Waiting for the Twig

Two years ago I witnessed a car accident that left a man seriously injured. A blue car was speeding. it hit the guard rail and ricocheted back into the middle lane. Meanwhile a green car tried to avoid the blue car. It stopped so suddenly that it ended up flipping over the blue car and landing on its roof. the man in the green car was stuck inside. It took more than an hour to remove him from the car. I was about twenty feet away when this all happened. I was the only witness. Because the accident happened so close to my car, I was in a state of shock for an hour.

For the past two years I've been drawn into a civil dispute between the man in the green car and the man in the blue car. This may result in me testifying in court. Yesterday I had to visit the solicitor of the man in the green car to clarify my witness statement.

When the solicitor told me to visit him in his office he gave me the address. I immediately recognized the postcode. The solicitor's office was on the same street as the BFE.

The BFE, for those of you new to this blog, was a guy I went out with a few years ago. He was a friend that turned into a lover. He was married, but separated from his wife when we first started dating and fucking. He was called the BFE, because at the time, he was the Best Fuck Ever. The nickname has stuck, even though the meaning behind it has dissipated. Eventually, the BFE reconsiled with his wife, but we still continued sleeping together. That's when things got messy.

Since 2007 when the shit hit the fan with the BFE I've done my best to avoid going to his neighbourhood. At times that has been difficult since he lives in Zone 1. I wasn't avoiding his area because I was avoiding him. I was avoiding his area because every time I went near/into his neighborhood, I got terrible stomach cramps. I would get nervous and agitated. I think, really, that I was on the verge of an anxiety attack whenever I approached his neighborhood. To avoid feeling like that I would just avoid his area.

I got off the bus. And there was the BFE's house only a few meters away. I waited for the twig of pain that I usually get in my stomach when I'm in close proximity to his place. The pain never came. I walked past the BFE's house. Still pain. No nervousness either. Just to make sure I was alright I backtracked. I walked back towards his his place again. No pain, no agitation, no anxiety.

Finally, it felt good that I no longer was mentally persona non grata to the BFE's neigbourhood.

Rage, Misanthropy and Pussy-Eating

Anjelika just may be crazy...
So the BFE (Best Fuck Ever) disapoints me once again. Then again, what can I expect when being the mistress? Surviving the week from hell, I get irate and misanthropic. Armed with an arsenal of maritally incriminating information, I set off to reveal all to the BFE's wife, SOOTBEEF (Significant other of the BFE). But do I have the guts to go though with it? Tune in and find out.

• Blinding rage
• Wanda on Holiday
• Week from hell
• Misanthropic
• Fan Mail
• Cunnilinugs tips

Originally posted December 13, 2007

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Sleeping with Married Men

If anyone asks why I slept with the married TV presenter (Mr. TVP) or Mr.MusicBiz (not married but has serious girlfriend and a kid) my answer is: because I could- and because life is sometimes boring; and sleeping with a celeb whether married or not IS quite exciting. For a brief period of time it made me feel special.

Do I feel guilty about sleeping with them when they were married? I do feel a lot of sadness and guilt about sleeping with the BFE, who was married, but that is a different situation meant for a different blog post.

Do I feel guilty about sleeping with Mr. TVP and Mr.MusicBiz I know I probably should feel guilty but I don't. These men were serial cheaters. I was neither the first nor last woman they cheated with. On top of that I was aware that they were using me. I wasn't the love of their lives. I wasn't the woman they were going to fall in love with. I wasn't there ride or die chick. I was simply a girl with a pretty face and a healthy sexual appetite who was in the right place at the right time. Any girl could have filled my position. I was used for sex and disregarded.

That probably sounds more harsh than it should. Those men on the surface were very kind to me and I don't begrudge that. When it comes down to basics, the only thing they wanted was sex. They probably also wanted/needed their ego stroked.

So knowing that I was being used, why would I do it? Part of the reason I slept with these married and famous men was because I was using them too. I was using them to inflate my ego. I was using them for sex. I was using them for blog material; and believe me I got LOTS out of it.

At the end of the day they were using me. I was using them. Let's call the whole thing off!

If anyone wonders why Tiger Wood's mistresses slept with him, I'll bet you dollars to donuts that their motivation was similar.

Tiger Woods Sexting his Mistress

If you had asked me to draw up a list of the most boring sports people – Tiger Woods would have been at the top of the list.  Who would have guessed that his sex life is more exciting than mine now?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this Tiger Woods stuff.  I’ve been reading the alleged text messages to he sent to one of his Mistresses, Jamie Grubbs.  You can read the text messages on Perez Hilton’s site. http://perezhilton.com/2009-12-10-more-of-tigers-sext-capades#respond

What I find really interesting about the text messages is that Tiger Woods comes off as a complete slime ball. His squeaky clean image is gone.   The mistress seems desperate and needy. It’s clear to see from the text messages that he’s just using her.

Excerpt September 27, 6:38 PM:

Tiger: you just need some attention from me

Tiger: do you have a boy friend (8:45 p.m.)

Jaimee: I don't even have someone I am dating … no … u can be my boyfriend 

Tiger: then I am

Jaimee: I wish

Tiger: quiet and secretively we will always be together

Tiger: when was the last time you got laid

While I was reading the trail of text messages it suddenly hit me that once I was that needy desperate girl having an affair with the BFE. I sent the BFE flirty-yet-boarding-on-desperate text messages.  I was so entrenched in the situation that I couldn’t get a grip on what was going on.

Although I was not totally innocent I wish I could have realized that I was being used too.  I guess I can just chalk that up to experience.

The Art of the Premeditated Coincidence

The Art of the Premeditated Coincidence

“Every man in London should wear zipped fly jeans just in case I need to give an emergency hand job.”

I did some research and used some reasonable deduction to guess that the BFE would be spending his one day off this month at the Imogene Heap concert at the Roundhouse. SOOTBEEF, must have appreciated that. Sootbeef being the Signifcant Other of the BFE.

I did sort of feel like a stalker, but I so pleased at my own detective work that I didn’t care. Imaging being able to pin point the location of someone who’s hardly even in London. And if it were my only day off, I sure as hell wouldn’t be at a concert. I'd be with my partner, at least.

I rushed in my car from Canary Wharf to Camden town. Amazingly I got a parking spot very very close to the venue. Shit. That’s good news and bad news. In Los Angeles they have a saying, “If you get a good parking spot you’re not getting laid tonight.”

Dave Navarro once joked that the theory explains why he’s not getting laid: He parks right outside of his house.

Maybe it’s different in London.

I walked up to the table holding the guest list and announced my name. I tried to peer onto the list to see if the BFE had been comped too, but I couldn’t read the list upside down.

I grabbed my ticket and ran up the stairs. I felt so rushed. So hurried. In my mind the BFE was already here and I just had to find him. I needed to find him before the show started and the house lights went down. I felt like a dork looking for him without appearing that I was looking for him. I went to the bar and ordered a drink, a Coke. I was somehow convinced that a holding a drink would make me look less conspicuous.

This is the time when I envy smokers. Let me be clear. I have never smoked. I hate cigarette smoke. I hate kissing smokers. I hate cigarettes. But when I’m by myself and I don’t want to look like the sad pathetic unaccompanied fool I am, there’s nothing that I want more than to have a cigarette between my fingers. There’s something about being alone that seems okay if you’re smoking. Without a cigarette you just look like you’re loitering.

I entered the main concert hall and thought, “If I were the BFE where would I be standing?” I surmised that he would be in front of the mixing desk. It was 10 minutes before show started I nearly reached panic mode. I furiously scanned the crowd for his face. I couldn’t get in front of the mixing desk because the area surrounding it was packed with people. Shit. I’ll never find him. Maybe he’s not even here. As I beagn walking to a less crowded area there he was. I spotted him. He was standing with a mate.

A surge of excitement went through me. Yay, my detective work paid off. I wasn’t really yet to face him. So I quickly ducked away. I went and got another Coke. At the bar I practiced in my head my, “Oh fancy meeting you here,” voice. No matter I said it, it sounded contrived.

By this point Imogene started playing, “Goodnight and Go.” It seemed eerierly appropriate considering the stalkerish nature of the song.

I went back to the area he was standing and he was gone. Had he seen me and absconded?

The music started. The house lights went down. Shit. It was going to be hard to find him again. I walk over to the let side of the venue and there he was. His back was to me. How do I get his attention without it appearing that I’m trying so hard?

I resolved to simply tapping him on the shoulder.

He turned around. Initially he looked like he didn’t recognize me which seemed really, really odd. He looked at me, turned away and looked at me again.

“Oh hey” he said sounding surprised.

Conveniently his mate left us in order to talk someone working at the show. So there we were BFE and I alone together (amongst 2000 people) watching the concert.

“I don’t mean for this to sound rude but, have you lost weight? You look really fucking hot tonight.” Ohhh the magic words. “In fact I have” I answered. I was lying, but when you get a compliment like that you should just roll with it.

See, when you’re planning to bump into someone coincidently you want to look extremely good. This includes bumping into Exes, Anti-Ones and old bosses. You have to look fuckable. You have to look like good enough that they regret every time they didn’t call you back.

Similar to the Radiohead show, we initially were standing feet apart, but by the end being very close.

He was wearing butterfly’s again dammit. His trouser selection is going to be the end of me. I wanted to reach down his pants and feel his cock. I couldn’t get to it. Every man in London should wear zipped fly jeans just in case I need to give an emergency hand job.

“I have to get up early. Early flight. I’m going,“ he says non-chalantly

Fuck!

“Wanna ride home?” I offer.

He sends his friend a text to say he was leaving. We left after “Hide and Seek.” Normally I love that song, but this time, I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

We exited the venue and walked to my car. I felt all tingly inside. Could the Los Angeles Parking Theory be wrong?

As we approached my car he took his hand into mine. He then raised both his hands to my face and started kissing me.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said stopping suddenly.

And then in my one moment of clarity in the whole BFE situation I said, “Your right,” and backed away.

He paused for a second. He backed me into the car. He was pressing against me. It felt great feeling his body weight on mine. He then looked deep into my eyes and said, “We need to make a date so I can come over fuck you and eat you properly.”

Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted.

I’ve always considered myself as a strong woman, but the intent look gave me broke my resolve. It was like he was seeing into me; seeing into my soul. At that point he could have asked me anything. ANYTHING and I would have said yes. And I hate that he has that sort of grip over me.

We soon got in the car. I drove him back to his house. It was a nice ride because he fingered me the whole way.

Cum

This morning I had cum in my mouth. It was the first time in 3 years that I had tasted cum. I wasn't quite expecting it, so I wasn't really in the right mind to swallow. I've never swallowed. One day I will do it, but this morning wasn't that day.

I had forgotten how cum felt. It was hot; like a hot explosion in my mouth. It was salty, but it wasn't entirely an unpleasant taste.

After he came in my mouth I wondered how long could I hold it all in before I was forced to swallow or ran to the bathroom to spit it out. I held the cum in my mouth for about 90 seconds before casually getting up, walking to the bathroom and spitting in out.

The last time I had given a blow job was to the BFE. We used to snowball all the time. He loved tasting his own cum- such a public school boy thing to do.

Although I enjoyed giving a blow job this morning, I kept wishing for the cum was in my pussy instead.

Oysters, Swallowing Cum and Snowballing

In this episode we chat about: Oysters, Swallowing Cum and Snowballing

"If a girl's going down on you do you expect them to swallow?"

"There's a time in my life where I think I loved blow jobs more than intercourse."

"If you say to someone, don't cum in my mouth and they cum in your mouth, that's just rude."

"What if cum tastes like a bad oyster?"

"Did she pee on you?" Did you pee on her? Did you pee in her mouth?"

"Have you ever had an asphyxiation orgasm?"

"Once when the BFE was fucking me, he put a pillow over my head."

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Stuck in My Vagina

I’m just wondering if any women out there use “the sponge”?

My one experience using a contraceptive sponge wasn’t a very good one. A few years ago when I was dating the BFE I decided to use sponge so that we could stop using condoms.

I bought a box of three sponges from an online pharmacy. The brand I bought was Proctectiad. So as not to cause embarrassment when put it in on our date, I decided to give it a test run.

I read the directions and stuck the sponge up my vagina. When it came time to removing it my fingers couldn’t latch my fingers onto the hook. I couldn’t get it out. The sponge was stuck in my vagina.

Since I couldn’t get it out I left it in there for my date that night. I figured the BFE could get it out.

I met the BFE at Nobu for dinner. When he arrived his right arm was in a cast. He had an accident earlier in the week. Dinner was divine. Afterwards we took a taxi back to his place.

We fucked on his bed twice that night. Afterwards, I asked the BFE to remove the sponge. His good arm was in the cast. He tried pulling it out with his left hand, but couldn’t.

We fucked again in the morning. Instead of going in to work, I went to a MediCentre and paid £55 for a doctor to pull the sponge out of my vagina with forceps.

A few months ago when I started dating my boyfriend, I bought the Today Sponge . I haven’t used it yet as I still feel scarred by my Protectiad Sponge experience.

I’m curious, does anyone here use it? What do you think?

A Saturday without Panties Part 2 - Redux

Continued from Part 1 Wanda knocks on Anjelika's door only to find her sans Panties.

In Part 2 - Anjelika gets eaten out by the BFE. Listen to it here:



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A Saturday without Panties Part 1 - Redux

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

"He came in my mouth and I kissed him."



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Part 2: A Saturday without panties


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Hair Makes the Man

Coming home from podcasting with Wanda, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw my dog being walked by a stranger. How the hell did she get outside? Where was my boyfriend? Why isn't she on the lead?

As I approached closer, I realized that the man walking the dog wasn't a stranger. It was my boyfriend. He got a hair cut and he looked amazing.

We've been dating for about six month and within that time he hasn't had a cut. His hair wasn't long, but it was certainly on the longish side. I thought I liked it long, but OMG with it cut short I was amazed. I was stupefied! Even more, I was horny. I never wanted him more than I did at that minute I saw him.

How can a haircut make such a difference?

For the past few years all the guys I've been really attractive too have had the same basic look: Tall geeky clean-shaven white guys with short dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses and a bit of a belly. Think Louis Theroux. That would, in a nutshell, describe the BFE, the DG, the DG of the DG, the B.A.T.H, and a few others I've crushed on.

My boyfriend breaks the mold. I no longer prefer the Louis Theroux types. I won't give away my boyfriend's description, but he is hot! I am smitten. I have a new "type." He looks amazing and I can hardly wait for him to come home.

Three Years on and Moving On

I'm watching the V Festival on TV now. Lady Gaga is singing, "Poker Face." Watching the whole V Festival on TV makes me envious. I wish I were there. I want to be in the crowd having fun.

Honestly, I'm really bad at festivals. If you go to a festival, you don't want to go with me! I hate the crowds. I hate the mud. I hate the toilets. I hate the overpriced drinks. I'm short and I hate that the tallest person in Chelmsford somehow finds a way to stand in front of me every time. I don't get drunk. I don't get high. I'm a proper 'stick in the mud.'

I do enjoy the music. I do enjoy when people sing in unison. I do enjoy feeling like I've witnessed something amazing and moving.

Naturally, watching the festival started reminding of the 2006 V Festival (See The V Festival: Giving head during Radiohead Yeah remember the good old days when I actually wrote about sex?)

Three years ago I was at the V Festival with my Ex-boyfriend. Also in the audience was the BFE. I had abandoned my ex to look for the BFE. My mobile battery was almost dead. Communication was difficult. Miraculously the BFE and I found each other in the crowd to the left main stage: about 40 feet from the tree.

Even though months before we had ended our relationship I was really looking forward to seeing him. I had broken up with him in a pre-empttive dump; sort of like Israel and the 6 Day War.

Last I heard he had gone back to his wife. She had moved back into the martial home. The BFE and I we were O-V-E-R. But the memories of the hot sex we had were frequently on my mind. After all, there is a reason why he had the nick name, "The Best Fuck Ever"

I checked the BFE's left hand at the V Festival. The wedding ring was still on. I was disappointed.



We stood motionless next to each other during Radiohead's set. I was holding back my desire. Then during "No Surprises" he put his arm around me and all the feelings cam rushing back; all the memories; fucking on the kitchen table; breaking in the new Muji couch; the hand job in Heathrow; kissing in Mayfair; the dirty weekend in Prague. Fucking, fucking and more fucking. It was like someone opened the floodgates. I didn't hold back much longer. We kissed. We held each other. It started out as romantic but then turned seedy. I gave him a hand job right there in the crowd.

Three days later we were fucking all over again. It was a different sort of fucking. Instead of it being about enjoying each other's company it was about the release of frustration. It was sex riddled with guilt. Whereas before he and his wife had separate it was different this time. He was fucking me then going home to her. And there began the beginning of the end. And my God, what a painful end that was. (See Fallout and Foreplay)

It's amazing how things change three years on. I have a wonderful boyfriend now and the BFE seems like a distant memory. It doesn't even seem right that I'm still calling him the BFE. He's not the 'best fuck ever' anymore. He's just some dude I just to be crazy about.

It makes me excited now that my future is with my boyfriend, RTC. For a long time I seemed to go after men that were unavailable; the ones who could like but not love me. When you find someone who loves you thoroughly; the ones that give as good as they get (and I'm not talking about oral sex here) you realized that this is how it was meant to be.

I don't begrudge the 'bfe' or our time together. I do feel that I learned a lot. I learned a lot about myself. I also learned that he's the wrong guy for me. Even if you're sexually compatible it's not enough. I need to be with a guy that actually cares about me.

My boyfriend, RTC, doesn't like me writing about him. So I try to keep mentions of him to a minimum. It's one of the reasons why there haven't been many entires about sex here. He's not interested in being a part of the blog and I can understand that.

I just feel really happy to be with someone who loves me as much as I love him. I think that's the way things were meant to be.

The Trifecta

The Trifecta

I’m a huge fan of the Aussie TV show, “The Secret Life of Us.” My favorite character is Kelly, played by Deborah Mailman. Kelly was brown, bubbly and full of life, just like me.

Throughout the duration of the show, Kelly is in search of the trifecta. “Life is like a trifecta - there is your homelife, lovelife and worklife and if all is in order your life is set”

I’ve only managed to have the trifecta once in my life. Even at that it was fleeting; ephemeral. It lasted a month at the most. When I had it life was very, very good. There’s nothing like loving your job, loving your flat and loving your man (or woman). There's a certain secuurity (smugness?) about having all your ducks lined up in a row.

Then slowly it all came apart. The flat was burgled, twice and I desperate wanted to move. The BFE and I broke up. My contract at work was ended. I spent the summer of 2006 in disarray.

Since then I’ve been quite fortunate. I’ve been able to get 2 out of the 3 aspects in the trifecta, but all three at once have alluded me. As soon as I get one part in line, something else seems to fall apart.

Today is R-day. Redundancy day. There are less than two hours before I meet with my boss. I’m 90% sure he’s going to make me redundant I’ve had a week to think about things. I fear somewhat fearful that finding a new position in this economy will be difficult. I feel sad that I didn’t take another position I was offered for more money at TV company. I feel scared that I won’t find a job before my money runs out and that I’ll ultimately have to move back to the States. “Naïve New York Girl” Just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Saturday Update

This is the only morning in the past 3 weeks that I've woken up and not felt compelled to masturbate. Sometimes it feels good not being horny. Maybe I am back to my old self? It's been about a week since I've had any cock, but I'm not gagging for it.

I got a paid writing gig at YouPorn Every week I'll be writing a column and some articles for them that won't be appearing on this blog. So be sure to go there and book mark it you like hearing more from me!

When one window opens, another closes. I think I'm getting laid off from my job. I'm not sure, but I'll find out on Wednesday. So I'm using my blog to network. Anyone here work in media and want a sassy, smart and sexy girl on your team? E-mail me: me@naivelondongirl.com

And... I started seeing a new guy, sort of. I'll refer to him as RTC. Don't get used to seeing his name as most likely I won't be blogging about him. It's still early days, but I dunno. It feels different, special. Sounds cheesy but I think he's my kindred spirit. Makes me wonder why I wasted so many tears on the BFE and Mr. Charming?

Cum-Stained Coat

Cum-Stained Coat

Today I spent £17.50 getting my spring coat dry-cleaned. Last spring (or was it the spring before?) I got frisky with the DG and he ejaculated on my coat.

The DG was the doppelganger of the BFE, in case you remember. We had previously worked together. There had always been a sexual chemistry between us. The problem: he’s married; though he doesn’t like that stop him from flirting.

The DG is one of the very few guys that I’ve been mischievous with and have still been able to maintain a friendship. We met at an after-work drinks thing. He was drunk and flirting outrageously with me. I remember trying to have a conversation with someone while the DG had his hand down my skirt and was surreptitiously tugging at the back of my thong. This was a major turn on.

We were both hot for each other. We left the drinks and headed towards a deserted playground. The ground was hard and so was the DG. I put my coat on the ground so we could lie on it. I reached in his paints and pulled out his cock. It was a normal white-guy size. Five inches maybe?

He must have been overly excited. Thirty seconds into the hand job I was giving him he groaned and came all over my coat. Is that what you would call premature ejaculation? I’ve never seen it before.

Anyhow I finally managed to get the coat cleaned today. It’s been so long since the incident. Should I ask him to pay for the dry cleaning?

No Sex in 2 Months - Podcast

"We're spending all weekend together and we're not going to have sex?!?"


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Vivid and in Your Prime

Vivid and in Your Prime

My Friend, The Voice of Reason is in town from New York. We went for a curry in Docklands for dinner. A conversation perused while we ate.

ANJ: (checking mobile phone) Pete hasn't called.

VOR: I've gotta say that there are enough red flags in this relationship.

ANJ: I know. I've only been telling you the bad stuff. I haven't been telling you the good stuff.

VOR: There's good stuff?

ANJ: Yes, of course.

VOR: Sounds like you're more into the concept of having a boyfriend.

ANJ: Yes, totally, I'm into the concept, but so what. I like how it sounds when I say, "I have a boyfriend" or "My boyfriend and I did this over the weekend." Guilty as charged. It's not just about having a boyfriend, it's about the perception of normalcy.

VOR: Meaning?

ANJ: There's a whole big list of things I need to tick off before I can feel, you know, normal. Having a boyfriend is one of those things. In the perceived race for life/ being an adult, I feel like I'm being left behind here. I'm 30 and have no husband, no kids. I have a flat, a dog, and a 2-seater car. I just want a NORMAL life.

VOR: Why?

ANJ: What do you mean why?

VOR: You're fabulous the way you are. Why do you want a quote/unquote normal life?

ANJ: I'm tired of being the one who's always left out. I don't care if it sounds boring to say that I want to meet someone and settle down. That's what I want!

VOR: You've traveled around the world. You've worked in 3 different countries - on three different continents. There are people that envy your life. You have a fab job at a TV company.

ANJ: Yes, okay, maybe. I'm not saying it's a bad life, but I'm saying I want more. I moved over to this country on my own. I'm tired of doing things alone. I hate the way it sounds. I hate the way it feels. I don't want to be alone. Not now.

VOR: You don't have to settle for this Pete guy, though. You should love your self more than that.

ANJ: I'm not settling for him! I like him. We have a great time together. Are things perfect? No. But he's only guy I've been attracted to in the past year that I've had more than a couple dates with. For what ever reason, the only guys that seem to be attracted to me are bald or over 40. And he's neither. So I'm happy enough to just go with the flow.

VOR: You don't sound happy.

ANJ: I am fine. I dunno. Maybe I'm not over the BFE yet? Fuck. (Pausing while chewing) It's been over a year. When will I finally get over him?

VOR: It's difficult because you were in love with him.

ANJ: I wasn't in love with him. I just liked him a lot. I mean that period when we were dating-

VOR: Fucking-

ANJ: Dating-

VOR: He was still married-

ANJ: Separated. He was separated. His wife moved out. For that period of time things were amazing. I lost all this weight. I loved my job. We had amazing sex. Not just average sex. It was amazing every time.

VOR: And you had to ruin it by having feelings for him.

ANJ: I couldn't help it. Anyhow, I make no apologies for that period of time. Things were good. Things ended naturally. I had to travel out of the country to work and so did he. And that was that. We both arrived back into the country a month later and he got back together with his wife. Was I disappointed with that? Yes. But I cherished the time we had together.

VOR: You weren't satisfied with that.

ANJ: I was! I was! It just all went downhill at the Radiohead show. I blame Thom Yorke.

VOR: You weren't satisfied with how it ended, and you let things get out of control at the Radiohead show. You should have said no.

ANJ: Who has that willpower? Who?

VOR: You should have said no.

ANJ: Are you any better? If the guy that gave you the best orgasms of your life, who you felt deeply for, who you haven't seen in months put his arms around you and started kissing you, you think I should walk away?

VOR: Yes.

ANJ: You expect me to be the good one here? He's the one with the wife. I was just along for the ride.

VOR: If you said no you wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

ANJ: I'm not perfect. We were like 2 magnets drawn to each other. God, now we're like to magnets at polar opposites. Yes, I made the mistake, but he made it too. Anyhow with Pete, the sex is good. Things are nice, but I want it to reach that level that it did with the BFE.

VOR: These things take time.

ANJ: "And I know that I'm the most inept that ever stepped..."

Game On!

Game On!

OK, I'm back together with Pete, the disappearing boyfriend, sort of. We've written off last week's snafu to "mis-communication."

We've decided that we're going to "date" and not be "boyfriend and girlfriend." He says he's not going to date anyone else besides me, but says that I can see other guys if I want. He says he's not the 'jealous type.' But maybe I want the jealous type?

So should I see other guys? It's like getting a free gym membership when you already have one. Should you explore the other gym just because you can?

Pete says that he still considers me his girlfriend. He says that I can consider him my boyfriend, but I can see other guys. So either this is really exciting for me, or really strange.

We spent last weekend together. It was fun. Pete finally got over his condom issue. We had sex 5 times on Saturday. His recovery time after he comes is 10 minutes. Brilliant!

Even though the sex was good, I didn't feel the fireworks that I felt when I was going out with the BFE. Don't get me wrong, Pete has the skills and yes it's good, very good, but it's not GREAT.

Am I settling for "Good"? Will the "Great" come? If I don't feel it now will I ever feel it?

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.