Actually, I do not honestly recommend to anyone to act this way, or you might end up in hospital, jail or hell.

But here's a true account of how I "dealt with" breaking up with the Bastard.
This is more explicit and could land me in more trouble than all the sexploits I describe in this blog, so be warned!

I arrived at his flat a week after breaking up and attempting communication over the phone. I had been away working and a whole week's worth of frustration, no sleep, no food and that nasty bile feeling of being utterly betrayed put me under the influence of a weird sort of hormonal cocktail.

I found I couldn't get into his place to get my stuff, apparently a man's innate fear of finding your pets boiled to a stew after he's hurt the woman who loves him, had made him lock the lock I didn't have a key to, although his cat was the last thing I was thinking of hurting. After all it is an innocent creature I had become very fond of.

I basically had a nervous breakdown on his door step and rang my friend in tears, crying hysterically.

Although I could not get into his place there was a convenient trap door leading to under his floorboards which I explored as an alternative entrance- to no avail.
Feeling utterly enraged and powerless, I then went to a nearby supermarket and bought fresh chicken, some reduced-price squid, milk and yeast.

Ever heard of the prawns in the curtain rails? Exactly!

I crawled through the trap door and under the floorboards carrying my booty, lighting my way with the flash light from my mobile phone. Not an ideal place to be whilst wearing pink suede boots, let me tell you!
I then prepared a lovely little display under both his living room and bedroom, using the squid, chicken, milk and yeast in this unique recipe to ensure the development of ultimate stinkability.
Disgusting!

I was going to tell him about it, I swear- alas I never got the chance because he began to avoid me like the plague.

Later that day I returned to get my things, he'd unlocked the door for me but had got Samantha to promise she'd come there with me. Alas she never bothered, which gave way to round 2 of my revenge plan. Actually the whole thing wasn't a plan at all, I just acted on impulses from a part of my brain which is usually kept isolated in a padded cell, but had used the chance to sneak out whilst I was weak from crying.

I went to see my doctor for help that day actually, then drove back to the Bastard's house when I was sure he'd left, I just couldn't face him.

I packed my things away and made sure I took:
-the shower head (which I'd paid for)
-a lamp (I'd bought him for his living room)
-the bedspread (which was meant to protect his bed from cat hair- I would find other uses for it)
-my sister's book he was reading
-a random sim card (don't ask me why)
-a picture frame with lots of pictures of us (Valentines present)

I left behind:
-some boots which are uncomfortable
-a clothes dummy which I placed in his bed to freak him out
-our pictures on the fridge
-a nightie (I think) which I haven't seen since
-the cat scratch/adventure thing I had bought him (after all I REALLY had no use for that!)

I destroyed:
-his bitch's mug (oh dear, it just fell out of my hands and smashed on the back stairs- "smashing girl" indeed!)
-his bitch's photographs and CVs
-a card from the bitch

Then I:
-poured his bitch's perfume down the loo
-peed in the perfume bottle and replaced it where it was
-poured all the red wine down the loo and didn't flush
-hid the bitch's expensive books in the shed
-took her shoes and stuff to the charity shop
-stroked the cat to say goodbye
-left the flat and dropped the keys through the letterbox.

A few weeks or so later, at his birthday, I went round again when he was out. I popped a CD in the letterbox to give me an excuse to be there, and saw on this occasion that our happy pictures were still on the fridge. Weird.
Also he'd started some sort of major DIY project and the smell from the rotting squid was really noticable...

I went round there again one night but he was out again- I wanted to talk to him, I missed him like crazy, I felt there were a thousand things I wanted to ask him and I hoped for an apology. I sat in the van watching his house, the TV was on but it was football so I knew it was just for the cat's benefit.

In the meantime I had seen him briefly at his office but he was cold, indifferent and really awkward- he wouldn't even take 5 minutes to go somewhere and talk, considering the state of me.
I pretended to leave and proceeded to listen at his door, I didn't like what he said to his business partner about me at all. He was laughing and joking whilst I felt like my world was ending.
I text him and witnessed him reading the text to the other guy in the office, and he denied to him that he'd ever implied to me we'd stay together forever ("let's grow old together" was one of his favourite sentences, just before: "shall we run away and get married?").

Then I left and rollerbladed to Hyde Park to meet my friends. I'd heard enough and there was no way back.

I couldn't stop myself ringing his bitch at night and hanging up.
I heard how he told someone I had turned "psycho" and had "stripped his flat".

Here some examples of things I could have done and DIDN'T:

-empty the kitty litter in his bed
-write a letter to his mum explaining about his drug taking and the abortions
-shit in his fridge or wee in his whiskey
-post his number as a free gay taxi service
-call the people he owes money to and tell them his work address
-shag his best friend
-park his car at a bus stop
-steal stuff
-kidnap his cat and take it to the Battersea cat home
-tell the police about his drugs stash
-cancel his flights for a holiday with his mum (I was meant to come too and had the airline log-in and his credit card details...)

Seriously, don't try this at home.

The best alternative: become a nun!

Oh what a laugh, this guy: http://www.helpwinthisbet.com/404/
has now had in excess of 14m hits, does that mean his girlfriend will have to do 7 threesomes, or an orgy with 7 people!?

Wonder how you apply to be the third person...

Read about this in the Metro by the way, as did 12m other people apparently!

LOL!

I have only ever done it with 2 boys...

should I go on a "date" with the ancient diamond geezer?
He won't stop calling me!

a) yes
b) no

c) for coffee only
d) for dinner

e) ask him what he wants first
f) hope he'll proposition me with a diamond, close my eyes and think of the sparkler?

your turn...

Yes, I admit it. I have turned into obsessed hormonal bitch-girl.
Cashmere still hasn't shown enough willingness to meet me, which I take as a HUGE insult.

I mean, let's sum this up:
-I emailed him a pic of my privates (no direct reply)
-I text him that I "ached" for him to get back (no reply)
-I warned him I'd come over as his naughty nurse (toothbrush and all ready in my bag) when he was last in London- he said no.
-I emailed him that I needed him to call me -got a short email(!) and sms in response.

Then I invited his dad to the exhibition (hoping my friend would get a commission out of it and because I like him), and here's what he's been texting me since then:

"well let us look at this carefully. I have sent you two messages now neither of which you have replied to. Then my parents get a very nice invitation from you to attend a gallery exhibition but not me. I like you Sienna and would like to know you as a friend. As concerns the rest it stands on the basis of..."
-ok, will stop myself here, it just makes me more angry to write this.

He ended up suggesting I should call him if I wanted to chat on the phone (I DON'T! I want to SEE him! actually not anymore... too late)

Then he had the cheek to ask me to meet "either Saturday morning or Monday morning" (what the HELL is he doing the rest of the weekend!?)
to which I replied (late last night, after giving myself the chance to calm down a bit):

NOT GOOD ENOUGH

The private view at the gallery was great, so much talent and loads of dressed-up (mainly ancient) people viewing it.
I got a glass of bubbly off one of the artists I know, and Canada boy and I explored the exhibition.

As the auction started, a short old geezer started chatting me up.
He was so short he nearly fell into my now-again enhanced cleavage (falsies freshly washed and dried in the train loos), and Canada was nowhere in sight to protect me.
People were shushing us from all around me, and I just wanted him to shut up, so dummy me gave him my (real) number- doh!
He gave me his business card, which said he was in the diamond trade.
He is keen to see me for a coffee or dinner, but I wonder what's really on his mind, I mean he is 70 at a conservative estimate.
He actually thought I might leave the exhibition right then with him to have dinner- hello?
I told him I was there with friends and not ready to leave. Pushy or what!?

Cashmere's dad didn't show, his meeting overran.

I don't think I'm cut out to be a girly girl.

Went up north on Wednesday with a group of girls for an interview and decided I would wear the dress I was planning on wearing for the exhibition opening that night.
I stuck my fake strapless boob-enhancer into it for extra cleavage and raced to the tube.
But lo and behold, I hadn't considered the fact that the adhesive might be affected by the fake tan body lotion I had slathered on earlier, so I effectively arrived in Kings Cross with four boobs, two of them I had to hold onto for dear life to stop them dropping out the bottom of the dress. Lovely.
The girls were sympathetic, if only because most of them were endowed with some sort of fake additions themselves (hair, nails, tan... oops!)

So I popped them in my bag yet again, but it proved to me I am just not a natural-born high maintenance woman.
I also still have those nail vouchers I was given for my birthday last year...

Ha!
They can't forget me!
Had a lovely friends-"date" with Camden last night, turns out he missed me despite the mystery woman.
I got the first round of bubbly in, then it was his turn, bleed, happy hour, bleed!

I enjoyed just being his "mate", it felt natural, comfortable and I could be nearly as blatantly outspoken and honest as I can be with my gay friends.
Turns out, his mystery girl hasn't had sex with him yet but they are in a "relationship". Go figure.
Maybe she has been abused or something in the past, I mean it's been 2 months and the only past (semi-traumatic) relationship she told him about was 10 years ago...
He's done the whole "woo and spoil" thing but she's only rang him twice...
Either she knows how to play the game really well (I certainly don't), or she's "just not that into him"...

Who knows. We got drunk and I told him of my woes with Cashmere and young Chubby and tight Dance boy, and of my theories of multiple-dating til THE ONE comes along.
I mentioned how grateful I was when he went shopping for me after my surgery, and how disappointed in Cashmere for not picking me up from the hospital. He said he'd felt really comfortable with me and it was lovely just hanging out and cuddling, and he'd really got into Desperate Housewives.
I DIDN't mention I'd slept with Cashmere only the night before in the same bed, but as he well knows I kicked him out at the end of DH and after his fingers had started grazing the top of my shaven thatch.
A girl's gotta have some moral integrity...

Tonight's the night with Mystery girl- she will have to give him some direction and a reason why their relationship hasn't developed further. He also said: "She'd better go Dutch with me!"
He met her after me so she must be special to him, she certainly has him running around with all the rejection of his sexual advances and mystery.
Good luck to them I say!

After our meal as the only guests in an abandoned curry house he walked me to the bus stop and I could tell he wanted to get close, but couldn't because we are friends and he is such a decent bloke. He took a large step back and sighed.
I mean, I'm NOT the one in a committed (and sex-free) relationship!
I like him though and won't risk it, I am glad it's now gone into the friendship lane so we can both relax.

THE FUNNIEST THING:

I am letting Cashmere writhe like a sad wet fish on my hook.
I am fed up with his hot and cold, close-as-two-peas/different-continent-no-contact treatment so I have invited his DAD to an art exhibition tonight, but NOT HIM! His dad rang me to confirm, result!
Canada and the Daddy friend are also coming, as is my Neighbour.
He's been emailing. I ignored him.
He text me, I ignored it.
So now I am waiting for the call- which I'll also ignore.

Men love bitches apparently, but when I tried to buy the book ("why men love bitches" as recommended by one of my avid readers )yesterday it was sold out- despite having been in the bargain bin at 2.99 only days before- damn!!!

Is a booty call a booty call if your booty is a few hundred miles too far away?
Otherwise it's just a horny wet phone call leading to a horny wet dream.
Not in my case, I dreamt of something else entirely.
Chubby phoned me up, asking what I was wearing.
I was SOO tired I didn't feel like talking, then I went and spent a further hour online, dumb me!
Also my flatmate might have heard me...
So we just had a general chat which climaxed in: "What are you wearing?" Me: "Black trousers, green top, pink jumper..." Chubby: "Underwear?" Me: "no bra (take it off after work), white cotton knickers..." Then I got bored and said goodnight, took all the above described clothes off and had a quick wank before drifting off. Yawn!

Been looking at easyjet flights, did I mention that? Scotland seems safer than Egypt somehow...

why is it that every time I am JUST ABOUT to book a flight and FINALLY go diving NEXT WEEK, someone sets off a bomb in Egypt!? Where else is good to dive, and cheap?

Grrr... Terrorists!!! They should get into something else, like diving!

Yesterday was fun, I had a text from Canada, inviting me out to Covent Garden with his friend, the blonde boy from the party (the non-dancer).
I cycled there after work and joined them in a bar crazy with a braying football crowd, wearing a sweaty "Durex" T-shirt, much to the amusement of the crowd (as you do).

We sat in the sun and drank our pints we had smuggled out from the pub, listening to a cynical singer with about 1m other people.

I also asked their advice about tight-arse Dance boy, Cashmere's absence and other stuff I find confusing about the opposite sex, but I got the feeling I lost them somewhere between mentioning the first and second boy's name.
Then again, they had been drinking since 1pm, and it IS confusing.

I don't know if it warrants a mention, but Casmere hasn't been in touch after his last text in reply to my email, and he's supposed to be back today.

Blonde boy went to a BBQ and Canada and I bought cinema tickets and had a lovely meal in Chinatown, then we saw an interesting but draining film following a Chinese "pearl milkshake" (yum!).

He played the "my neighbours are so noisy I can never sleep" card and I invited him back to my place.

Dope boy rang me as I cycled north, it was nearly midnight and he asked if I wanted to meet up?
I laughed, "come on", I said, "I am nearly home and you live miles away, anyway, I am meeting a friend"... This shut him up and he suggested he'd call me tomorrow (i.e. today, he never did...).
He's just back in the country and thinking of me (or my available, shaven pussy more likely) but no, siree! I have even started growing my hair back, that will show them!

Canada is a friend who I've now known a year, and I feel really comfortable with him, even more after that semi-erotic cuddle-up in his bed after I stayed the night at his after the Notting Hill party.

Back at my place we had some herbal tea, watched tv in my bed, chilled and read mags, and then slept. His breathing was very sweet to start off with, then he started snoring so I had to bump him with my hip until he shut up. I had a few funny dreams and kept waking up, I am not really used to sleeping next to a guy anymore, but he seemed really relaxed.

Waking up was fun, I was glad to see him and we started the day with silly banter which turned into generally messing about.
At one point he started going: "I am going to rape you, I am going to rape you, oh, I could so do it", holding my wrists and humping me through the duvet to prove his point.
We laughed tears, it was so funny, but strangely erotic at the same time. Then he went: "make me breakfast, I will rape you after"- it was just totally messing about, I think real rape is a horrendous crime, but as a play-acting thing I guess most people are into the idea of domination and submission...
He stroked my leg and came pretty close to between my thighs, he asked with a grin: "why is it so warm and moist down here?" I told him it was because I was warm from sleeping, my legs had been touching all night and the vagina is a self-cleaning organ...
Not that it was dripping down my legs or anything, I was just slightly damp from sweat and sleep.
I wore nothing but a white nightie and he had on a big t-shirt of mine and his boxers. I just trusted him totally and feel really comfortable with him, so I didn't worry he would try anything I wasn't happy with.
We had a lovely elaborate breakfast but he didn't come through on his "promise" .
Don't think I would have let him somehow...
That would just be too weird.
No point risking the friendship, is there?
I have to admit, I was a bit horny though- he even found my vibrating duckie and stuck it under the duvet to touch his privates, asking me if I'd mind if he came on my sheets? This made me laugh again, I like hanging out with him and sharing this silly humour!

Chubby and I chatted on the phone the other night- basically he text on Friday and I was in bed and tired yet slightly bored, so I phoned him. Apparently his flatmate has been sleeping with his (now ex) girlfriend, there goes the dark horse who's jealous of me dating anyone else!
I had been checking out flights to Scotland. That would show evil Cashmere- then again, maybe it wouldn't.

I still don't know what to do if and when he actually calls me. I feel so annoyed after not seeing him for over a month... I mean what is this, a test of my patience, or does he just want to lose me slowly, or does he just not care...? Who knows, it's simply not good enough...

BBP finished the Marathon today in under 4h30 mins, pretty amazing! I couldn't be bothered to go though as it was raining so much...

I feel I should charge for my services, trying to intigrate public-school-traumatised guys into normal society.

Oh to pay out this amout of money to rear emotionally totally stunted boys, it beggars belief.

Just watching Dead Poets Society and they appear to have similar problems.

Dishonest, mistrusting, distasteful, disastrous and still dismissive of everyone else who istn't part of that "elite".

Nice Ex is a reliable, loving, stable, honest, sensitive and emotionally available guy from Essex. Yeah.

Ok, I eat my words.
Just received an email from a friend who got married, with a beautiful picture attached (might publish it for my friends, it will bring tears to your eyes too).
I now feel rather sad and empty.
Cousins exempt, I have never been to a friend's wedding, apart from once but they don't count because they were part of a weird cult church and I didn't know them that well. They hadn't even kissed until they said "I do". She used to be on the game, he on drugs, until they found Jesus and each other.

That aside, my friend's story is truly remarkable and I CAN call myself cupid.
Setting: South of France. I am meant to meet said friend on the top of a hotel where they serve free drinks around sunset.
I am running late, she is early and goes up to the only familiar face she can see, that of permadrunk midget R, who is hanging out with a rather dashing stranger and being so obnoxious she forms an instant bond with the stranger.
I turn up and because R is so drunk and rude and I want to lose him, I am rather rude to the dashing stranger too, grab my friend and we make our excuses and leave for the Vanity Fair party.
Not before she has exchanged numbers with DS though.

Fast forward a year: they get their legal marriage license in the USA and don't tell anyone.
Fast forward another year: he proposes on the top of the same hotel, an email with pictures of her looking gorgeous and THE RING wings its way into my inbox. Oooooh!
Fast forward to 2006: They tie the knot in the surf of the Carribbean, and again don't tell people until after the event. Double Ooooh. How romantic!
Cue the rest of us to feel sad, lonely and rejected.

I also just received a backlog of romantic pictures of me and the Bastard at a friend's party, looking glam and happy.
Pass the tissues!

Out with Daddy friend and his headhunter buddy last night.
Couldn’t wait to leave work so had some dinner, got changed into my fave lil black number and killer heels (they look lethal but are surprisingly comfy), painted my lashes and generally pottered about until it was just about feasible to leave.

Within 2 minutes of arriving at the bar, I had what Daddy called a “date rape” drink in front of me (i.e. it was red with berries and you couldn’t taste the alcohol) and the conversation had turned to shaving ones pubes.
As Daddy walked in I noticed a godfather-like swagger (due to a dodgy knee following some over-enthusiastic sex according to him), and also that his goatee had begun to turn grey.
He replied: “well that’s nothing compared to my pubes, I have to shave them! They are black above my cock, yet grey below, they look like a nanny-goats beard so I have to shave them off.”
Great way to break the ice. “Hi, by the way, you must be M, Daddy’s South African friend who I’ve never met”- LOL!

Next, Daddy limped off to the cash point to get some money out for me. For the 3rd year running, we will be flatmates in France, and I once again secured a bargain apartment via ebay.
This led to some awkwardness counting the money out for me over the bar- he tried to be discreet but failed and we all collapsed in giggles- and a recounting of the story how I came to indulge in water sports for the one and hopefully only time in my life.

Setting: Apartment on the French Riviera, 2005, some time after midnight.
I am in (the lower bunk of a bunk) bed, trying to sleep.
Daddy and our other flatmate, N, are on the balcony- drunk and doing drugs.
N had smuggled a bit wad of Skunk into the country from London in his cheek, leaving him rather monosyllabic during the check-in procedure.
This also put me off smoking any of it with him. Not so Daddy, they were both too far gone to care.
Daddy’s “delivery” had never arrived after the French lorry broke down somewhere in Italy, we suspect he snorted it all himself in frustration whilst waiting for AA, or sold it on at a profit.
Next morning, I am up bright and early and wash my baby blue linen trousers which have become a bit dirty in the French dust, I then proceed to hang them up on the balcony.
Unfortunately, a breeze blows them down and I go to pick them up and find some clothes pegs or something, when I notice they are rather wetter than before. I also notice a strange smell. I sniff them, then my hands, then the suspicious puddle in the balcony’s gutter- odd, I think, I can’t remember it raining… It then dawns on me, and I yelp in disgust: it’s piss!!!

I go to confront N, who pretends not to remember anything.
Daddy keeps pretending to be asleep. I don’t want to go into his bedroom, it’s his birthday and the whole thing just seems too disgusting to comprehend, so I wash my hands, trousers and the balcony with bleach, soaking the French couple downstairs in the process… URGH!!!

Later, Daddy confesses. He was drunk and didn’t want to wake me up by going to the loo which had the door right next to my bed, so he figured he’d wee over the side of the balcony. Gross.
Most of it got trapped in the gutter, the rest ran down the building and marked all the other balconies in the process. Did I mention we stayed on the top floor?
Any dog would have been proud.
By the way, this is the most intimate I have ever been with Daddy, or ever intend to get.

It caused no end of hilarity last night though, a typical story you can “laugh about in a year’s time”!

This year, the third flatmate will be Dope boy. Help me, Jesus!

Next in the conversation: Taking it up the arse. Not girls I might add (to the confusion of the head hunter), but guys.

I mentioned that interesting hair brush I had spotted in Dance boy’s flat, and what I plan to do with it. I asked Daddy for his opinion. Would this be painful?
It is a small travel brush which’s bristles come out at the push of a button- so, if I put it into a condom and inserted it… I can’t remember how many of those pink drinks I’d had by then.
Daddy friend cringed a bit, but I told him what if Dance was handcuffed to the bed?
Then we briefly touched on the subject why people we like stop calling. Maybe it’s the hairbrush experiments!?

Daddy mentioned how he’d get worried if a girl he was seeing wore false nails and mysteriously lost one after sex… I replied: “Interesting what you can find in there- how do you think I got this ring?” sticking up my middle finger.
South African nearly died laughing, Daddy turned the colour of a tomato with suppressed laughter and the Head hunter made a funny face.
Next, we naturally discussed this as the new method of proposing to someone- “where do you think I have hidden the ring!?”. You’d know you were compatible as a couple after this.

Yes, we were all a bit drunk by then.

You can see what Daddy and I have in common, despite the age gap. He described our friendship to South African as being “fuck buddies without the fucking”. I added, yes, it’s dirty but all in the head. We are like mental fuck buddies. No pun intended.

Ok, so much for the first hour of my night.

I then got a call from Rugby (following 3 texts I had ignored- I hate that text tag game, what am I, a free text millionaire?), saying he was on the train and would get to the Karaoke venue soon.
A girl friend of mine was on her way too (or so I thought, but she never showed up). Instead, surprisingly, another friend joined us in the pub later. I hadn’t expected her to come at all but was really pleased to see her, especially since I suspected she was avoiding me after that Yacht boy disaster and also because I was keen to hear about her new fab job.

It was weird seeing Rugby after all these weeks, his hair was shorter and he still liked Guinness, but he hadn’t grown an inch (surprise! Not.).
We updated each other on our lives and swapped disastrous dating stories, but whilst I suspected he still liked me “in that way”, I didn’t.
I mean he is fine as a friend and I enjoy talking to him, but I can’t backtrack to being intimate with him.
Actually I remembered some unpleasant stuff about him when I told Daddy about him earlier, like how he’d been really unsympathetic towards me feeling cold and snoring a bit because I was ill- Daddy asked: “How old is this guy, twelve?”
Another appealing fact about the older gentleman, they are familiar with the fact that women are human, too. That we like oral sex throughout the month (he came up with the quote: “You don’t have to cover the whole West End if you just want to go to the theatre”- referring to the fact that you can keep your tongue work pretty localised to avoid that scarlet beard look), and are entitled to snore if bunged up or fart if bloated. Not that I’d do any of this voluntarily, anyway. One has to preserve the allure of a lady.

Oh yeah, “The Lady”. Apparently a publication Dance boy’s parents used to advertise in. We were walking past their offices in Covent Garden in search of an alternative Karaoke venue.
Rugby had gone home, putting an end to the embarrassment of being flanked by one past and one future lover whilst pretending to swap hilarious stories with Yacht girl, all to the tunes of a rather good cover band in the absence of Thursday Karaoke despite the claims of the related website.
Back to “The Lady”. I asked: “Adverts? For divorce proceedings?” bearing in mind that Dance boy’s dad is a lawyer. “No”, he replied, “for staff”. This shut me up for about 2 seconds. “Staff? As in domestic? Did you have a lady who wiped your bottom?” According to him, he did- but he might just have been ironic.
This must have been the highlight of his childhood by the sounds of it.

The three of us ended up in a rather quiet but glamorous bar where Dance informed me that now was the time to “settle my debts”. I was stunned. Was he joking? I said: “Usually, my men buy me my drinks” to which he replied: “I believe in equality”. Equality? My arse!!! I said, you have to be employed to equal amounts in order for that to work.
This MUST be a test. Maybe it’s as Neighbour said and he’s filthy rich but wants to avoid gold diggers? Then again I’d rather be with a generous gypsy than a stingy billionaire, where is the fun in that?
I showed him my £200. God knows where he thought I’d got it. Hope it got him thinking.

I went to the bar, got him a beer, Yacht girl a wine and the most expensive champagne cocktail for myself. I also flirted with a guy wearing a name tag at the bar. He’d forgotten to take it off after a glam event. Turns out we are in the same industry and he has access to quite generous investment funding, great contact!

I returned to the table with my drink and told the others about my new mate, then we started playing with the ice from our drinks.

I told them about the poster I had spotted in the gents on my hunt for toilet roll in non-karaoke place number 2:
"If you have sex with someone who hasn't said yes, you'll end up in jail" or something. Cue banter about printing up a cheque book of legal documents which have to be signed by the object of his drunken affection before any further shenanigans.
Apparently his dad could print them up for him, and he was good at forging signatures, or something. LOL!
Seriously, it was funny at the time, if a bit dark.

Yacht girl and I mentioned how Canadaboy, the Journalist, my ex date’s flatmate and that weird yacht experience had brought us closer together, to which Dance commented in his dry tones whether we shared all our men?
More giggles.
Ice cube from my glass to my hand to Dance’s chest to inside the top of Yacht girl’s jeans.
Screams and laughter.
She fancies him too, she told me.
We couldn’t be more different types but we have exactly the same taste in men.

Apart from Rugby, who she didn’t like I am sorry to say.
Would have made for a funny speech at their wedding I think…
Also I now can’t call myself cupid…

Well let’s see if I can figure this out.
If he seems like a potential dumper to you, i.e. distant, aloof, non-committal and only calls you when he is drunk, act all mysterious.
Don’t return his texts and phone calls.
Hang up prematurely, tell him you are busy.
Invite him to parties with your friends you know he won’t attend. Flirt with strangers.
If he shows up, flirt with strangers in front of him or introduce him to “old friends” who still bear a torch for you.
If he can’t hang on in there, you’ll have lost him soon, congratulations!

If he is a loser, dump him. Simple.

If he is a loser who you happen to love, tough. A lot of relationships happily survive this.

With any luck, with this tested and proven method you’ll only end up dating clingy mummy’s boys, independent men of means and kinky cross-dressers.
Enjoy!

LOL!

drunk.
naked, freshly showered (got stuck in smoking section)
slathered with safe-tanning body moisturizer
watching DH

Text Dance the other day: you left me a love bite on my neck after all, liar!
He replied: I like to mark my women, like cattle.
Me: Moo!

Emailed Cashmere that we have to talk on advice for my sister who was sick of my moaning.
He text me: "we'll meet when I get back, on way to Italian lakes."
Well, nice for him.
No x's or anything, I ignored him and deleted his number off my phone to stop drunk-texting escapades.

Big relief: Invited both Dance and Rugby boy to karaoke tomorrow, now Dance has said he can't make it, phew! Woulda been awkward, especially as I have so far failed to get any other girls to come along.
Oops!

Meeting Daddy friend for drinks first, maybe he'll buy me dinner.
Or try to get me to powder my nose!

Tonight was fun, out with one gay friend and 3 straight ones, whom he'd all got to meet in a gay bar. I got there first and felt really out of place. Sober and female, not a good combination...

They all turned up and it was fun.
Short, gay-looking straight cousin of Gay friend bought me my first drink, then former-lesbian-now-in-straight-relationship bought me another one, then Gay friend, or was it the other way around?
Tried to filll them in on my love life but failed, hugs and laughter drowned me out.

Next I danced with a sexy Spanish guy.
Warning from his Indian/Chinese friend: "he swings both ways." Well I fucking hope so, I don't exactly look like a boy!
He was there with his ex girlfriend of 8 years who was now a lesbian. Their friend fancied him, but was also friends with her, he asked my advice on this complicated situation. I said who cares, how else are you meant to meet people? Samantha and I have shared a few guys in the past, each at their own time I might add.
Lesbian Ex fancied me apparently but noone acted on the attraction.
Gave straight-turned-bi Spanish guy a kiss on the lips goodbye, wobbled to tube, reeking of fags. Hence the shower.

Gotta put some pj's on and get stuck into DH!

on E4.

This is so stupid, I just HAVE to watch it!

Later!
x

come visit my naughty confessions... you know what to do!

There is sort of a catch that I prefer to friend people who also write about "interesting" stuff, more or less regularly, and have a few friends already.

Demanding?
Moi?

I guess this blog is a bit compilcated for those who recently joined its ranks and are confused by the shelf-load of different random guys.

See if I can remember them all:

-The Pilot (backed off as I was beginning to like him)/Sportscar boy(dumped me by text as I was beginning to get bored with him)/the Journalist (stopped calling after "his friend died in 7/7") etc... no longer relevant, past internet dating results (or in the case of the Pilot, a chance meeting in a foreign airport).

-Chubby: a sexy Scotsman, one-night stand in August, now sometime-phone sex partner. Sexiest voice in the UK, but seriously young. Claims to have lost weight recently, but I have no visual evidence (yet).

-Rugby: sweet but short, interesting past lover with a penchant for drinking who lives outside zone 6 (in a 4 bedroom house his parents bought for him). Likes karaoke and sex on leather furniture. Decided he wasn't for me (because of his dodgy humour, hygiene and drinking, not the karaoke, house or sex part).

-Dance boy: met clubbing, superb dancer. Intelligent, local, posh but not snobby, tight as a nun's arse. Getting to know him (clothed and most recently, naked) and liking what I see so far. Apart from the skint thing.

-Cashmere: posh and snobby, intellectual, interesting, multilingual, into porn and anal sex. Currently abroad (again). Called me his girlfriend before but he was drunk and the topic was pubic hairstyles. Shaved my muff and emailed him the picture, haven't seen him since. Go figure!
Likes to believe in soulmates but no clue how to distinguish them from other random people.

-Camden boy: lovely, interesting, similar carreer. Likes my poetry and mind, long massage session in front of his newly-bought candles. Went shopping for me after my operation, some snogs. Has since "got serious" with someone, we are still friends and plan to meet up for a chat and coffee.

-Canadaboy: a friend for about a year. Dragged me out of my misery by flirting with and snogging me. Has access to free film screenings with pizza. We snog occasionally when drunk, innocent flirtation but we also share details of our conquests and disappointments.

-The gay doctor: a gay doctor, friend of Samantha's- great snog!

-The Bastard: my ex. 'Nuff said.

-Nice Ex: my ex before the Bastard. Lovely but young, a puppy.

-The Poet: an ex stalker/wannabe lover, too old and wrinkly. I see him about but avoid him after discovering he tried beating up a tranny friend of mine.

-BBP (or black Brad Pitt): the sexiest mixed race man, ever- sporty, musical, talented, handsome but impossible to talk to. Also has odd friends. Nice little affair before Christmas, I stopped calling him after things got a bit too complicated.

-Music Boy: mainly IM friend, although there was that memorable night at the Sanderson a year ago... We met in LA 6 years ago and I thought I was in love with him at the time. Alas, the distance...

-Dope Boy: We met at a party when I was still with Nice ex, became friends because we are in the same line of work and had that flirty vibe going on. Brief affair after Nice Ex and I split up, just before I got together with the Bastard.
Slight substance abuse problem, just split from fiancee. I like his energy and raw animal lust, but not his refusal to go down on me after he's put a condom near me. Never again if I can help it!

-The Sailor/Dolphinboy: doing a degree in another town. Multilingual, slightly older, kind and fascinating, but smokes and has H(erpes). Stayed with me in Samantha's flat once, made me come with his tongue. Recently met a 21 year old. We text and may go sailing sometime!

Oh yeah, baby!

Who would have thought that I still have the ability to leave a guy's flat more satisfied after a thorough dry-humping-with-pants-on than after an anal seeing-to!?

The night had a few other interesting ups and downs too, to the point I nearly walked out on Dance boy in the bar when he decided to take a phone call lasting a good few minutes, from an undisclosed source.
I felt green bile rise up in my throat and went to chat up one of the gorgeous muscled Salsa instructors. Also I made Dance boy pay for my cinema ticket and two drinks.
After some sips of wine an a bit of a dance in the Salsa bar (neither of us know how to dance Salsa, but who cares if there's tons of chemistry and pheromones?) our conversation got rather interesting.
He admitted to having gone out for Halloween in drag (and liked it), I admitted to owning a whip and handcuffs, both unused. Lots of giggling, touching and neck-nibbling ensued.
He told me that his bed was perfect for tying me up, I said I wasn't sure I liked that, but he told me he was sure I did, and he was right.

OOOh talk about a dark horse!
He comes across all shy and proper, but there is a panther waiting to pounce behind that innocent exterior.
We went back to his flat, which is when the weird thing happened.

He put the music of the concert on we'd heard the other night and we had a chat, then, all of a sudden, a bang and all went dark. The music played on.

We were stunned and stayed in the dark for a few seconds, paralyzed.
Basically, the fake stukko which the previous owners had glued onto the wallpaper(!) on the ceiling around the light fitting, had fallen off together with the light and the whole sorry construction now hung by a thread, threatening to smash into the floorboards. There were craks showing in the ceiling like a big spider-web, centering around the sorry fake stukko.

We surveyed the damage and then burst out laughing, but it had a difinite spooky edge. Dance said: "Are you haunted? I have heard of places being haunted, but people...?" I replied: "it's your flat though, isn't it?" it was soo funny!

Him and his French flatmate (what an odd way to meet someone- he was standing on a recently-bought leather footstool, holding on to a 5 pound piece of plaster with wires sticking out everywhere, I go: "Hi, I'm Sienna, what's your name?" handshake with his spare hand, in the torchlight. Smile. "I am (Frech name. Emanuelle? um, no that's a girl's name...), nice to meet you- can you lift the torch a bit?" They cut the left-over wire with some pliers (I think, not that much of a DIYer myself!) after turning off the mains. I had to tell Dance how to flick the switch.
Then they are creeping about on their knees with a dustpan and brush. I stifle my giggles...
What a way to start a first night at someone's "cracking" flat!

Next, we had an excuse to move into his bedroom because the lounge was obviously haunted and hence unsafe.
Actually I was about to pull my boots on when he pounced, he pushed me up against the wall next to his bedroom door, marched me through to his room, kissed and kissed me until my face felt like it was being sandpapered, he grabbed at my boobs and massaged them, licked my nipples, unclasped my bra, pulled my leg up onto his hip, I melted.
Very passionate, and I knew I was powerless against his strength, not that I wanted to resist...
He pushed me onto the bed, and our tops came off.
It was really playful, yet with a dark, lusty edge. I took his belt off and smacked him with it, he lay on top of me and grasped my wrists. He then tied the belt around my right wrist and secured it against the top of the bed, indeed a very kinky metal design perfect for bondage. Actually you could spread-eagle someone on that bed, as I discovered when I bumped my head on the bottom bar of the bed when he pushed me backwards whilst I sat astride him- not a feature I am used to!
He immediately turned all soft and comforting, cradling my head against his chest- but I am no sissy, I wasn't hurt and wanted to carry on where we'd left off.
He pulled his jeans down over his bum in a mock-up of the black dancers we'd seen in the movie, I nearly wet myself laughing- this freckly Englishman trying to pull off the "boy from the hood" look with his pale back glowing in the semi-dark- great!
Next I tied his wrist to the bed, but he showed me I was powerless to overpower him. This demonstration of his strength sent another hot flush of moisture into my nether regions, and we rolled around some more.
He tasted of sweat and Dance and salt, and I licked his nipples, bit his chest and sucked the inside of his elbow, trailed my nails into his boxers at the top of his hip bone and made him gasp.
We really took our time, no rush despite the passion.
He kissed my face and my mouth, hands and cheeks, I was afraid I would get love bites all over my neck but he assured me I wouldn't. Liar!
His hand was pulling the elastic on my knickers for a long time without ever taking them off or touching my muff; I could feel his erection against me.
At one point he rubbed against me so much I nearly came. My breath sped up and our hands were clasped together, I could feel him look at me through my closed lids and I didn't want him to stop. Then I became embarrassed, after all we weren't really having sex and we changed the angle slightly so the orgasm curve was interrupted.

I asked him if he'd liked me taking his hand in the cinema.
Hands are really important to me, the Pilot, Porsche boy, Cashmere, all my exes, usually hold and massage my hands during a film, especially if you haven't yet been intimate. Dance boy's hand though was like the proverbial dead fish and I honestly had no idea what to think. It really put me off, and I wondered if he was just to polite to take it away. I massaged his hand but had zero response, so I put it on my leg where it remained until the end of the film, like he was glued to me. He never squeezed or stroked me back though so I thought he must really hate it.

He assured me that wasn't the case, so I now wonder if he's just not that tactile, or still very shy. This seems to change dramatically though once he's had an alcoholic drink...

I finally touched his cock. I had been building up to that by teasing around his thighs, bum and balls, never quite laying hands on him but sliding my fingers in and out his boxers.
He gasped with pleasure and I began stroking his dick through his shorts. I was naked by then and I liked what I felt.
I put my hands inside his boxers and was amazed at his size- he must have real problems getting a condom on, it was that wide.
A lovely size really, thick and meaty, soft and not too long, I was really looking forward to him entering me eventually.
A bit of a difference to Cashmere, who is average size but not very thick... Or maybe it's just cos my expectations have been raised somewhat after sleeping with BBP, and you know what they say about (half) black men!

Dance and I never got that far though, we kept carressing each other but tiredness really started to hit me, he relaxed more and more and it was just wonderful trailing my hands over his skin and feeling him stroke me. His eyes were closed and I was naked in his arms, feeling happy, horny but not unfulfilled. He opened his eyes and smiled at me, asked me to stay. I considered it. Scouted the flat for contact lens solution. Had a wee and discovered the flush didn't work. Changed my mind about staying whilst he was in the kitchen getting me a makeshift container for my lenses. He returned with two small glass containers with water and I was already half dressed. My knickers were sticky with my juices and I was glad I wouldn't have to wear them the next day.
I hugged him goodbye and he kissed me at the door, still wearing only his boxers.
I cycled home in the mild spring air, so fragrant with cherry blossom after midnight.

Oh the joys of dating someone close to home!

He has the softest feet, the nicest skin and body, the most mysterious eyes. Oh, and a cracking flat!