year we broke it in hours after its arrival.

The lounge chair he sat in: I remember giving him head in that chair and snowballing afterwards. There’s something electric about swapping cum from my mouth to his.

His whole house was peppered in bittersweet memories and I suddenly felt confronted with feelings I didn’t want to deal with. Not then, not at that moment. We only spent a few minutes in the house before leaving. After we exited he immediately made a phone call. For the next twenty minutes while walking to the restaurant waiting for him to end the call, all I could think about was being in that house. I wasn’t ready for the onslaught of feelings.

Even though we were walking together I felt very alone dealing with those feelings. It put me in a rather melancholy mood for the rest of the day. But what can you do?

I persevere.

And move on.

Rio Day 2: Good Behaviour

Rio Day 2: Good Behaviour

It’s hot. Too hot to sleep, The air was thick and hot. I tried sleeping with the air condition on but it was so loud as if I were adjacent to a jet engine. I turned off the A/C but then ended up sweating and feeling congested. I woke up at 5AM local time. It was 9 AM in London.

I got a couple phone calls about potential jobs. It was nothing was overly enthusiastic about but a job is a job. I somehow spent four hours on the internet.

I pulled myself off the internet at 9:30 realizing that I had an appointment to be waxed at 10.

I put on some stylish yet semi-uncomfortable pair of shoes and walked down to the salon where I booked my waxing session.

Although I don’t speak the language, I was able to convey that I wanted my legs, armpits, eyebrows and bikini area waxed. The salon was plain no-frills salon off the main drag in Ipenema. I was led to a tiny backroom. I think I was instructed to take off my clothes except my bra, but I can’t be too sure. I was hoping that the woman servicing me would start with the Brazilian bikini wax. Instead she saved it for last. She waxed my eyebrows, face, underarms, legs and bikini area. It hurt like a mother, but I was left as smooth as a baby’s bottom. After the wax I got manicure and pedicure. In total it cost me £33. That’s a bargain, right?

After the salon I had a small lunch at a quaint Brazilian brasserie. This was followed by a 2-hour tanning session on the beach, then a disco nap at the hotel.

I met up with some British friends for drinks. During the drinks I slipped to the loo and applied some fanny butter.

All I can say is that I'm VERY pleased with the results.

These Boots are Made for Fucking

I’ve been a bad girl this weekend. It’s too nice of a day to spend inside typing so I’ll make this short and sweet.

On Saturday a friend came over my place to do some handyman work for me. There must something about seeing a guy do DIY that turns me on. Is it too lame to say I like a guy who knows how to use his tool? Yeah, ok, that is lame.

Now I wasn’t planning on doing anything with this guy, per se, but I couldn’t help myself. Why am I so naughty? And why does doing the wrong thing feel so good and so right?

After he finished the work we were both sitting on my leather sofa drinking some apple juice and petting the dog. Somehow within the span of a half hour we went from staring at each other, to holding each other to rubbing each other – above the clothes of course. According to the Rule Book, it doesn’t count if the touching is above the clothes.

I was wearing a black A-line skirt. I liked that his hand was under my skirt and that he was rubbing my fuchsia panties. I love that tingly feeling of an unfamiliar touch. And I love that look on his face; the look that tells me he’s happy and has a raging hard on. It’s difficult, however, when the moment is tinged with guilt; when you know you shouldn’t go any further; when what’s wrong feels right and vice versa.

It’s head versus heart; theory versus practice; the moral high ground versus horniness. And perhaps the fact that it’s forbidden makes it even more alluring.

He pushed me away. I figured, fair enough. Game over. Don’t push the issue. I had been bad for tempting him in the first place. I ended up falling to the floor ass first with my legs in the air. And no sooner that I thought I lost, in one swift motion he jumps down to the floor, grabs for my panties and violently yanks them off me. He throws them across the room and buries his head in my pussy. Oh my God. He’s a fucking madman and I love it.

He went after my pussy with so much vim and vigor that it puts some others to shame. He was so energetic and gung-ho about it as if he hadn’t tasted pussy in years. He used his tongue and fingers. He kept one finger in my cunt while licking my clit.

I came, and he kept licking. I came twice more before he stopped. I wanted to fuck him. I wanted it badly. He was just going to tease me with his cock. We went out on the balcony and he fingered me while we overlooked London. Back inside he pressed his cock against me, but wouldn’t enter. It’s a fantastic feeling yet simultaneously frustrating.

I played with his balls and sucked on his cock until my mobile rang. It was so naughty how he was touching me up while I was on the phone. It was Wanda on the line. She was early! She was outside by my car! I wanted to send her a secret message that said come back in an hour, but I just froze and told her to ring my buzzer.

The next 5 minutes were spent trying to get him off. I jerked him off for a while. Then I took his cock into my mouth. He came in my mouth. It was lot of cum. A lot more than I’m used to; then again can you ever really get used to someone ejaculating in your mouth?

We snogged and I swapped the cum from my mouth into his. And he obediently swallowed.

My phone rang again. It was Wanda. She said she was outside the flat. I thought she meant outside the building. I opened my front door.

“Anjelika, are you not wearing any pants?”

“No, I’m not.” It was true. I opened my front door while being naked from my bellybutton down, but I didn’t expect her to be there.

She was a bit flustered. I told her to wait outside.

My friend Mr. Fix it made a swift exit.

I met up with Wanda twenty minutes later. She had gone to a café across the road.

We hung out for a few hours, took the dog to the vet and did a podcast.

After she left, I got ready for my hot date with Mr.TVP (Mr. Television Presenter)

I met Mr. TVP outside the building where he broadcasts. We went out for dinner at a restaurant within walking distance. Dinner was nice. I felt bad because I couldn’t finished the lovely steak l ordered.

Mr.TVP is also a great guy to talk to. But I wasn’t sure if he was really listening to me or zoning out into his chat show presenter mode. The restaurant had lousy service despite the food being good.

After dinner we went back to his dressing room. I was wearing the same A-Line black skirt along with a tight black T-shirt that showed off my breasts. To top if off I was wearing black high heel boots.

As soon as we got into the dressing room, Mr. TVP bent me over, lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties and began fingering me.

There’s something I love about being bent over. Maybe it’s the feeling of submission. I dunno. Eventually I took off my skirt, shirt and black bra. I was naked except for the boots.

I was naked and bend over the side of the sofa. He fingered me for a while and stuck his cock inside. Mmmmmmmm.

His cock wasn’t in there long. I was getting a bit uncomfortable being bent over, so we moved to floor. He fingered me until I came and then we fucked doggie style while I was still wearing the boots.

Afterwards I joined him for a bit in the office, but I was feeling tired. I watched him read some fan mail. Then he got on to the internet to check some message boards. He was looking to see if there were any messages about him. Of course there were. Tons. Why he would want to read them, I don’t know? To a certain extent, who cares what the public thinks. Maybe he’s vain? I guess all people on TV are vain. There are so many creepy people on the internet. Well, I guess I should know.

He walked me to my car and kissed me good night.

Saturday is all about being a bad girl.

A Saturday Without Panties Part 2

Where we last left off, Anjelika was describing the colour of her panties.

Part 2: A Saturday without panties

http://www.NaiveLondonGirl.com

A Saturday without Panties Part 1

Wanda knocks on Anjelika's door only to find her sans Panties. .

Part 1: A Saturday without panties

http://www.NaiveLondonGirl.com

NYC: Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill!

NYC: Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill!

I had a dream last night that the lover formally known as the BFE was trying to kill me. Hmmmm maybe that's what I get for texting him before bed? I was feeling particuarlly horny. My loins are on fire, by the way. You'd think I'd feel satiated with my last 2 shags. WRONG. I'm even more horny and want sex even more. So yeah, perhap I was a bit naughty by texting the F-BFE.

So in my dream the F-BFE was furious with me! He was trying to choke me to death.

I don't know the reason why he was angry. But he had this really strained look in his eyes. I don't think I've ever seen him that mad in my whole life. It was like he hated me. I kept wondering what had I done to prevoke such fury? In his anger he shouted at me, "You looked at my MySpace page over a million times!"

Okay, as I write that out it seems comical, but it was actually quite serious in my dream. I was fervently trying to convince him that I had not looked at his MySpace page a million times. Then my next thought was, "How would he know, anyhow?"

Anyhow, I woke up feeling congested. The heat was up too high. I think if you sleep and you're too hot you tend to have nightmares. I should forget the dream, but I'm still freaked out by that intense look in his eyes. Weird.

So last night's shag was great. I'll go into more detail later, but it was none other than the jet-setting Mr.MusicBiz. The way his cock felt inside my pussy is amazing. More on that later.

Say My Name, Bitch!

Say My Name, Bitch!

In London, Canadian accents stick out like a turd in a punch bowl. Yesterday I overheard two girls on the Hammersmith & City line chatting. They were backpackers. Canadian. I could tell by the way one of them said, “Watch Oat!”

The girl with the very large backpack said to the girl with the smaller backpack,

“Yeah, but if you give a bloke a nickname he'll never be serious boyfriend material.”

“No, not true,” said the other girl, “What about that Welsh guy you dated last year?”

“Which one?”

“You dated more than one Welsh guy last year?”

“I lived in Wales!”

“For like a month!”

“Six weeks.”

“Whatever,” dismissed the smaller backpacker, “I’m talking about the Welsh guy you dated last year that had the nickname.”

“They all had nicknames. And none of them turned into serious relationships. Which is exactly my point. You can never have a serious relationship with someone you’ve given a nick name to.”

“That’s rubbish!”

Is it? I started thinking about my own dating and relationship life. Could it possibly be true that you can never have a serious relationship with someone you’ve given a nickname to?

I’m in some serious trouble because I give every guy I date a nickname. Wait, that’s not entirely true. Every guy I KNOW I give a nickname to, whether we’re dating or not. A few of the nicknamed include:

Carpenter Dan
Phat Dan
Van Dan
Fast Fingers Dan
Bob, the hairdresser
The BFE
Richard, the Roadie
Hot Rich
Richie Chef
Crazy Simon
Soda Simon
Eagle Eye
M.A.G.M. (the Mysterious Acoustic Guitar Man)

Hey, I'm a writer I like nicknaming people. But now that I think about the great loves of my life none of them have had nicknames. I’ve always called them by their first names.

Maybe giving a guy a nickname it is a way of keeping part of myself private; not facing the truth. Maybe it’s a way of devaluing their worth, e.g. I don’t value them enough to call them by their Christian name. It’s only the guys I’ve been infatuated with in who have received nicknames. The guys that I’ve been deeply in love with I call by their first name.

I guess when I nickname someone, I’m taking one tiny aspect of their life and magnifying it so that at least in my eyes it is their predominate aspect. Maybe that’s the way that I get out of really knowing people. Instead of delving deep, nicknaming them is a way of knowing them on a superficial level. Their nickname becomes a caricature of them.

I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve actually called the BFE by his real name. I can probably also count twice on one hand the number of times I’ve called the BFE by his real name to his face. Saying his name to his face seems so weird. So bizarre. It gives the situation a sort of unparalled gravity. Everything becomes so serious. And I just want some light-hearted fun.

Wow, I just answered my own dilemma! It’s rare that that happens.

True or False: I can have a serious relationship with someone to whom I’ve given a nickname.

Answer: False

Reasoning: In order to make a situation less serious I will often give someone a nickname. Nicknames partially mock the individual, but also assures that I only get to know that person on a certain level. I am usually not interested in learning about someone beyond the scope of their nickname. Doing so may invalidate their nickname.

For instance, if I learn that Bob the Hairdresser is an avid scuba diver, the image I have of him as a hairdressers will be ruined. Or if Hot Rich tells me the boring details of his quotidian life he may seem less ‘hot" thereby invalidating his nickname.


Nicknames reinforce a predetermined image in my head. In order to have a serious relationship with someone, I need to break through the superficiality and predetermined image. I need to delve deep in order to find the real deal


So maybe my goal in life is to meet someone who I don’t have the urge to nickname. I’m going to make that one of my New Year’s resolutions: Find someone who is dynamic enough that I wouldn't dare nickname.


2007 is looking good so far. And who would guess that Canadians could make me think so much!

There's Nowhere in Mayfair to get Finger Fucked

There's Nowhere in Mayfair to get Finger Fucked

I should know. I had a failed attempt there a couple days ago. I met up with the DG of the DG not to be confused with the DG (If that makes any sense). I guess I should explain.

The DG is a doppelganger of the BFE
The DG of the DG is a doppelganger of the DG

In other words, they all sort of look alike.

I am using some hyperbole here. I'm using Doppelganger to mean vague or passing resemblance instead of it's literal mewing, "double" Anyhow if you knew me personally, you would see how this is in accord with my sense of humor.

Actually, it's quite funny. I haven't seen the DG of the DG in quite a while. When we met up, I didn't recognize him at first. You think I would eh, since he looks like two other people I know!

I digress.

The DG of the DG and I were both dying to get in each others pants. Just thinking about him going down on me got me all wet. I had to pick up my dog before I met him. So not only were we both dying to get in each other pants, there was a small highly excitable lap dog suspiciously eying up him up.

The three of us walked all around Bond Street and Mayfair looking furiously for a dark corner; a dark alley, where he could pleasure me, and I could pleasure him.

We did find a dark alley for a few minutes, but it was behind a restaurant and proved not to be all that private. Even for that few minutes it was great feeling his cold fingers on my warm clit. I was so horny. Really, I just wanted to fuck him. It’s weird being horny sometimes. It’s like having an itch that MUST BE scratched. And then even after you scratch it you just want more.

The DG of the DG fingered me for a few minutes and then the dog got jealous. Steady now! He began barking and yelping and jumping up and down and wanted my attention. It’s hard getting finger fucked when there’s a small dog yelping at you.

After searching for another 15 minutes we gave up. I was looking for a tiny quiet street. It was after we went our separate ways that I found it. Derbyshire Court.

The BFE and I had some playful moments on Derbyshire Court (and the surrounding areas) at the beginning of the year. Thinking about it brings back some warm fuzzy memories. There were a lot of firsts that night. First date. First kiss. First shag. The kiss was particularly memorable. As our tongues met I was able to simultaneously reach down his trousers and put my hand on his balls; and I did it inconspicuously enough so that no one in the very expensive cocktail bar noticed. The amount of passion, desire and sexual tension between us was incredible. Probably the highest I felt all year. That will go down as one of the top ten best dates ever.

I remember I was wearing this really, really short black & pink tartan skirt with hold ups underneath. Even though it was January and freezing I wanted the BFE to have open access to my fanny. And in those cavernous walkways around Derbyshire Court he backed me into the wall, reached up my skirt, pulled aside my pink Victoria’s Secret thong and thrusts his hand into my pussy. Bliss.

Months later we ran each other through the emotional wringer. The situation had the potential to end very, very, very badly, but it didn’t. I’m so pleased with myself that I didn’t become “that bitch.”

You know who “that bitch” is. She’s that ex you had that deliberately made your life hell. She was immature, bossy and more importantly thought you deserved to suffer for the break up. I didn’t want to be that girl. More importantly, I didn’t want to lose a friend.

I’m just so incredibly pleased that there’s been a happy ending to this. Sort of like that Gwen Stefani song, “Cool” In any case I’m glad I have those warm fuzzy memories to look back on. And I’m happy that we’re still mates. Or as Gwen would say:

And after all the obstacles
It's good to see you now with someone else
And it's such a miracle that you and me are still good friends
After all that we've been through
I know we're cool

Yeah, yeah, I know, song lyrics in blogs are lame. Mea culpa. That’s the last and only time.

Okay. It’s my bed time.

Peace Out!

I Wanna Ejaculate, Too!

I Wanna Ejaculate, Too!

Wow, I can't believe that this time last week I was fucking the BFE. Where did the week go?

I have been extremely busy with work all week that there were times that I forgot I was horny. I'm wondering if that's a good thing? Is it really possible to forget your own hornieness. Or perhaps I've been really distracted?

Anyhow, get this: I'm so fucking jealous. My best mate, Anne, lives in New York. She's gorgeous. She's a lesbian. No, we haven't done anything together. We're just mates. If she were some random girl and not my mate of course I would have pounced on her by now. Anyhow... so I got an urgent voicemail from her.

I called her back thinking that something was wrong, but she told me that last night she got her girlfriend to ejaculate. Whoa! I thought that thing only happened in lesbian porn movies. I'm so jealous. I wanna ejaculate! Or even better, I want to make someone ejaculate. Wait, actually, I guess I have made a lot of guys ejaculate. But how cool would it be to have such great skills in bed that you can make a girl squirt. If I had those sort of skills maybe some woman would be calling me the BFE (best fuck ever).

Do you think it's wrong that when she was talking to me about jilling off her girlfriend that I was fingering myself?

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.