Sienna's Lovers

I can't wait until I can do it again.

I mean, until I can do it again with Jake, meaning really until HE can do it again with ME.

His scar is looking much better (although I'd probably want to take my eyes off it whilst he takes me) and he feels much fitter, but it's best to be careful.

I was upset last night after learning from a work mate that she's 4 months pregnant (you can't tell, I look more preggers than her with her eternally flat tum!) and I felt silly for struggling with holding back my tears.

Jealous and feeling stupid because of it I slunk into Jake's flat until he'd teased out of me what was making me feel blue, and he gave me a big hug.
As he was eating his dinner I knelt by his feet and put my head on his lap whilst hugging his legs, he patted my head and told me: "I can understand you, and I'm annoyed with myself because I just want to bang you" - instead we are going to have to go through that whole sperm washing malarkey.

Never mind, our time will come as he told me repeatedly. "You look so cute" he said as he stroked my stupid, tear-streaked face.

Yes, it's a blessing that I still look shaggable when I'm upset I suppose.
And I refuse to think and worry about things not working out for us when I look forward to watch that other girl's stomach grow in such close proximity.
I got over the other girl's pregnancy too, eventually, the one whose due date was a week after mine. She gave birth to an adorable little boy and I feel nothing but happy for her - all resentment gone.

But one thing's for sure: I'll never tell any other girls without being asked what it feels like to be pregnant. They may already know.

... as of tonight!

Jake bravely persisted with the oral last night after I paid him a fleeting visit following a night out with the girls, but I can tell it will be more fun for both of us once I have been plucked and pruned.

We couldn't have sex because of his own "fanny" (as he calls his viciously stapled scar) and the still swollen surrounding tissue, so we just watched each other masturbate instead.
He is actually the first guy I have known to look utterly cute and edible when wanking, usually nobody's wank face is that attractive!

He wouldn't stop biting my tit and I laughed and said "You're the last man I want biting my tits who I've not given birth to!". He loved that comment and continued sucking and biting me, more gently.

I used my thin vibe up my ass as I stroked my clit to orgasm, and he pushed a finger in and out of me whilst focussing his attention on my face, then my wet crotch.
We came at the same time, me noisily, him messily. Nice - shows how we are synching even when we don't have actual sex.

So - another sex blogger's anonymity bites the dust.

What is it with the public's obsession to unmask every last anonymous blogger who happens to have landed a publishing deal?
Are people THAT bored of gritty, real-life stories which can only ever be honestly told from behind a veil of pseudonymity?

After all, which person's true life story has ever become more fascinating through (self-) censorship?

Is it perhaps that the sex blogger's intrusive pen has become second only to the toothed vagina in the top ten of a straight man's greatest sex paranoias?

Perhaps the worry that every bit of pre-coital conversation, every move and squelch may be analyzed by a woman's probing mind and pored over by an international community of one-handed readers could be enough to cause men to behave in a more respectful way towards their conquests, girlfriends and spouses!?

Wouldn't that be a good thing?
Why try to find out who every last one of these women might be, as some things are better left private.

If you are the man who expects a woman to suck you off after your cock has made her bleed, if you are the guy who never calls a woman again after you enjoyed each other's company for a night of passion, if you're a guy who cheats and hurts women with your deceit, if you bite someone as you take her doggy-style so her arm is blue for a week, or if you encourage her to eat in an expensive restaurant, then refuse to pick up the bill - perhaps you should be worried she may explore these experiences in a blog, but it should also be in your interest that she (and therefore you) remain anonymous.

Everyone has experiences worth writing about, but only some of us do.
Most people have demanding jobs or families that leave them no time for creative self-expression, and yes, it is the necessity to stay in the mainstream workplace that compells sex bloggers to remain anonymous as it is only the very few and lucky ones who can afford to live off their earnings from writing full-time.

And it maintains a balance in our writing, as it would be a boring read indeed if all we ever did was go on dates, fall into bed and write about it the next day since that would hardly reflect the majority of our readers' realities who have a full life, including a 'day' job and may find it a challenge to relate to someone who doesn't.

Belle didn't want to stay a call girl forever, and had the sense not to rest on her writing laurels as she didn't want her whole persona to be defined by her sex life.

People's priorities change, and once she is a busy working mother she may not find so many tantalising things to write about, so, like many people in the arts, she realised that being a sex writer can only ever be a temporary career. And her ambitions were higher than that, anyway - the reason she needed the cash in the first place was to fund her PhD.

Why did she keep a blog about her work as a hooker, you may wonder? Probably for many of the same reasons I kept a blog about my multi-dating experiment:

1) To keep track of people you've spent time with, as it is so easy to forget things that may make a cool memory to re-visit once you are a wrinkly geriatric.

2) To be part of a community. People in office jobs, on the shop floor or a hospital, in fact most professions I can think of have the daily support of colleagues, and an environment where they can communicate with other people on a regular basis and not feel isolated. As a sex worker (like Belle), someone contracted to a film set for a limited period of time (like Zoe Margolis) or a freelancer/temp as was the case with me when I first started blogging you can get very lonely, and to join an online community of bloggers who also share intimate details of their personal lives feels very nice and supportive. It is less lonely than "just" being a writer, and is a great incentive to carry on writing if that is your favourite medium of creative expression.

3) To make sense of it all. Sometimes we doubt our own choices and the wisdom behind the path we have chosen, so to write these doubts and reflections down can help order our thoughts and to learn from our experiences. When I realised that many of the things I was going through were just repetitions of episodes I had written about previously, I discovered a pattern of expectation and subsequent disappointment which made me change the way I looked at and did things. I've always kept a diary in order to do this, and it's a great tool for introspection and learning your life lessons in order to make better choices.

4) It's a form of repentence. People who go to church give confession and feel a weight lifted off their minds, so occasionally it can feel very liberating to off-load some niggling thoughts, get them down on paper/on the web and move on with your day. Nobody's perfect, but to acknowledge that fact is usually a great step to feel better about yourself. At least you may have made someone laugh in the process if you're the author of a widely read blog.

5) To show that you matter. Yes, you may only be a person struggling along in your everyday life like anyone else, failing to meet Mr Right/stay on top of your student debt/find a decent shag once a week/get the French father of your daughter to take an interest in your life - but check out the 300,000 words you can accumulate about nothing but your sex life in 3 years! What a result!

6) To use your intellect. When you are in a dead-end job where you feel underchallenged/freezing daily on a film set/on your back with your knickers around your ankles for most of the day, where does a woman get to use her little grey cells!? Start a blog! Your writing style will soon improve and you'll get a kick out of collecting an eger community of horny readers. If your posts are boring, you won't - so you'll have to try harder.

As for why you'd want to stay anonymous!?
1) Not necessarily for your parents' sake. It astounds me that so many commenters on articles related to Brooke or Zoe's outings say: "Her parents must be proud! Not!" as if it were something shameful to be a best-selling author.
Because the books contain graphic descriptions of sex!? Blow me down, I have an incling that most people's parents may have partaken in a session of hot nookie or two themselves! Simple biology...
Also, parents have a knack for being proud of their kids - be they single teenage mums, recovering drug addicts, in prison, working in Boots, high court judges or window cleaners.
The only thing parents may not be so proud of may well be to read hypocritical, judgemental comments of their small-minded offspring online, showing off their limited intellect to all the world!
As it happens, my mum is extremely proud of my own achievement af getting my book published, despite its embarrassing title. She even showed it off to my 93-year-old grandma. They've not read it though, apart from the acknowledgements.

2) To keep your mortgage. Whilst many employers may not look kindly on you spending your spare time blogging about what you got up to between the sheets, it is your own business and hardly a reason for sacking someone, but it may be embarrassing to face your boss or work colleagues in meetings if they know the contents, scent and intruders of your knickers in detail. So you may feel less comfortable at work which could influence your performance.
I don't think I have enough interesting things to say to keep the pennies flowing in based on my writing alone (especially in this economy, and pay cuts in the media left, right and centre) so I wouldn't want to try. But in order to keep my job, flat and pension I prefer to keep my two identities separate.

3) To spare people's blushes who appear between your pages. Some accounts of sexual encounters aren't flattering, and after all it's personal so you should do your utmost to protect people's true identities. You may have met your ex' conservative parents or done something you're not proud of which you then tried to come to grips with in your writing, so the confession you have decided to share with the world should remain confidential.

If you are open with the ones closes to you, you may be pleasantly surprised however. There's nothing better than showing off your achievements to and sharing your success with the people you love, and their support is vital.

Since the news of Belle's outing broke, my boyfriend has offered to sign any legal disclaimer which would prevent him from doing the same as "Owen" (mind your head now, dear), and I've had nothing but support for my own writing from close friends and my family.
Needless to say, they are all open-minded, intelligent people who enjoy sex!

I can relate to when Belle says she felt worse at times about her writing than about having sex for money, that sort of secrecy whilst an aspect of you is in the public eye can be a burden to bear, especially if you are simultaneously acting all secret squirrel and trying to promote your book in order to increase sales to a respectable number to allow you to recoupe your advance.
The over-eager snappers at most book events and various related Facebook groups don't help, but it is surprising at how many of these events you can get away with a comedy wig and glasses!

After all, it's much more fun being a secret agent with a hidden double life than a snoop...
I won't claim that my writing persona is saving the city from crime like a female Batman or Spiderman, but discussing gender differences and sex taboos honestly may help to make the world a better place for some fellow horny females.

So Belle de Jour 'decided' to "out" herself.

I hear it is all to do with a bitter ex boyfriend, who instead of resulting to blackmail would do well to keep his head down and say a prayer of thanks for having been involved in her life in the first place.

I don't know who he is, but I am sure she never set out to hurt or harm him, whatever she did. She comes across as honest and in possession of her integrity and full mental capabilities in her writing, but that doesn't protect a woman from occasionally inviting an utter arsehole into her life.

I just hope it will all work out for her in the end, and judging by mostly supportive online comments about her story it seems like things will be just fine and dandy. I relate to her assessment that anonymity can be a bit of a burden.
As far as I know she did in fact go to her book launch, disguised as a waitress, but I didn't go to mine. Not that I had one organised for my book's launch anyway, just a little something I set up as a cross-promotion with Cherry Jam, but it wasn't busy enough for me to safely show my face although I wore an Ugly-Betty style wig!

As for the people who think Belle's parents will be shocked: How do they think they conceived her in the first place!? Is sex really still that much of a taboo in 2009?! And getting paid for an activity you enjoy doing anyway?
The amounts of times I'd thought how much a little cash could have sweetened some of my more disappointing sexual encounters... But to this day I always answer any questions at the GUM clinic relating to receiving money for sex with a chuckle and "I wish" (at which the nurse usually laughs and ticks another box for "low-risk" patient). Unless you count being paid as an erotic non-fiction author of course!

Just think of all those people stacking shelves in Boots, sitting behind the check-out at Sainsbury's or driving night buses. Don't you think they'd enjoy their jobs a little more if it involved silk, lace, expensive dinners, champagne and hotels, stimulating conversation, an orgasm and £200 an hour!??

Anyway, that was my two pennies' worth for today - I am off for a run as long as the sun is still shining, leaving Jake to play around with repairing his camera. He still can't move much and the staples next to his hip bone make him look like a horny Frankenstein's monster, but he is feeling much better, thanks!

WHAT FELLOW BLOGGERS HAVE TO SAY ABOUT BELLE/BROOKE:
http://troubled-diva.com/2009_11_15_troubled-diva_archive.html#9219121044717272770
http://www.techcrunch.com/2009/11/14/nsfw-belle-de-jour-brooke-magnanti-anonymous-blogging/

And why anonymity's important to erotic non-fiction bloggers:
http://girlwithaonetrackmind.blogspot.com/2006/08/outcome.html

... and discovered I'm about to ovulate.

It is one of those tests that detects the LH surge, for those of you not knowledgeable about the wonders of fertility-prediction hardware.
http://www.firstresponsefertility.com/easy-read-ovulation-test.php?show=info

So I showed the stick to Jake, as in "what do you intend to do about it" and his response was a not-very surprising: "big fat nothing" considering he was in pain and is about to go into surgery today.

Also we don't think that sticking his sperm into my blender would be as scientific as letting the fertility clinic do the sperm-spinning procedure which separates the little buggers from their potentially infectious bathwater!

Needless to say, I got a bit sexually frustrated, and so did he. As he keeps his flat at near-tropical temperatures I soon became too hot and my jeans too uncomfortable, so I took them off. Soon after, I removed my top too, just to tease him a bit and to feel more of my skin against his t-shirt as we sat watching "True Blood".

"If I were a vampire, would you be a vampire with me?" he asks and I chuckle at the parallels. Not that I would want to share his current blood-borne status but I sometimes feel as though I have certainly made a brave choice in the specialist group I've now started dating into.
I say I'd think about it, maybe consider it once my looks were starting to fade - and he turned his face around and made a cat-like hissing noise, which startled me and I screamed, then fell about laughing as I hugged him and he tried to get at my throat.

"I love you, Jake" I cannot help but tell him at every opportune moment, hugging into him on the sofa with my head on his chest, feeling so very contented after he cooked me an amazing meal.
"Me too" he says.

"If I got a dog, would you look after it for me whilst I'm at work?" I asked him after the programme had finished, but he doesn't like dogs. "I'd kill it" he goes, and I know he doesn't mean it but he then explains that he wouldn't keep a dog in a flat despite the fact that our neighbours have two.
"It would be a small dog" I tell him, but he says: "when we have a house, you can have a dog". "A house?" I can't help but feel pleased that he has thought about that kind of future for us, "Yes, if we are going to have a kid we should have a house" he confirms, "but we could wait til the kid is two or something, and then move somewhere bigger".

Count me in!

Something I just submitted to the Worst Review Ever blog...

Half a star from Elaine Emerton on Facebook's Visual Bookshelf (LivingSocial application):

"To anyone considering reading this book, my advice would be: don't waste your time! Sure, it's titillating enough, with the author being very frank about her sexual encounters during a period of multi-dating after a painful break-up, and the "finding yourself" story that eventually pops up in the epilogue is sweet enough. To reach that, however, have to go through 300 pages of writing from a woman who is, at least as far as I am concerned, not very likeable at all. This isn't some kind of prudish thing because she wants to "have sex like a man", all power to her elbow on that score. It's just that, for me at least, she appears to have a very high opinion of herself, and I can find nothing in the narrative that would make me warm to her. I found myself not caring whether she found love, which I am sure is not what the author would hope for! If all you want is some cheap titillation, then go ahead and read this (though the interent might be a cheaper option!), if you want a good read, find something else."

1. When and where did this review appear?
It doesn't have a date, but I discovered it when I joined the Visual Bookshelf application on Facebook in October 2009.

2. How did you happen upon the review?
I checked if my book was listed in the Visual Bookshelf, and alas it was! Closely followed by this damning onslaught on my not-very-likable personality.

3. How did you feel immediately after seeing the review?
I was intrigued. Having been spoilt by nothing but good to brilliant feedback about my first book, it was interesting to read an opinion that was so different from the mainstream.

4. Did you do anything in response to the review?
I sent it to you!

5. If you did something in response, how do you feel about said reaction in retrospect?
Good, because it gives me a chance to share my response to her review.

6. What other steps did you take in an effort to assuage your pain?
Thankfully I am not in pain at all. If this lady doesn't think I come across as likeable, that is her opinion and well done for persevering in reading on about the fate of someone she doesn't care about. I also think her review has some positive elements despite the low star count, she says that "the "finding yourself" story that eventually pops up in the epilogue is sweet enough", which goes some way to ease the blow that this complete stranger doesn't find me likeable.
As a non-fiction writer you always wonder and worry about just how badly you are stitching yourself up, and I didn't make a huge effort to justify any of my not-so-cute behaviour or feelings. My main aim was to be as honest about my experiences and emotional journey as I could in my writing, and to be honest I am amazed not more people who read the book don't like what I have to say! I wouldn't say I have a high opinion of myself, rather the opposite - but the editing process removed any reference to me seeing a therapist as a way to deal with the emotional lows of my quest, so probably some of it came across as a bit haughty and one-sided.
If you decide to share your flaws with the world there are bound to be a few people who don't warm to you as a result of that.

7. How long did it take you to get over the pain and humiliation of the review (assuming you got over it)?
Five minutes.

8. What, if anything, positive came from receiving your WORST…REVIEW…EVER?
I think she has a point, and I will make an effort in my next book to come across a bit more sweet and fluffy. Or perhaps not. I think all of us have a "dark" side which we commit to our diaries or hide in the deeper corners of our memories, the difference is that mine got published. I write under a pseudonym so she doesn't really know who I am and my friends all warm to me or warn me if my opinion of myself gets too high , so I don't take this personally and try to use it as constructive criticism instead.

9. Anything you’d like to add?
Thank you, Elaine, for throwing some balance out there on the web amongst all the four and five-star reviews! They wouldn't help to reign in my high opininon of myself, but your review has certainly helped me to keep it real. I also wanted to add that you cannot read it "cheaper on the internet". In order to complete this book I went through a year-long editing process which cut down the total blog word count of around 300k words to 95k, and includes 'friends only' entries which aren't visible to the world but only select blog friends. So if you would like to read my story despite what the lady above has to say, you will have to order it on Amazon (where occasionally copies can be found for 50p or less, which I think is probably cheap enough).

---------

I thought I just had to share that with you!

Dear Friends

if you have read and enjoyed my book or my blog, please could you take a few minutes to nominate me for the New Venture Award 2009, as awarded by Women In Publishing?

http://www.facebook.com/l/566a7;www.wipub.org.uk/awards/index.php

The deadline is November 16th (yes, sorry - that soon!) and this award honours women who have made a courageous departure into uncharted territory - i.e. discovering that "having sex like a man" isn't necessarily compatible with a woman's psyche, but that trying it for myself was one hell of a ride.

The blurb about this award says:
"Since 1987, the New Venture Award is presented to a woman or group of women who have embarked on a challenge that pioneers into new publishing territory. The venture/idea should be new (less than 3 years old) and untraditional."

Whilst screwing around isn't really a new idea as far as I can tell, the genre as a publishing phenomenon didn't become popular until 2006 when Girl with a One-Track Mind's memoir came out.

So please support me in becoming a more widely-known (and award-winning) erotic non-fiction author by making your opinion known!

Thank you
Sienna
xxx

I love being with Jake because

1) He doesn't consume me.
I am still myself, and he is himself. I don't expect to change him, and I feel good enough in who I am when I am with him. I make my plans, and he makes his, but usually we let each other be a part of or party to these plans which is fantastic, but not restrictive. I look at him as an independent entity, one that I am neither responsible for nor held accountable for his actions, but I care deeply and want to be supportive to him and continue to be supported by him.

2) He is communicative.
His mouth is wired to his brain with no detour, and he shares freely and lets me share freely what is on my mind. He doesn't misunderstand me and is always willing to elaborate when I ask him to.

3) He is sweet and caring.
Nothing changed there, then, but it is all on a much deeper level than when we were "just" friends.

4) He is honoured to be in the next book.
I was worried about that and ready to change anything he'd ask me to, but he is happy with being committed to print

5) He firmly plans to have me in his life, and be in mine.
But again, this isn't restrictive - it feels like the ultimate freedom, supported by an extra pair of wings.

6) of his musical talent
Sexy, impressive, amazing.

7) His sense of humour so closely matches mine.
We laugh and joke all the time - and it all feels normal, yet special to be in his company.

8) He is mischievous - and loves my own mischievous streak. Playing, dressing up, winding each other up, throwing grapes, flirting, watching evangelical preachers on late-night Sky rather than porn - you name it, it cracks us up!

9) The trust between us. I don't have to ask him or worry, I just know. And he knows. There is nothing to worry about, and nothing to jeopardise what we have. I absolutely know where I sit in his heart, and where he sits in mine. It is a niche nobody else can occupy, and I have earned my place, as has he. A lovely feeling!

10) He is brave and active, a doer.

he reassures me when I warn him that I am letting all grow out to visit this wax lady in around a week.

This is the least I can do to show my solidarity with his pain as he is about to undergo his operation.

I just love his sense of humour! Literally, that was his response when I said I worried about being a hairy lady for a while...

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.

:-)

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

Reading the papers on Jake's big warm sofa yesterday, basking in the afternoon sun light through the French windows I felt happy, content, lazy, well-fucked, much loved.

We'd been out all night at a slightly debauched masked ball in a stately home, didn't sleep until well past 6am and an early-morning snack, followed by affectionate love-making.

Why did it take me until the age of 32 to discover that nothing comes close to making love to your best male friend?

I've never made an effort to make him like me. I've never made an effort to like him - we just do. He grew on me, and I on him.
Through mutual support, much, much laughter, a lot of communication, nights in front of the telly (talking, not watching), casual dinners, days out with friends, nights at the pub and discovering more and more things in common without the differences driving a wedge between us.

His constant, unselfconscious talking keeps a permanent window to his soul which allows me to feel connected to him and trust him, and I know I can share things with him too without being judged.
If he gets on my nerves or I feel I need time to myself I just withdraw back into my own space down the hall, but it has been remarkably pleasant to be around him.

We had a couple of bust-ups as friends before and made up again after, which makes me hopeful that any disagreements which arise during our new-found status as lovers will also be dealt with and sorted out without the need to question the entire relationship.

"I love having you here" he said as he stroked my face, having come in with the morning papers to stir me from my sleep which had lasted well into the afternoon.
With him being a bit of an insomniac I had the whole bed to myself. He didn't snore or annoy me one bit, and waking to his green eyes and generous smile was a treat.

"I never expected this to happen" I told him as I stretched naked on his sheets "and for everything to feel this nice, this natural...".

I think we must have both been in denial for a long time.
"Doesn't it make you sick, these couples that go: 'I married my best friend'" I said with an ironic undertow, and let the sentence hang. I think we are both discovering it's not such a tacky statement after all.

"Without giving too much away, I feel more for you than I ever did for my ex" he says, looking across at me from behind the Sunday Times. My legs are stretched across his lap and my silk nighty feels warmed by the sun as I wrestle with my Guardian from yesterday "And I married the bitch"...

Hm yes, so it would appear. They are getting divorced. I've always liked her and witnessed his suffering when she left.

"Don't call her that" I say.

Fancy that, me taking the side of an ever-present ex. I know my position in his life, in his heart. And nobody can take this away from me.

He raises the subject of children again.
Yes, we are talking babies...

To be continued.

I've decided never to meet a man again
a) via the internet
b) at a carnival

a) 1: because of the recent jailing of the Crazy Banker and the potentially dangerous consequences of getting involved with someone like him. Big clue of craziness: how long do we have?
a) 2: because of the emotional and financial pain involved in the aftermath of my liaison with BBB, aka the Crazy Count. Big clue of craziness: ever heard of someone communicating with an ex girlfriend via his lawyer for the sake of £200?

If you don't have a good back story on someone and see with your own eyes that they have a support network of sane friends and family, best stay clear until you do!

b) 1: because I was beaten and emotionally abused by my first boyfriend, who met 1995 in Notting Hill - on the street. Big clue of craziness: within the hour he told me he loved me, and within a week he wanted me to be the mother of his children.

b) 2: because I was cheated on, lied to and betrayed by GB, who I met 2008 in Frankfurt - on the street. Big clue of craziness: his perma-imbecilic grin, smelly pits and declarations of love within an unrealistic time frame.

NB: Never trust a man who hasn't known you for a reasonable amount of time before he tells you how hot you are.
Whilst you are busy cavorting around with crazies, cheats and abusers, someone perfectly lovely and affectionate could be living down the road from you, being your friend and confidante, your support in tough times and you may miss out on some truly blissful times with someone who actually knows and cares a lot about 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

I am a bit confused about my feelings for this boy.

Now he has opened the door to a whole new dimension of relating to each other (i.e. watching telly with my head on his chest, snuggled up against his body whilst he strokes my hair), I don't know what to think.

Or whether,indeed, thinking about it is a good idea at all.
I should look at it not as though losing something (an open, honest, supportive, bantery friendship) but rather as gaining something interesting (kissing, cuddles, affection, love).

I don't want to change anything about my behaviour or the way I relate to him, and neither do I want him to change.

But on the other hand, perhaps sexual jealousy will arise as soon as we have crossed that line.

So far, I am not particularly keen on overtly erotic exchanges on a physical level, but he said that when he kissed me at the party he "meant it".

On Wednesday eve I went across the hall to his flat with some food I wanted to cook for myself and we had a bit of a discussion, which was more fun than scary.
"I spoke to my friend about you" he said "and I worried that I might just lose a great friendship, so let's not be awkward about this. You know me, I wouldn't be weird..."
I said: "I know, I'm not worried... I told you not to wear that aftershave!"
He looked at me with that new expression that seems to dive straight into my heart, and asked: "So, what I wanted to ask is will you kiss me again?" I said I wasn't sure. Not right then I wasn't planning to, anyhow.

He leant over and pulled me into his arms and turned my face to meet his lips, and I kissed him back for just a second before twisting away and saying "not at the moment, thank you".

It felt a bit strange to make this sudden leap from friends to being touched in a sensual way but we cuddled up in front of the TV with my head resting on his chest and my head cradled in his hand as though we'd been waiting to do this for a long time.

"This is nice" he said, "I feel very relaxed" I replied. My shoulders were stiff from trying to avoid a photographer at a literary discussion all evening. It was very interesting but I got stressed and paranoid at two people snapping merrily away from all angles throughout the talk and I began to feel I was running out of ways to hide my face behind my hair or scarf without arousing suspicion.
As I picked up one of the books when the authors sat down to sign them I got approached by one of the overzealous snappers: "Can I take your picture" she asked, innocently, camera poised. "No thank you!" I screeched and turned away, beating a hasty exit to the tills.

He met me for lunch and we went to the park to sit by the pond with curious geese and psychotic squirrels to listen to some tunes he'd picked out. The sun was shining into my cleavage and he looked at me through his Ray Bans: "Nice view" he said, and it took me a split second to cotton on to the fact he was perving at my tits.
"I don't really want anything to change between us" I sad as we walked back to my office, "I mean I want to keep doing what I'm doing and I want to be able to talk to you about it, and I want you to be able to continue doing what you want to do without being weird or jealous." He told me how he'd felt weird about accepting a girl's friend request on Facebook who we both met at the party on the weekend, but I reassured him that I had better things to do than spy on his profile to see if he had made any additions to his female friends.

"That's a relief" he said, "because that's the regime I have been under", meaning his ex wife.

"I want to be able to go to visit Strawberry Boy in Cornwall if I feel like it" I told him, "and someone has invited me to a Swingers Party. I don't know what will happen, but I don't want to feel bad about it or not tell you".

It boils down to the fact that I don't want to care what he does, but if we become more intimate I might. "I may be just like all the other girls" I said to him, "I worry what will become of our friendship if I go all weird or jealous, and you know I can always find things out. Guys aren't that good at hiding stuff, it will always come out in the end"
That isn't the kind of relationship I want with him, at all.

Last night I sat on the floor in his studio (he's an artist who works from home at the moment) and he told me how he'd thought about what I said about the potential for jealousy or things becoming weird. "I was thinking about what you said, but then I thought you might really be worth it".

I just looked at him. That was a really special thing for him to say, and coupled with the fact that he'd given me the most meaningful present I can remember getting lately (some sheet music of a slightly obscure band I like) I felt really happy and close to him.
I decided to change the subject and talk about something a bit more light-hearted. "I think I've lost my slave". He didn't seem to care: "so ditch him, who cares". "Well" I replied, "why would you care whether I have a £200 corset or not... it is really nice, red and made out of silk".
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Right", he said, "I think that's done it, stop talking about corsets". "I can't even get it on by myself" I teased him, "I'd need you to help. And when I scream I need you to pull the strings even tighter".

I watched him squirm on the chair with a cheeky glint in my eyes. "I'm a bloke, alright" he laughed, "I don't care who is talking about corsets, but it just makes me think certain things about you".

He knows more about me than any other suitor before him. Although he only got halfway through my book before having to abandon it to his sister's clutches.
Eerily enough this doesn't make me feel strange or uncomfortable, as we have shared so many other things with each other and I've always been open with my friends about my sex life, as they have about theirs.

"I'm going to have to buy your book again" he said as we kissed goodnight. Maybe this will give him some idea of what he is considering taking on.

"You are such a nice person" he'd told me that afternoon, "I mean any of this hasn't affected you in a way that's made you nasty or anything" (he is not the only one to marvel at my ability to constantly get back on the horse with unbridled enthusiasm). "Everyone who knows you is lucky to know you". Went down like warm cocoa on a winter night.
"Ha, I am not THAT nice" I replied, "wait til you get to the part about what I did to Pinocchio's flat".
"Which one was he again?" he asked.
"The guy who was my friend first, and then broke my heart. The reason I started the blog." I replied.

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.