Sienna's Lovers

It is nice to feel wrapped in a cushion of the real thing, not some imposter like lust or fleeting fancy for someone you've just met.

In a weird way, this reminds me of the kind of emotion I associate with family, although of course I want to do things with him I wouldn't want to do with my brother or cousins!

Yes, he gets on my nerves occasionally and I on his, but that makes no difference to the priviledged position we hold in each others' lives.

I could have him go out with a female friend, an ex, receive texts or emails, whatever, and never doubt the place I claim in his heart.

After dancing last night I felt tired and sweaty but it was so nice to have someone expecting me at home! I went straight to his door rather than my own and he was so happy to see me.
Although his health still wasn't great - like me, he finds it impossible to take things easy when he's not feeling well and had done a million and one things, including drafted up a detailed response to an extremely nasty email from his soon-to-be ex wife.

I've never read anything quite so shocking in my life. Nasty, offensive, vitriolic, below the belt and then some. Poor guy. I didn't really know what to say, so I just hugged and kissed him to show him I was there for him always.

We are planning a holiday, which also depends on his health and whether or not he will be able to return to the UK within 6 hours if any complications arise. Yes, most places with a human population thankfully have medical facilities, but it is a slight risk to bear in mind in the case of travelling to Africa.

I went to his bathroom to have a shower, and he sat on the laundry basket watching me, as I soaped my hair and body.
"You are looking very good these days" he compliments me nearly every time I take my clothes off, and he apologised that he couldn't join me as he couldn't stand up very well because of the pain.

So I titillated him by running my hands across my frothy body, and smiled and kept up the chat.
"What are you doing to me?" he laughed, and dived between my legs the moment I settled on his sofa.

He borrowed a tux from some other neighbours for an event tonight, and this is the first time they found out about "us" - how could they not, with me emerging from his flat in his bath robe with a towel around my hair, and him taking his dressing gown off to try on the jacket in the hallway, displaying his white pants to everyone!?

I am so, so happy that I feel so comfortable with him and trust him, and that sex is a small part of our relationship, which started and continues without it, but it is a nice bonus when we do make love...
We talk about it.

We also talk about having a baby, and many of these chats are instigated by him, not me.

I met up with a female friend on Sunday, and her boyfriend met up with Jake, and independently they questioned us about our relationship.
"Y warned me that you want children", he said "according to him some of your previous relationships finished because of that".
"How dare he" I flared up, jumping off the sofa in a mad rage, "that isn't true. My relationships failed because I was cheated on or lied to, or the person just wasn't right. People don't leave me!!"

Jake calmed me down, which he knows how to do after being my friend for so long. "Chill out, I told him that how did he know that I don't want the same, of course I want children, this is why I got married".
I know that, of course, and it's what I told Y's girlfriend, X, when she asked me the same thing. "You know if you want to settle down this year, Jake may be the wrong person" she said as we walked along the river, blasted by October winds. Settle down? This year? "What do you mean?" I asked her, "I don't think you know him as well as I do. And we have talked about starting a family..." She seemed surprised. Just why does she think she is telling me new information? What does she think I've done with him every week for almost a year, if not talk, and possibly mention how broody I am etc; is she forgetting that he was there the night I went to A&E with the miscarriage, and did I never mention to her that he tried IVF with his ex!?

"What about financially?" she probes me further. Of course, that is a concern, but not one of hers. Any partner in this endeavour will be a bonus for me, who was considering becoming a single adopter in the future. He is good with kids. He doesn't need much sleep. We own a property each. He has a supportive family, and assets abroad. An income, possibly even an inheritance. I am not worried. I have a secure job with a generous maternity package, and we are both so excited about the prospect of becoming parents.

"You know, that is what I was planning all along", I tease him, "when I met you outside the polling station and you were waiting for your wife two years ago, my plan was to seduce you one day. I've been working away at that plan ever since".
"Just what I was thinking", he shoots back "here comes the perfect vessel for me to procreate with! I saw you and thought 'she will bear me a son'!" I fall into his arms, laughing and savour his kisses.
Nobody makes me laugh like him. Some of it is gallow's humour. "I used to feel selfish for wanting a family" he says, "as I may not be around for them. But then again, anyone could get hit by a bus tomorrow..." My take on it is that kids are a great reason to want to keep living. "If you wanted, you could just be an arsehole to everyone so nobody would miss you" I tell him, "but isn't it better this way?"

He tells me he will speak to the clinic to remove his ex' name from his sperm deposits, and put my name down for them.
"When we try it, I want to do it fresh" he tells me, "it will work better this way and I am in better health now than when we tried before. The motility was good. But I don't want her to have it, and you know there's been cases when someone's wife wanted to get pregnant but couldn't, because the paperwork wasn't there. So I want to make sure I sign it over to you so if in the future you decide to have a baby and are considering sperm donation, at least you can say 'I knew this chap' and you can use mine".

My eyes well up. "Nobody's done anything this amazing for me before" I tell him before I have to sniff, and I hug my face into his frottee chest. It feels so good to be on the same page.

"My nipples are so big" I tell him a bit later, "maybe one of your high-motility sperm swum around the condom..."
"Don't be daft" he replies, "they are just big because I am teasing them" and he continues to run his thumb over my left nipple.

He kisses my neck on his sofa, urgent, keen, smacking kisses. I don't want him to stop. "So nice how you don't just kiss my neck to turn me on, or turn yourself on" I tell him, squirming. "You kiss my neck because you love my neck". He smiles at me and nods.

"This is so much more than just friends", he says as he holds my head close to his chest. "So much more".

I get a text that tells me he's been fantasising about me in the morning. The next text says: "I picture the look on your face, the way you look when we make love".

"Ha ha, I am such a slut", I laugh after one of my stories, spread across his sheets as we take a break from rolling around in ecstasy. He places his hand on my ribcage just below my left breast. "You're not a slut in here", he says.

I admit I wanted to wait to get closer, so I could get my bush into shape. "I didn't want you to have to battle through months of growing out my down-there afro" I tell him, "so I cut it yesterday". "You prepared your pussy for me?" he asks, chuffed. Hmm, yes... I blush at the thought of having had to get the hoover out to remove the small pile of pubes from the bathroom floor I am not sure my flatmate hadn't seen.

"You'd look gorgeous when you're pregnant" he tells me, clearly not concentrating on his Sunday paper. "All happy and glowing...". I am not so sure of that: "I think I'll just look like a fat blob" I smile, pulling myself into a sit-up with my still perfect stomach muscles to plant a kiss on the side of his mouth.

"Thank you for supporting me, more than you know" he tells me, eyes locked on mine and only just pulling out of a kiss. "I didn't want to spend another night in that place". I agree, it's not great to worry about someone you love in hospital, so I picked him up as soon as he'd discharged himself. "You should definitely have kids young" I tell him, "whilst you are young and fit, before you turn into an old wreck". This may happen sooner than we both fear...

"Why do you think the way you view a friend differs from the way you view a potential lover?"

"Why do you think it's a waste of time if you spend it with someone just for the company, who may or may not be Mr Right?"

"Maybe some relationships just have to grow; you don't need to rush it, just see what happens. Things develop at their own pace"

Not sure whether this lady is a psychic as well as a shrink...

Hey Sienna,

I was in the train station the other day and was looking for something to read for my journey and i came across YOUR book!! I haven't been on this site in a whole year or even blogged but when i saw it i suddenly remembered and I just HAD to buy it!!! I love it!! Iv gotten half way but it's good, i remember reading some of it on this blog but anyway i just wanted to say that its a great book and that i hope lots more people buy it because im enjoying reading it.

:-)

-----------
Wow, I am blushing... THANK YOU!!

"Please excuse another 'Friends' analogy" says Jake, green eyes sparkling "but there's a really good one: Chandler and Monica!"

He always compliments me on my clean bathroom, but am I really THAT anal?
Also his jokes aren't always as cringe-worthy as Chandler's.

On the other hand, I don't think that is what he means...

Looks like I had a lucky escape from the bigamistic clutches of CrazyCraig, aka the Mad Banker (see October/November '08 archives).

Glad I wasn't the fool to accept his diamond, or any more of his crazy stories!

Apparently my "crazy" instincts aren't so bad after all...

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1219741/Victim-lying-Major-TA-girl-fell-serial-fantasist-said-hed-Army-medic-fighter-pilot-psychiatrist.html

For years, I'd been shaving my muff within an inch of its life, following Cashmere's comment that "hair traps smells".

Not that I had a bulk of sofa stuffing down there beforehand, far from it - I kept it short and neat and the sides clean enough to prevent offense to eyes which spied on me in my bikini.

The first razor adventure (resulting in me nipping my labia with the electric trimmer, as detailed in my book) was only the beginning and left me completely bald, until I discovered the joy of KB's five-bladed Wilkinson with the silver handle, and the appeal of the landing strip.

However, there's a reason that the general ladygarden area is called a pussy: its silky hair, if left au naturale.

Nowadays, this bizarrely doesn't seem to appeal to grown men anymore, although many of them leave their own hedges untended - unless they suffer from a mushroom cock, severe penis envy or are firmly convinced metrosexuals not averse to the "boyzilian" or experiments with their own electric trimmer.

Instead, they prefer the bald appearance reminiscent of nine-year old girls in slutty underwear, ideally topped by a bulging DD chest with rock-hard nipples.

Well, sorry boys - no apology needed actually - I am very proud of my soft and cuddly hairy patch of silky ladygarden, and I am not ashamed of its smell.

After all, why pretend a pussy should smell like a rose? Would you like a rose that smells of cunt?
No. Neither should you want a clit that tastes of a bar of soap.

Of course, washing is essential. We wash our dishes, our cars, clothes, arm pits and toilets, so good intimate hygiene will of course improve your own natural smell. Hearing tales of girls who taste of piss and feeling like the human equivalent of a flannel when faced with carefully cultivated cock cheese I shudder and want to spit on my keyboard in disgust.

I said "don't try to smell like a rose", not "make sure your crotch attracts the flies".

On the other hand, there is something appealing to the smell of my fingers after running them through my thatch after a vigorous run in clingy sports underwear. Fragrant and musty, like wood moss on trees in the autumn. Warm and familiar, a smell that says: "sniff me, go on" rather than repungently repulsive.

I am not surprised some choose to rub their silky secretions behind their ear in moderation.

Of course I wash my hand (and my body) after the above exploration of my intimate smell, after all when I am finished running I am dripping with sweat and the shower is calling.

I don't revel in my own BO like Bitchy Jones, and neither would I expect anyone else. Nor do I expect to be confronted with a sticky man-jungle or day-old, sweaty pits.

If anyone bolts screaming from my beedroom door when they are confronted with the fluffy appearance of an adult woman, I will happily wave them to the horizon.

Has anyone seen that YouTube song: 'Hairy Bush Woman'? They sing: 'It's like you got pants on - but you're naked' and features an array of Barbie-like chicks with huge clumps of wigs-turned merkins sticking out of panties small enough to double up as tea bags.

Sorry honey, did you miss the memo? I haven't got pants on, I AM naked. Just because no one-eyed snake is poking out of my bush doesn't mean I have any more clothes on than you do.

It annoys me that some people seem to look at sex outside of established relationships as a sport or a hobby, to be enjoyed with new partners they don't know very well - like tennis or a pint in the pub.

Yes, we are free to fuck who we want, whenever we like - society won't bat an eyelid at snogging strangers in a bar or a groping couple on a street corner, and our parents aren't likely to care or even know about any risk to our reputation.

However unlike tennis or beer, sex within conventional fledgling relationships comes with a very different emotional implication.
Whilst one half of the randy couple may see it indeed as sport, a short-term solution to an itching libido, the other person may expect the tryst to lead to something more lasting: an affair, or, indeed, love, marriage and children.

If our tennis partner or pub mate doesn't return our calls after the last outing, we're not as likely to be emotionally devastated by this abandonment of a shared pursuit - we just find someone else to play or drink with. But if the removal of clothes is involved we usually feel a smarting pinch of pain at our partner's loss of interest.

The 'romantic comedy' "(500) days of Summer" illustrates this dilemma perfectly well: One party just wants something casual (the girl) and then goes on to marry someone else, whilst the other party (the boy) falls in love with her and makes her mix tapes.

In my experience, once someone is compelled to make you a mix tape you have lost your casual sex buddy and gained a wannabe boyfriend!

It is almost impossible to pull back from this brink, and reign in the horses of passion to return to a normal friendship where you don't swap bodily fluids.

So it is best to keep these two areas strictly separate. If there is a chance of you being interested in someone beyond their tennis or round-buying skills, it is best to keep things as chaste as possible so true feelings on both sides can develop. Or, if they fail to do so, to provide you with a cushion of dignity instead of an STD scare.

Keeping developing relationships celibate and civilized gives the guy a chance to fall in love, and the girl a chance to avoid falling prey to that addictive post-shag hormone, oxytocin, as described by Kate Taylor in her vital guide to chaste dating, "Not Tonight Mr Right". The other advantage is that you can get to know several people at once without having to change your sheets every 24 hours.

But what is a girl to do who has the emotional needs of Bridget Jones yet the libido of Samantha Jones? Kate Taylor seems to think you can just wean yourself off desire by stopping to play with your rabbit.
I disagree and say that the answer is simple: Leave your sex life to a professional environment dedicated to the pursuit of casual sex.
If you pick up a guy in a vanilla (straight) bar, the parameters are too confusing. He (or you) may be expecting a quick roll in the hay whilst you (or he) could be looking out for someone to swap rings with. This is a misunderstanding and heartache waiting to happen, so not a good start!

There are websites, saunas, clubs and escorts all delivering what they promise and nothing besides - apart from some honesty.
You don't have to worry yourself sick about what may or may not happen like on a straight night out, and if the expense is worth it, because usually what you are looking for will happen.
If you spot a cute guy in a bar he may not be available, yet not tell you, and you might end up disappointed if you get sexually involved with him.
If on the other hand he is at the bar in a certain type of open-minded club, the blonde next to him won't turn into a face-scratching bitch from hell if you try to talk to him, but may ask you to join in with them later. No lies, no awkwardness, and no guilt. And above all, no disappointed expectations.
Once you've had your fill of weekend frolics, you can then return to your rota of chaste dates with a clear conscience and a big grin - until you decide you like one of them enough to make it someting exclusive, and more permanent.

(silly me submitted this to the Londonpaper 2 days before the rag closed. Duh!)

It was fun, great to see him again, but very very well-behaved. Ok, our flirting could have set the table cloth on fire (if indeed there had been one), but I didn't kiss him or anything inappropriate.
He is with a wife who'd be upset if she knew he'd met me. That's all I needed to know...

Date with an internet interest last night.
Have I blogged about him before?
He is tall, cute and blonde, 30, works for a local government office... glasses... I don't think I mentioned him actually.

Last date was fun but he doesn't have any qualities that stick out massively (or at least not that I could tell from a first meeting). I shall call him Gemini Boy, after his star sign.

He is bubbly and interesting, but (yet again) a bit square. Maybe the more I indulge my inner kinkster the less interesting will everyone I meet appear!?

Anyway, the first date was fun, we had coffee, then dinner, interesting conversation (he was a bit shy at first but soon loosened up) and then he didn't get in touch for ages.
Turns out he never received the email I sent him after we met up, and he is off on holiday soon so we decided to get together one more time before he leaves.

He'd tried to book a restaurant which was unfortunately fully booked, so then it was up to me to come up with an alternative.
Based on the location we met, I immediately thought of a posh and pricey place I'd been to once before, but I warned him: "It's a bit pricey" to which he replied "that's fine".

In my book, that means I shouldn't worry about the cost, he'd take care of it.
He also suggested a few other places which I was open to, but then he said we should go to this expensive restaurant.

It really is nice and very lovely, and I picked a mid-range dish. Mine cost £15 and his £21. Plus rice, veg and a starter, things started to add up. I dithered about whether to pick a cocktail or not, and he encouraged me: "Go on, you can have anything you like". Hm. Again, I expected him to foot the bill after this, or I may have stuck with water!

So we had a cocktail each, at around £10.

More nice conversation, a bit flirty as you'd expect between two Gemini, just your classic anecdotes of friends & family, getting-to-know-you stuff.

Then we are told our table is needed, and the waitress brings the bill. Usually, the guy would whisk it out of my eye line and discreetly open it to check the amount and slip his card or cash inside, then handing it back to the waitress or leaving it closed on the table.

On this occasion, Gemini boy opened the wallet with the bill on the table between us, leaving it right in the middle and expecting me to take a good look.
"Uh-oh..." I thought, as I spotted the three-digit amount. Before the dot.

He didn't dig his wallet out straightaway which I took as an ominous sign. The waitress hovered. I said: "Told you it was pricey.."

And I got my bag from under the table. Daunted by the £60 about to hit my deflated current account (there was also that issue with the parking clamp Tennis Boy received when he helped me put up some furniture.... and my own car insurance...) I still suggested we split the bill, as it was what he seemed to expect.

And he happily accepted! I dithered about which card to subject to this torture and settled on a credit card- maybe next month I will be a bit more financially stable and this dinner will be OK. But come on, £60 for a mid-week dinner is extremely extravagant on a secretary's salary. Everyone would agree.

Anyhew, I thought I'd keep on my happy face and leave my wallet firmly buried in the bottom of my bag for the rest of the night.

Waitress returned with the bill split almost in the middle, and I ended up with the slightly larger amount. Darn. 10p but still, it hurt!

Needless to say, I didn't feel flash enough to add a tip on top of the service charge and felt slightly deflated.

Here's the thing: he has a good, meaning managerial job, free travel, lives in central London and asked me on the date. Happily accepting that this place was "pricey". I should have said: "it's too pricey for me, I couldn't afford to eat there. Not unless it was maybe someone's birthday who I've known longer than two dates". Or something like that.

That'll teach me.
And him, as he didn't get a kiss goodnight - and had to pay for the next round of drinks.

Although he is nice a couple of my friends are now discouraging me from seeing him again. Might as well wait if he gets in touch when he returns, I already text him I'd also like to see him again, but preferable at a location unlikely to bankrupt me.

I am soo excited today, as I have a lunch date with the sexy boy who thinks I am a playground for adults. Ok, we were both pretty drunk then, high on pheromones, covered in pineapple juice and one of my nipple tassels had fallen off.

So I took it as a compliment.

I need to behave like a lady, and find out about the state of his marriage (!).

Hey sienna

Read your book and loved it! Have passed it on to a couple of my friends and they think its great!
Have learned alot about not getting too attached to guys I have known for 5 minutes and start to get close to, it can be hard! Multiple dating is so much fun, but Ive found you always prefer one so much more than the others, and spending time with the other guys seems almost pointless when your mind is focussed on some1 else.
Have taken a liking to having sex in risqué places, you have totally changed my opinion of sex, and why we have it. I now see it as fun, adventurous and exciting!
Just like you I have a tendency to get hurt by guys I subconsciously fall for, but you live and learn, and come out with fantastic memories.
Thankyou for such a great read, it made my holiday this year even better!
Finding it hilarious that guys are claiming to be your ex's on the internet!
I truly hope everything works out better and better, I wish you all the success in the world for future novels.

your loyal fan and reader!

C. (19)

I get the feeling my life is on a loop.
Why do I never spot the large "REPEAT" bars before I crash into them?

Let's recap:
Breakup [with Sweet Ex (2004)/GB (2009)], then a shorter fling-thing (quite intense) [with Pinocchio (2005)/BBB (2009)], another nausea-inducing break-up and straight onto the rollercoaster of fetish clubs, lesbian kisses, married boys, dirty pirates, phone sex buddies, not-so-sure's (but ok company), internet dates and long-distance rekindled romances.

The only difference being that in 2005 I fucked all of them when the opportunity arose, and now I don't. Which is more fun, as I feel less confused and guilty, my sheets are cleaner and there's always room for one more.

I am no longer willing to stretch my comfort zone, lower my standards or expand my tick-list to include undesirable habits or appearances, so I just cream off the best from the top.

I can snog Mr Adult Playground, have Strawberry Boy go down on me in Ginger Boy's mansion, go to the theatre with Tennis Boy, have Sunday walks with Veggie Boy, visit the fetish scene with slave boy and my Bi Friend, and enjoy the resulting banter during home-cooked dinners with my 'platonic boyfriend', Jake.

OK, I have days where I am horny as hell, but I just stay up late so I'm too tired to masturbate and the urges go away. Then I have saucy dreams about faceless strangers, or familiar faces in odd circumstances.

Went to the races on Saturday with Jake, Nicola and Tennis boy. Apart from Jake everyone lost more money than they won, but it was fun nonetheless and the weather was gorgeous.
Being the argumentative types, judgemental Nicola challenged feisty Jake over his looming divorce whilst Tennis boy and I commented on the sunset.

Back at mine, Tennis Boy helped me set up some flatpack furniture, the others went home. Suddenly my buzzer went.
I had exchanged some texts with a friend who suggested dropping in later with another girl and her flatmate, to which I said yes but that they'd have to bring some food as all that was on the agenda for the night was laziness and watching a DVD.

So I opened the door to find not only the three girls, but also two Swiss boys I'd never met before.
"Remember the surgeon..." one of my friends whispered to me, and I looked up at them blankly. "I wasn't expecting anyone else" I told her, and opened the door to my flat fully so they could take in the chaos of bits of wood and screws strewn around the hallway behind me..

"We are just putting up a wardrobe" I told them, "it's not really a party..." - which they clearly expected, judging by the bulging bags of crisps and alcohol they were carrying.

I'm not sure how this bit of miscommunication occurred, but it worked out well for me. Whilst the boys busied themselves with the flatpack, the surgeon putting the screws and other bits in tidy rows according to their size, us girls sat in the lounge with wine and pizza.

Today is what would have been my due date.

Been running at lunchtime, trying not to look at pregnant women.

Onwards and upwards, as they say...

My hung over date with Veggie Boy was nice, but I found it a struggle to keep my eyes open and my voice working as the afternoon progressed.

I enjoy his company, but there just isn't enough of a spark to make me want to keep seeing him whilst he clearly expects something more to develop.

What would be the point? I may as well just come clean. Yes, people have grown on me in the past, but the small doubts I had about them from the start usually don't go away and always contribute to the inevitable breakup further down the line.
I just can't go there again.
He is handsome, intelligent and good company, but there is just something about his personality that doesn't gel with mine.

The thing I like about Tennis Boy on the other hand is that he is so reserved about making an approach, either by certain comments or being physical, so I feel more comfortable with him. He doesn't overwhelm me, and whilst that sort of thing is nice in someone you have passionate feelings for it is just awkward from a person you're not sure about.
Yes he has wiped a strand of sweaty hair from my forehead after our latest game of tennis, and he has touched my cheek to remove a speck of glitter, but he doesn't try to kiss me or make any other sexual gestures.

After our snog goodnight I knew what may be in store for the end of my meeting with Veggie Boy, but I definitely needed to spend more time talking to him before I let him kiss me again.

And here is my dilemma: If there is a large portion of passion and sexual attraction involved, that spark we all look for and ideally insist on in any sexual partner, who cares what they have to say?
If all you want to do is snog their face off and roll around with them, who has time to find out their political opinions, relationship history or preferred country for holidays?
On the other hand, passion wanes and someone who we're not compatible with on an intellectual level will lose our interest or respect over time.
But what is the point in building a sexual relationship with someone who is a great conversationalist with similar opinions, if you dread snogging them or cannot imagine getting naked with?

Irritatingly, ironically and more and more frustratingly the only people who have really sparked my passion are in some way unavailable or just not interested to build the type of relationship I envisage.
Screw you, Strawberry Boy!
He kept on texting all afternoon and evening, suggesting I should have invited him over and being all sexy and seductive - but ultimately as crap as Tall Boy at his worst. I. AM. NOT. GOING. THERE. A G A I N!

So I had to stroke my pussy to sleep on my own. Knowing he was in a friend's spare bedroom less than a mile away, probably doing the same (not that he has a pussy, but you get what I mean).
He is confident, cocky, cute, assertive, passionate and interesting. And moving to Cornwall. And seeing the Duchess of Herts.
I just knew if I'd invite him to come over we'd have a really passionate fuck after which I'd cry orgasm-induced tears of happiness only to wake up feeling empty next to someone I don't really know, and who doesn't really care about me.

Then we have one of the slave boys from a recent party, the one with the really nice cock.
He started texting me (what is it about Sunday afternoons? Do people just sit at home, horny and bored, scrolling through recently acquired numbers from naugthy clubs?) and suggested we meet up.
Hm. I have no idea who you really are but you have a really handsome penis, what do I expect to happen between us? Do I want this? And why not give me more warning?
"You told me I have a nice cock" said Cock Boy, and I replied "That is true, but that doesn't mean I have to sit on it".
Which brings us to Monday morning - just switched my naughty phone on and here's what he wants me to know for the week ahead: 'My cock is hard and oozing pre cum on my fingers. Let me work my tongue into your pussy and dark tight arsehole, lick and suck your feet and fuck you as you wish! x'
That sounds rather exciting, but not very submissive at all.

Shopping Boy has invited me to come to a fem dom club with him, and I am tempted - not that I want to meet Cock Boy there, as I now know so graphically what he has in store for me!

The Pirate has also sent a few texts to let me know he's back in town for Halloween. I told him my bruise has thankfully faded now. He was cute but far too aggressive in his technique and I don't want to repeat an experience that leaves me with a painful arm and bum cheek for a week.

Veggie Boy emailed to confess he is seeing a therapist (always prefereable to not seeing one, in my opinion) and Tennis Boy confirmed our theatre date, so this looks to be yet another exciting week... even before I've heard back from the married guy who compared me to an adult playground. If he were available, I would restrict access to just one person, no questions asked.

Why can't chaste dating just be a little bit easier!??

I always wonders who the mugs are who write or, indeed, reply to these ads.

"Girl in black coat..."
"Handsome in grey suit..."
"Boy, about 5, in Spiderman outfit"

OK I made the last one up, but come on, this could be ANYBODY!
And who ever remembers whether any of the 200+ strangers ogling you on the average tube journey was remotely hot enough for you to bother replying to a stupid ad like that?

What if it wasn't the handsome guy you remember from the Northern Line, but the ugly geek from the Jubilee Line? What if they stood up and turned out to be a bit vertically challenged?

Worse still, what if you replied and turned up at a date with your keen suitor, only for them to take a look at you that told you they don't remember you AT ALL and were thinking of a different hottie altogether!? Who also happened to own a red scarf, brown briefcase, a brunette mullet or purple Chucks!?

I prefer a slightly less subtle approach, which doesn't have to be overly brave or offensive.

The other day, spotting a sexy man 2 seats away I found an excuse to move closer to him (by giving up my own seat to a woman with child, thus appearing saintly altruistic at the same time) and when my stop approached I stuck a little note with my number in his hand.

Sadly, I never heard from him but I felt so brave! And not at all stupidly apprehensive like one of those people who wait in vain for the object of their between-stations crush to stumble across their ad in the LondonLite.
At least I knew the guy had a chance to contact me directly, but chose not to, for whatever reason. Instant closure!
Perhaps he was unavailable, unable to find my number on the receipt and just thought I wanted him to know what I had for my lunch from Tesco, or he didn't fancy the size of my arse as I beat a hasty retreat through the sliding doors - who knows, but at least I took a realistic chance to see him again.

A similar thing happened to me on Friday.
Having recently had a change of heart and hairstyle, I am surprised at how much more approachable my new, short and shaggy, darker cut makes me to men - were the nice and decent ones just intimidated by my Barbie-blonde curls!?
So anyway, I was returning home from a friend's shop launch late on Friday, fairly sozzled from pink Champagne and tired but happy, minding my own business reading "Tease" by Immodesty Blaize.
Suddenly a small yellow post-it landed on my open book, courtesy of a shaggy-haired Spanish looking guy who'd been looking at me from across the aisle of the train carriage.

I unfolded it and found this note: "Hi, I don't know if the book you are reading is telling you about how to 'tease', but truly you don't need it. You are very beautiful (a sort of inner glow). And yes, the heels were nice but you look even more lovely in your flat shoes. Have a nice night"

I was really flattered, and a big grin spread across my face. So he'd been watching me take my heels off on the platform, and wondered for the last 4 stops how to make his approach! How kind, brave and just forward enough to be intriguing without appearing sleazy.

He looked around nervously as I continued to pretend to read, and avoided my gaze as I raised my eyes to him. I wanted to tell him it was just a novel and not a strip manual, but I think he was too shy to actually have a conversation.
He jumped out at the next stop and I wondered what that was all about. A simple compliment, or an attempt to exchange contact details? Why hadn't he put his number on the note?
He wasn't really my type, but that sort of assertiveness is just intriguing enough for me to get in touch with someone.

I showed the note to my lodger at home, and she agreed it was a nice compliment. As she turned it over she discovered his email address and name on the back.

I think I may just write him a thank-you note and tell him it made my night - see what he says?

Trying to write with a hangover is a bit of a challenge.
I have to keep goin g back and deleting typos but I have to get this down or I will get all confused!

5 glasses of water and 2 orgasms didn't brign me back to sleep, the neighbours' kids were making a racket and I had a raging hunger for something a bit more substantial than Muller Corners, so I am up now... well, in my PJs still and watching Parsi Hilton's best friend, feeling like my insides are turning to mush.

I don't get headaches much, though - thank heaven for small mercies!!

Just no voice, a dry throat, dizzy spells and that tiredness that comes from carousing until 4 am at a naughty masked ball, my bare chest (save for some nipple pasties) covered in champagne, pinapple juice and gold body paint rubbed off a fellow carouser whilst slow-dancing sensually.

The boy I snogged at the end of the night, a tall, reddish-blonde vision in a frilly shirt, gold waistcoat and tight grey trousers licked the champagne his friend poured over us as we kissed from my chest and told me: "You're so much fun, just like a big playground - but for adults!"

I have to agree with that! I feel like I am a walking attraction to all sorts of guys and girls right now, apart from the tall boy I had kissed my friend who was dressed like some sort of harem girl and displays the occasional bi tendencies, and a short, busty woman who ate pineapple out of my hand, then pulled me close for a snog. A tall lady in a tight green dress and bobbed hair twirled me around the dance floor too, and gave me a goodbye kiss on the lips with her lipsticked mouth. The 22-year old Prince William sound-alike in a golden mask and unbuttoned shirt was whisked from my reluctant claws by some mousy chick in a ball gown, and so I had come into the capable hands and under the eager tongue of Adult Playground boy.
Tragically, he's married...
"My wife and I sleep in separate rooms... no kids, just a cat..." he told me when I enquired further. "You'll miss the cat" I told him and we continued dancing.
I was disappointed - I really don't care whether he fucks his wife or not, but I don't want to be the reason some other woman may get hurt.
My aching feet forced us onto a chaise longue, my mask was slippy with sweat and my arms sticky with juice from various fruits I'd been cutting up, eating and feeding to eager mouths. I lifted my mask to wipe my brow with his tie, and he stared and stared into my face. "You are so beautiful" he exclaimed, and launched a series of soft, then more passionate kisses onto my open lips.
An expert kisser, I hadn't had a nicer snog since Strawberry Boy at the country house, and he asked for my number as the lights went up and the cleaners started making their rounds.
My friend clattered over to me, ankle bracelets chiming; she had finally ripped herself away from the South African top-hatted man in full tails who had been making dull conversation with her in some dark corner.

"I'll take you out for lunch soon" AP boy promised, "that's innocent, isn't it?" thus rendering his earlier assurance about the separate bedrooms somehow obsolete.

I debated whether to take one of the dead partridges hanging up everywhere for decoration home for Sunday lunch, but the irony is that I am meeting Veggie Boy later.

So no help to be expected in plucking and gutting the bird I held in my hand questioningly, which looked like a suicide-by-rope victim.
I left the sad animal behind and jumped into a cab with my belongings, nipple tassles now in my handbag but covering my nakedness with feathers and my mac.

So - Veggie Boy. Along with Tennis Boy he is one of two suitors trying their hardest to woo me, neither of them any the wiser to my chaste dating philosophy.
Last week we had a wander around the Thames Festival and ended the night admiring the fireworks and going for a late drink at the BFI bar where we had somewhat of a confession session. He is a nice, intelligent, interesting and handsome guy who has also been knocked around by disappointing relationships, a kindred spirit but possessing somewhat meek personality. A typical internet date, someone who'd never in a million years have approached me in a bar or anywhere.

We met a few weeks ago over passionfruit cocktails and have been out a few times since, but I can't detect much of a spark. Nonetheless, the emotional closeness through our conversation made him bold and me comfortable enough to share a nice long snog goodnight on Charing Cross Bridge. I think he is smitten, but I just like him enough to continue to get to know him and hang out until the ginger boys in my life stop being in relationships (like Strawberry Boy and AP Boy) or disinterested (like Ginger Boy).

The other big plus about him is that he is even broodier than me, were this possible. Still I am not that much of a cynic to stop believing both of us deserve the "whole package", not just a partner-in-the-sack to procreate with.

Tennnis Boy is the guy who took me to the park picnic date, sharing a bottle of champagne, a nice dinner and never-ending smalltalk. He interrupts me when I speak and talks ten to a dozen, asking frequent inane or irrelevant questions, but I think that is mostly to do with nerves and a slight personality clash - i.e. we can be scarily similar in our clumsy conversation style which leads to both of us rabbling on at the same time. A bit exhausting, but at least he shuts up when we play tennis or watch a film or play. He is an attentive dinner partner, a generous buyer of theatre tickets, recently single, so respectful and not sleazy. I feel comfortable with him but no sexual attraction whatsoever, and I wonder occasionally where he sees this leading.
He lent me his jacket the other night when a smelly tramp sat on mine, so he is the perfect gent - just a shame he's not sexy to me and has the misfortune of sharing a few traits with traitor GB.

I revel in the attentions bestowed on me by all these lovely people, and there is no pressure, no boredom and no guilt. I think I have finally sussed it. If I just want a quick poke I can find the likely candidates in the obvious places, and anyone interested in me beyond the contents of my knickers can very well prove themselves in a variety of other ways. No more restricting access to my mind, time and pussy to an undeserving cheat like psycho GB, who didn't appreciate the year-long exclusive play and gave me such heartache in return!

The latest addition to my harem is a guy who took me out shopping yesterday, no strings- he just likes to be bossed about by a dominant woman in control of his credit card! He was cute like a petite Michael J Fox, just over my own age but a few inches shorter, submissive but not boring and very well educated and able to express an opinion as well as carry my bags when another addition had been made to our afternoon's haul. We took in the more upmarket underwear shops around Notting Hill, and I was strapped into a corset for the first time in my life. The pricetag looked prohibitive to me, but as the afternoon progressed I doubled his spending limit he'd set for our little outing before I knew it!

I tortured his card for all it was worth and accumulated some kinky and some "vanilla" undies (just giving him a very brief flash, once, completely voluntarily), expensive bright pink heels and a matching leather belt, a new hat, the mask, and the promise to that lovely corset at some point in the future. To stop feeling guilty over shamelessly using a sweet guy I'd only just met I let him take me for a glass of bubbly to wind down the evening, and got into an S&M conversation with our waiter! I just couldn't resist pinging his braces onto his nipples, and he loved it...

Ok, off to have a shower now before Veggie Boy gets impatient!

Who is selling my book for 47p!?

Where did they find it??

And how is that worthwhile business?

Just showing off...