Mystery Solved

Mystery Solved

No, not the Mystery of the Disappearing Boyfriend, but this cryptic message I received four days ago:

Subject: VIP Event Invite
From: "Driedonpaper"
Date: Mon, November 10, 2008 6:33 pm
To: me@naivelondongirl.com

Hi Anjelika,

On the 13th November a new device designed to keep you in social sync more than ever before will be unveiled. We thought you'd be interested in coming along and being involved.

As our special guests, you and a friend are invited to this exclusive event to witness how this new product will impact your life and social interactions. Taking place in a premier East End London venue, there will be music from Disco Bloodbath, The Unabombers and Hexstatic are on visual duties and there'll be plenty of free food and drink.

We'd like you to come along as you have an interest in using social media, such as your 'naivelondongirl' blog and your use of Twitter. This new device will have a big impact on how you use social media to communicate.

This is VIP only and places are very limited, so please confirm your attendance ASAP by replying to this email and we'll put your name and a plus one on the guest list.

The party starts 5:30PM 13th November. More details to follow.

Matt

What's even more intriguing is that some people received invitations in the post. Look at these photos below courtesy of Miss Geeky




Above photos courtesy of Miss Geeky Miss Geeky.

I'm a sucker for free drinks and VIP parties, so naturally I was there tonight with the Ex in tow.

So what was the big mystery? The was a launch party held by 3. It was good night there. Open bar, good food, good conversation and a nice venue. I got to demo the new 3 Inq mobile phone. I should be getting one in the post within the next few days, so I'll let you know if it lives up to the hype.

It other news, I finally got a new job. I'm waiting to get everything in writing before I celebrate. Fingers crossed it will all go through. Pete sent me a message congratulating me. I don't know if that means anything, or if we're still 'going out.' I will just take things in stride and hope for the best.

I’ve Heard it all Before

I’ve Heard it all Before… I’ve Heard it all Before… I’ve Heard it all Before… I’ve Heard it all Before…

“I hope you’re in a better mood now then you were last night,” the Ex said as I met him in a bar on Upper Street, Islington.

“I am ten times worse!” I exclaimed.

“What’s wrong? Bad day at work?” He asked.

“Yes. Bad day in general. This world would be such a better place if everyone just did what I said. I’m tired of people not following through with shit.”

“Huh?”

“I’m tired of hearing excuses. You know that Madonna song, ‘Sorry’ ?”

“Since when have I listened to Madonna?”

“She has this lyric, ‘I don't wanna hear, I don't wanna know
Please don't say you're sorry. I've heard it all before. And I can take care of myself’”

“It doesn’t sound like that good of a song,” the Ex muses.

“That’s not the point! The point is between my I.T. team being completely unreliable and my internet dates being completely unreliable, it’s driving me crazy.”

“That’s why I don’t date. See, I told you this dating thing wouldn’t be all wine and roses.”

“I had a deadline today at work and the whole of the I.T. team left at 4:30. I was fucked!”

“It is a holiday!”

“It makes me look like a shithead when I can’t meet my deadlines. I’m trying to get this programme up and when the I.T. team fucks off at 4:30 and we’re due to go live at 5:00. I’m fucked! I’m totally fucked!”

“Shhhh, calm down, Anjelika."

"It makes me do mad. And do you realize I’m supposed to be on a date right now and look where I am?”

“With me,” he says scratching his labret.

“Yeah, predictably with you,” I grumble.

“You really should just date people from work and friends of friends.”

“I know, that would be ideal, but there aren’t that many single guys at work.”

“No one’s gonna fob you off if you’re going to see them the next day. It’s easy for these internet dates to cancel on you because you’re nothing to them. They’re not gonna see you tomorrow at the water cooler. They’re not going to bump into you in the lift…”

“I’m gonna stop giving out my mobile number. It’s too easy to text and cancel. I’m just gonna give out my home number.”

“Oh don’t do that!”

“If they want to cancel then they can phone me up and do so. Otherwise it’s too easy.”

“Anj, these guys are flakes. Better that they flake out in the beginning rather than later in the relationship. You’re better off without them.”

“I know. The thing is, I’m not mad at any one particular guy for canceling. Everyone has an excuse. Maybe they’re valid, maybe they’re not, but I’ve had 9 cancellations in 14 days. “

“Jesus.”

“It’s frustrating. It makes me want to quit this dating thing all together.”

“I bet.”

“You realize that the only ones in my life who have never let me down are my dad and my dog.”

“You really should see an analyst, Anj.”

“One day…”

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.

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.

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.

You’ll Never Pull with Your Ex Around Here

You’ll Never Pull with Your Ex Around Here

Ahhhh, Saturday mornings. I enjoy simple pleasures: Light streaming in from the balcony. Petting the dog. Laying comfortably in bed with no need to get up. And masturbating until I cum so hard I have to take nap.

It was a brilliant morning, rather, afternoon. After waking up and using my vibrator to cum twice, it was 2 PM. Where had the day gone?

I had some lunch, took the dog for a long walk then ended up back in bed. I fired up the vibrator again. I orgasmed, fell asleep and woke up 4 hours later.

I wasn’t spending Saturday night in. No way. I decided to go to a club. The question was: who should go with me? Wanda? Another girl friend? The Ex?

I debated hard if I should invite the Ex. On the plus side, we share the same musical tastes. On the minus side, if I take him I’ll never pull – and pulling is half the reason I want to go out. I could go by myself. But that seems so…. desperate.

I did go with the Ex. Funny how when you’re hanging out with the Ex you see tons of good looking guys. The Ex and I enjoyed the music. We had a laugh. We had some drinks. Then we went back to his place.

We watched some telly, and then I made a failed attempt to seduce him. Yes, I was feeling horny and even though his bedroom skills are lacking. Something is better than nothing, right? I don’t want to insult him, but just might be the WFE. (You figure that out!)

So we’re sitting on the sofa watching TV. My head is leaning against his shoulder. My hand is resting on his stomach. Slowly I move it down towards his cock,

“Anjelika!” He scolds me.

“Hey, come on. It’s been ages since we had sex. It was like 13 months ago?”

“Are you counting?”

“No. But the last time we had sex was the day went to the fun fare. And that was sometime last year.”

“You have a bad memory. We had sex like 3 months ago.”

“Huh? Did we. I don’t remember? It was so bad it was forgettable!”

The Ex looks at me annoyed.

“This is not going to happen.”

“Blah! Party pooper.”

I wasn’t mad. Just slightly annoyed and seriously horny.

I Turned Down a Four-Some

Finally, I’m working again, yay! It’s been three long months doing fuck all. My days of unemployment would have been enjoyable if I had bigger savings to live off of. But having foolishly squandered a big chunk of cash on my Brazil trip, I was living off peanuts – literally! In some ways Brazil was really worth it, but shit, I wouldn’t go through 3 months of being poor again.

Anyhow, it’s great to be back in a job. I’m a producer at a major TV network. I started working last week and so far its fantastic! I spent all Friday in Paramount’s offices working on a deal for an upcoming film. Then I got to see an exclusive preview of the film, Transformers. Sweet. Something tells me I’m gonna love this new job.

Tuesday I saw Interpol at the Astoria. I was so unimpressed. Before they made it big I saw Interpol play in some bar on Avenue A in New York. There were probably 30 people in the audience. It was great show. A friend of mine who is friends with Carlos D dragged me there. Back then I was very impressed. In New York there were so many friends’ bands I’ve been dragged to see. Interpol was the best of the lot. I met the band after that small show, but I really don’t remember much about it. I think I saw Carlos D. a few times after that at Motherfucker. Wednesday, however, Interpol were so fucking bland. All their songs sound the same. I couldn’t even tell which songs were their new ones.

Wednesday, I was on TV, Big Brother’s Big Mouth. The host was John McCririck He’s so fugly. I thought he was ugly on TV but in person he's worse. His wife sounds like an illiterate monkey when she reads from the teleprompter. The show was shite.

Thursday I treated my ex to dinner at a fabulous Indian restaurant, in Islington. I just wanted to say thank you to him for being so kind and lending me money when I was poor. The meal came to £95. Ouch. But I was in luck. Their card reader was broken. They brought in a replacement card reader. That was also broken, so we got the meal for free. Sweet!

Friday after work I met Wanda in a Starbucks on Carnaby Street. We talked about our podcast, our upcoming show Wed July 11, and we talked about the men in our lives. Or in my case, the lack of men in my life. We got some drinks in the Social. I bumped into a friend from my job last year where I was working on the World War II documentary. I asked her to catch me up on all the gossip. She said she didn’t have any so I said to her,

“I’ve got some gossip then: I fucked C.S.”

She looked at me, stunned. I know I’m a bitch. She has to go work with him on Monday. Somehow I didn’t care.

I was thinking about CS today. In some ways, I did genuinely like him. His quirkiness, his jokes. I liked that he liked me. I like that we both had a secret form the world. But as soon as I got the “fuck off” vibe from him, his ass was grass; and I was the mower.

Maybe he was the type of guy who could only handle a theoretical affair. The realness of our intimacy may have been too much for him. Still, for him to cast me aside like I was yesterday’s news was wrong. I know, two wrongs don’t make a right, but sure makes me feel a hell of a lot better!

After the Social Wanda and I wandered over to the Crown and Sceptre. We bumped into Ginge, a guy Wanda was once been besotted with. Coincidently they had been texting each other 10 minutes before we bumped into him. Through Ginge we were introduced to a few BBC radio producers. Naturally, I offered up my card.

After the Crown we went for a cheap Chinese meal in Chinatown. I took a night bus home and spent much of Saturday sleeping.

Saturday night I got a call from Mr. TV Presenter. Remember him? He asked it I wanted to go out to dinner and later have a four-some with him and couple he knew. Part of me was thinking, “Yeah that sounds exciting!” The other part of me was completely grossed out. I dunno. I sort of don’t want to share Mr. TVP with 2 other people at the same time. I still might do it one day, but i'll depend on how horny I am.

Besides, I've already done the four-some thing in college. Yes, it was fun, but a rather strange introduction to lesbianism.

Anyhow, I had plans with my friend the Soundie. The Soundie and I were going out to dinner. “Where do you want to go?" I asked him.

“Oh I’ve heard about this fantastic Indian restaurant in Islington.” I ended up back at the same Indian restaurant as Thursday.

Hand Jobs, Heroes and Video Games

Just got back from the Ex’s flat. We had dinner in Hoxton. Vietnamese. Yum. Afterward we went back to his flat to watch “Heros” and to play on his X-Box.

We were sitting on his sofa watching TV when I felt the need to play with his dick. He was wearing button flys (damn him!) so it was difficult to reach Georges – that’s my pet name for his cock. Why do guys insist on wearing button flys? It just makes it difficult for us women.

He unbuttoned his button flys making easier for me to get to his cock. I rubbed up and down his shaft. He felt restricted by his trousers so he took them off.

I placed my mouth on his cock and bobbed my head up and down. He laid back and smiled.

“You’re so hard,” I told him.

I was wearing a jean skirt, a tight black jumper and black panties. I pulled my panties off, hitched up my skirt and sat on top of him, trying to impale myself with his cock.

“Let’s do it doggie style,” he urged.

I obediently got on all fours and assumed the position. He jammed his cock inside me. It freakin’ hurt so much. Is my hole closing up? Am I going convex?

“This isn’t gonna work,” I said.

As soon as I moved off him, his cock softened.

“Rub it until I get hard again.”

Being the overachiever that I am, I took his cock into my mouth once again. I sucked on his head, tickling it with my tongue. I used my fingers to simultaneously stroke the length of his cock.

“Oh, that feels good,” he whispered.

I took his cock out of my mouth and started giving him a hand job.

He was hard. Very hard. Suddenly he sighed loudly, “Oh yeah.”

His hot cum shot out of his cock and slid down my hand.

“No, no, no, no, no!” I shrieked. “You’re not supposed to do that yet!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hold it in. But if it’s any consolation that’s the best hand job you’ve ever given me.”

“I feel robbed,” I yelled back, “You owe me a hand job!”

He laughed at me, “I have to get to bed now so you’re going to have to leave.”

“You just came on my hand and you want me to leave?”

“Yeah. Is that alright?”

I didn’t say it, but I was thinking, “You are out of your fucking mind!”

You understand now why he’s “the ex.”

Sex and the Ex

Wanda and Anjelika discuss:

- Censorship and Radio Presentors
- Anjelika's latest bedroom action
- Upcoming Brazil Trip
- Falling asleep during Masturbation
- The guy Wanda fancies
- Guys on the Rebound
- Wanda's search for a "Gap-year Guy"
- More about the New York Trip

Naive London Girl
http://www.NaiveLondonGirl.com

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