It's been a horrible June.
VVV sexually frustrating.

Spent the weekend in a town where they have nude lawns and bathing.
All that wrinkly old flesh on display actually did nothing to even put me off my lunch.

One old guy was even proudly displaying a rather disturbing set of anal warts...

Still, there were a few sexy guys too, one with a HUMONGOUS dick on display beneath a rippling stomach and a smattering of chest hair...

Some pubic grooming was seriously odd though- from a shaved pussy winking at passers-by to cut and uncut dicks of varying sizes nestled in gorilla fur or furiously shaved and sunburnt, to the 70's bush down to her knees, most styles could be observed in close-up.

Well I have now not been laid for one month exactly and it shows.

Or maybe it's coming off Prozac which has had my libido spring back into action, who knows!?

A lunchtime fuck with Music boy may be on the cards this week as he's conveniently passing through town, but I won't count my chickens so to speak...

But honestly, I need some action and soon!

Reading trashy chick-lit doesn't exactly help, I find myself getting wet and rather enjoying the proprietory way (fit!) men take up the arm rest on public transport, pressing tanned and taut forearms agains mine, tickling me with their hair...

I am out tomorrow night, and on the pull.

I have never much gone in for one-night stands, they seem to have happened on the spur of the moment in a blur of alcohol and loud music, but I don't think I can handle the emotional side of things right now, not with anyone new anyway.

Sleeping next to my tattoed friend and her cat this weekend, I had some rather interesting and bewildering dreams about Cashmere, isn't it mad how much I still miss this impossibly arrogant pompous ass of a man who I spent less than 2 months with!?

I am glad the Colonel has stopped ringing, although Park boy, my friend's former love (dis)interest has been in touch despite my efforts to discourage him.
No word from Romeo or Martini boy who issued an invitation to an Ibiza villa last Thursday, but on second thoughts he may have been drunk...

Here's to Tuesday nights!
Got invited to a VIP-football-watching package by a bunch of corporate suits, this included a champagne reception, 3 course menu and watching the footie.
They were a lovely bunch of fellas and really positively surprised when me and Ms Madrid actually turned up. Who am I to turn down a spare ticket!
As they say, there may be no such thing as a free lunch, but there are plenty of free dinners to be taken advantage of.

It turned out that one of them was about to get married- aged 27 no less and to a girl of 22, get them! Then again they've been going out for 6 years, how do they do that? Actually I have to stifle a yawn, excuse me. The yawn of jealousy.
Maybe not...
So in a way last night was his 4th stag do. He had a serious case of the heebie-jeebies and told me he'd only proposed to "shut her up" and couldn't wait to get away from her- huh!?!?!?

He moaned that the wedding was costing in excess of 27 grand, and I replied: "Mate, what do you estimate your divorce will cost you then?", seriously concerned for his'n'hers "happily ever after".

Another guy who I thought was gay because of the sweet, wide-eyed looks he kept giving me, turned out to be straight and, you guessed it, married to boot. He'd proposed after 7 weeks because he "just knew she was the one" - sweet! I confessed recent dating disasters and sexual rejections, and he encouraged me to hang on in there, I would meet someone decent soon. He told me repeatedly how interesting and attractive he thought I was. Lovely, but it felt rather "safe" although he seemed to flirt with me a bit. Still, I thought nothing of it- after all he was married to THE ONE...

Drunk enough to try to set the Swedish flag on fire, we were eventually ready to leave and I suggested to the hard core of guys who wheren't so eager to run home (to their wives, girlfriends or sad, single beds): "Hey, let's go to a lap dancing club!"

I have never been to one and thought this would be the perfect opportunity. A bunch of fun, drunk suits with money, mad Ms Madrid and I, totally up for it.
We piled in to their "lear jet" mini bus (the new limo apparently) and set off to a posh lap dancing venue which employs fully nude dancers as I was soon to discover.

Here for a few facts about lap dancing clubs I never knew:
-Most girls are totally bare (waxed, shaved, whatever)
-You pay for dance tokens which you then hand to the dancers, people usually tip on top of that
-It is truly amazing what 2 girls can do on a 10m pole!
-They don't actually grind on the guys laps to turn them on, only the sleazier venues allow for this. A "safe distance" of a few inches is kept, unless they really like you.
-You aren't allowed to kiss a guy if you are one of the punters in the club, and dancers aren't, either.
-The on-site ATM charges 10quid per withdrawal!
-Most of the visitors are corporate entertainment!!!
-It is rather clinical and not that sexy after all. The dancers "don't really mean it".

Nevertheless, I enjoyed the experience and got turned on- go figure...

As we entered the club, there were half-naked, fit and tarty-looking girls everywhere, talking to men.
We got a table by the main stage, and before I had blinked, the blonde girl up by the pole had taken her top off. Behind us, a brunette girl was dancing in a short skirt with her legs open, so you could look directly up at her pussy which was barely covered by a skimpy white thong.
Her top also came off pretty swiftly.

An Asian girl approached us, as the DJ was announcing a "Topless Teaser"- sure enough, she peeled her skimpy excuse of a dress off her shoulders and wiggled her nipples at us. Sweet!

One of the guys returned to the table with a tall Brunette, who took me by the hand and led me to her "office"- a side room with leather seating around the edges, a bare lamp in the middle of the ceiling, and another, fully nude girl writhing across a guy's lap.

She sat me down and asked me to open my legs, then she peeled her top off and began dancing. None of the guys had come with me, I was almost alone with a strange girl who was planning to dance for me, naked!
Soon enough, her England football knickers and thong came off too, revealing a fully waxed fanny and an interestingly pierced clitoris- she had one of those curved belly button bars vertically through her clit, incredible!
I took a closer look whilst she writhed and giggled, rubbing her nipples and tossing her hair. She rolled her bum in front of my chest just above my lap, threw herself against me with her back and looked up at me, licking her finger. She smiled and slapped her bum. She put one knee up on the sofa, straightening her other leg and opened herself up a bit.
It wasn't particularly sexy, she didn't seem into it and the whole dance thing seemed cold, although I did get turned on by it.

After the song, she popped her clothes back on and led me back to the table. I was somewhat overwhelmed, and almost immediately the "gay" married guy grabbed her and me by the hand and we were back in the side room. I tried to get him to ask a different girl, but too late! This time he sat next to me whilst she danced for the two of us, our hands touching slightly.

I am embarrassed to admit, I don't quite recall exactly how many dances I had!
The guys took turns in buying them for me and Ms Madrid, Caipirinhas kept appearing on the table, and a double-act of Oriental girls climbed up on the pole, followed by a big-breasted blonde, followed by a plastic-looking redhead, and so on.

One girl made a particular impression on Mr Married, he said she actually made him hot. Her dancing style was different, she seemed warmer and almost "loving" in the way she danced for us.
Her double-act partner, the other Oriental girl, also gave us an intimate peek at her privates.
A cute girl from Estonia was my favourite- she got really close and paid me lots of compliments.
Her clit was huge, like nothing I had seen before. Then again, when do girls ever get the chance of looking at other girls' privates this close up!?
My mouth was slightly open, and whilst she danced for me, her lip caught on my lip, she slipped the tip of her tongue into my mouth and tasted amazingly soft and sweet.
I didn't notice her tongue was pierced until I went back for a second dance with Mr Married. I even caught her nipple in my mouth a few times, and she pressed her butt into my boobs quite forcefully.
She was lovely to kiss, and Mr Married looked on as we made out barely 5 inches from his face.
She used to be with girls exclusively until the age of 19, she told us, and I booked her for a third dance with another guy from the next table.
This girl and the first Oriental one were the only ones who didn't appear totally fake and "dry", she even told me I was turning her on and I believed her. Then again she may have just been better at pretending than the others!

By this time, I was getting exhausted and quite drunk. As Mr Married and I returned to our table from our dance with her, he confessed he'd wanted to kiss me.
It happened after our next dance together- he stopped me in my tracks and kissed me hard on the mouth, his tongue probing my lips.

We sat down at a different table and kept snogging until a security guard interrupted us- apparently you aren't allowed to kiss in the club, heaven knows why! Maybe because it distracts the guys from buying more dances and ogling the paid girls, I guess.

Anyway, it felt really good to be judged sexier than all those size 8 models with shaved muffs in there!

Mr Married asked me if I was wet, and I told him yes. I was!

We got a taxi and kept making out in the back as he dropped me home. He kissed me deeply, slipped his hand between my legs and let me feel his erection. I declined his request to invite him in, and jumped out after a brief goodbye. As I walked up to my front door, he suddenly dashed after me. I felt really startled and wondered what to do.
It seems like I took his marriage vows more seriously than he did!

I kissed him goodbye, told him he couldn't come in and said goodnight.

That is one headfuck I don't need, although a passionate fuck may heave taken care of my horniness...
Then again, married men are a serious no-no, I feel really guilty about encouraging him by flirting and kissing him...

The whole experience taught me that lap dancing places aren't anything a girl needs to feel her relationship threatened by. It's the "amateurs" which are dangerous!
I'd rather my partner goes to a classy strip joint than out to a place packed with drunk Essex girls...

Indeed.

Saw this in a Chinese shop in Soho:

-The sex (obviously)
-Watching "The Planet's funniest animals" and laughing about the canned laughter and the not-so-funny-after-all animals.
-Talking about my family to someone who knows them.
-Looking at someone's face first thing in the morning and seeing the happiness in his eyes about having woken up with me.
-Having someone who is truly interested in my life.
-Buying him presents and surprising him.
-His smell
-Getting drunk and knowing he will get me home safely
-Going on trips
-Impressing him with my parallel parking skills
-Eating together
-Looking forward to his phone calls
-Buying stuff together (so domestic!)
-Not having to explain how I like to be touched and fucked
-Going on walks and having someone to talk to
-Having someone who gets my sense of humour
-Imagine what our kids might look like an liking it

-went to a sauna with 2 male colleagues, naked (bar a towel- but I could see their bits)
-went to a sauna with an ex (and sat in the jacuzzi as the only woman between a bunch of naked strangers + the ex)
-touched my dad's penis in the bath as a child
-came with a woman
-watched a porn film which I had nicked from an aunt with my cousin and younger sister (aged 15)
-spied on some guys getting showered at the gym through steamed-up basement windows with a friend (aged 10? 11?)
-envied my class mates their periods
-written erotic short stories with a group of friends which we shared amongst ourselves (once one book got confiscated by a teacher...)
-cried on a second date
-dressed up an ex in a red wig and lipstick and took pictures
-had sex despite being crippled by cystitis
-watched my friend getting fucked by a guy with a smelly dick who didn't wear a condom
-nearly had sex with an asexual gay guy
-tried masturbating with one of my pet budgie's feathers (didn't work)

Being the practical girl I am, I decided to prepare for my first "proper" sexual encounter, now over 10 years ago.
My new boyfriend was coming to stay, and I was afraid it might hurt when he'd try to enter me, so I thought of ways to dilate my virginal pussy in order to accommodate him.

After running through a variety of household devices in my mind, my object of choice became the kitchen roll holder- a varnished wooden stick with a rounded end mounted on a wooden disc.

I took it out of the disc and bent over the sofa. Maybe I put a condom on it first? I can't quite recall...

I pushed my panties aside and inserted it slowly into my vagina.

It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but it did seem quite a tight fit. And although it was somehow penis-shaped, it didn't have the girth of a real (average-sized) cock as I discovered later.

Anyway, so in a way you could say I "cheated". I cheated on my first boyfriend with a wooden kitchen instrument.
My mum still uses it to this day...

In any case, I still bled the first time I had full intercourse, but he may have just scratched me with his fingernails.

How is this possible- in a city full of horny men, how do I encounter three who reject my advances in one single month!?

Do I smell like I am desperate for emotional entanglement/procreation/his wallet/another notch on my bedpost!?

First there is Dance, in my bed, stiff as cardboard, but not in the good sense. Like a dead fish...
Then Mystery boy- keen on building his list of international fuckbuddies, but apparently turned off by the fact I'd had a line and a few drinks, he discouraged my suggestion of him inviting me to his place and put me on the night bus. Like an older (?) brother...
Next on to Romeo, whose generous purchase of a large glass of rose leads to verbal diarrhea, a make-out session in the park and a sudden attack of body angst on his part. Like a fucking woman (sorry girls)!

On the other hand, the Colonel just won't leave me alone and he is getting on my nerves, big time.
"I am lying in the sun, naked and erect..."
"An ex and I had this thing for Rohypnol, we'd lay on a rug by the fire, making love for 9 hours..."
"I like to give a woman an anal orgasm..."
"Ah, we'll have to negotiate about that [my reluctance to engage in anal sex- WHAT!?]..."

Like, CRINGE!
He is SO manipulative, disrespectful, egocentric, arrogant and won't stop calling. I am afraid to pick up the phone...

I have to say, the book "Why men love bitches" has been an enormous help to get my head straight.

The whole "rejection" issue has reminded me (cringe again!) of some other failed attempts of mine to get a man interested in making sweet love to me.

Once the Bastard came in late from a stressful day at the office. I had cooked dinner at his place, run a bath and lit some candles in the bathroom (classic "jumping through hoops" behaviour as the "Bitches" book has now taught me).
He slipped into the water, tired and quiet.
I put some music on and came into the bathroom, where I improvised a sexy dance for him. I wore just my underwear and climbed onto the bath above him, dipping my pelvis lower and lower into the water.
I basically did everything to make him feel extra special, and me like a total slapper.
I ended up in the bath with him, my underwear soaking; it was really rather sexy but after I had sucked him off he didn't reciprocate.
He dried off and went to sleep, leaving me in the bath and the dinner uneaten. I was totally and utterly sexually frustrated and really annoyed. Fantastic, well done Sienna!

Actually, no other similarly annoying encounters spring to mind.

One that didn't go quite as far and didn't really have the full sexual element was when Music boy invited me out to some event late one night, prompting me to change from my pyjamas into a sexy outfit, only to be let down by this useless piece of junk who subsequently failed to answer his phone. I can't remember a time when I'd spent more time putting on and taking off my makeup than actually wearing it!

I need my wrists slapped for pure dormattish stupidity, badly!!!

asks the lady at the GUM clinic every time I have a check-up.
"I wish!", I usually reply cheerfully.

Next time, my answer may be different- just had an excessively scary letter asking me for a payment of over 2 grand, in installments of £200 a week. WHAT!? Even when I'm working I don't have an extra £200, I mean I gotta live too!

So the old Gem guy came to mind, and how I might plot an encounter where I will be in the proximity of his old garlicky tongue and £2500 in cash again, without him being pissed off at me for never returning his calls... And preferably without "doing anything" with him!
Maybe it's just all those call-girl books I've been reading, they have corrupted my mind. Mind you, those girls work really hard for not a lot of compensation every time, it has to add up and they are constantly hustling for more johns...

I have sex for free and I like to get paid for doing nothing. Go figure!

In the great scheme of things, £2500 (the amount he gambled last time we went out, or should I say the only time- £2460 actually if you deduct the chips I slipped into my bag when he wasn't looking)
isn't that much money, or surely not enough to lose your pride over.
But if you DON't have it, it can suddenly become a real issue.

You'd never think I was that moralistically minded, would you?
Now if he was about 20 years younger and a foot taller and somehow better-looking however, I might even do it for less...

The Colonel is starting to get on my nerves. He calls me constantly, like literally 3x a day despite the time difference.

I rang him last night before going to bed (when he called before I had clicked my phone onto voice mail cos out with Romeo), he said he'd ring me back but I HAD to sleep. He didn't call and I disconnected my phones and went to bed.

This afternoon he rings me just as I am trying to catch up with my sleep and having a sneaky wank, we sort-of had phone sex but it wasn't very good compared to Chubby.

Then he wouldn't let me put the phone down for 2 hours. When am I coming, what am I worried about, didn't we fall in love in France?
Argh! Bad for my health, I told him, and he thought that was funny.

We also discussed anal sex, as there's no way I am going to NY knowing that this is all he will want to do with me.
I mean, he probably wants to do more on top of that, but anal is definitely on his agenda, and it's just not part of my sexual repertoire.
I mean, if I didn't do it with someone I loved deeply who I was with over 3 years, I am hardly going to start with someone I just met who refuses to wear condoms!

AH well.- I told him how sexually frustrated I was, but not what had brought it on. He hasn't been with anyone since me either, which was an interesting confession to hear!

Recent dates that went "nowhere":

Thursday, cocktails with Mystery boy, he is still being mysterious to the point he won't even disclose his surname or father's nationality!
I'd had a line from a random short black guy with soft and luscious lips (yes I snogged him in the toilets, slut that I am- should buy one of those T-shirts "will kiss for Coke!")- I am not used to that so I proceeded to weird Mystery out all night with verbal diarrhea.
We danced a bit in a gay club, then everything was shut and he refused to let me come to his place-spoilsport!!!

He said I wasn't acting normally and as if I was in posession of all my senses or some such (no shit- I had been drinking and doing 2 corners of a credit card of coke, he was sober as usual), so he put me on the night bus. Yawn.
He actually suggested accompanying me home and staying the night "without anything happening" but I told him that wasn't on.

I am getting bored with him now, I mean what's he all about!?!?

Date 2- Last night, Romeo took me out for dinner in my neck of the woods and we had some drinks and v interesting conversations.
Turns out he is fed up with being down about his ex, I told him a bit about the Colonel, Dance (he knew the story about me chucking him out anyway), the Bastard- argh I knew I shouldn't have had that second glass of wine, I was so hungover this morning and cringing at the memory of "TMI (too much information) syndrome" connected with alcohol.
Then again, he spilled some beans of his own.
Turns out he's dated a French and a Spanish girl, lived in the States, he's really not very confident and also used to go out with one of our colleagues who I know, which makes us "even"- I told him about dancing with and kissing the Rower on Valentine's night!

We finished our drinks and climbed over the fence of the locked-up park. He nearly impaled his balls in the process, but as soon as we were safely in the rose garden, we found some stars to look at and kissed and carressed each other.

I was actually prepared to sleep with him on the park bench, horny little minx that I am, after all I carry that condom in my wallet for a reason. The thought seemed to horrify him though, despite being the only people in the whole park (I think), and we kept to "second base" or whatever you want to call it when the girl sucks the guy's nipples and he stays safely above her dress.

He freaked out a bit at one point, asking me if this was where I took all the boys (what boys!? I wanted to scream, I WISH!) and I assured him the raunchiest thing I had done in that park involved a frisbee and my Nice Ex, so he was being paranoid for no reason.

He then went on to tell me that he had really low self esteem and whatever- admittedly his hips were a bit chubby and he worried about his (non-existent) man boobs, but he is really gorgeous, so who cares!? Anyway, we kept to kissing and star-gazing and I walked him to the tube.

Do I sound like a guy at all!?!?
This made me wonder: Can't you be a sexually predatory female and not be rejected all the time!?

Ok, this is how CONFUSED I am when I am tired.

Time: Last night
Location: bathroom
Activity: brushing my teeth.

Phone rings, I rush into my bedroom, foaming at the mouth.
"He-wooh!?!" I splutter.
"Hellou!" comes the American voice from the other end.
"I'm frushin why bleeth!" I say, "Hung woun!"
"Who is this?" he goes.
"bluth a winoute!" I reply, irritated, with foam dripping onto my pyjamas.

I put the receiver down on the loo seat and finish brushing my teeth.
I flush out my mouth and pick it up again: "Hello!"

"You called me tonight", he sais.
I am confused. Didn't we just speak earlier? And why the tone of voice?
"I was brushing my teeth", I reply, "and no, I didn't call you, we spoke earlier".
He is not coming out with what he wants. I lay back in bed, feeling annoyed. I want to watch "Lost" for chrissakes, isn't it enough to speak to my New York lover twice a day!?

"I got your number on my phone, you did call me", he insists.
"Well, I may have done", I reply, confused but eager to calm him down and get him off the phone.

"Are you drunk?" I ask him in order to change the subject.
"Not yet", he goes, "but planning to, later".

"What's the time there, nine o'clock?" I ask him.
"Midnight", he replies.

I laugh. "Hang on", I say, "it can't be midnight in NY when it's 11pm here!"
"I am not in New York." He sounds impatient, "I am in Paris!"
"In Paris?" I don't get it.

Suddenly, the penny drops.
It's not the Colonal at all, it's his Sexy Friend!
And they sound totally alike.

At first I think it's a bad joke. Actually, this thought re-enters my hear frequently throughout the conversation, so uncannily similar are their voices, I wonder if it's not the Colonel all along, winding me up.

"It's X..!" he bellows, "not Y (the colonel)!" "You sound exactly the same!" I tell him.
"No we don't!" he shouts back, clearly insulted.

Finally, some sense enters the conversation.
"Ah, it's YOU!" I exclaim, relieved I am not going totally insane. "How are you?"

"Not so good, Z [his French girlfriend who came out sailing with us one day] just left me, took her bags and she is walking the streets of Paris on her own."

Now I am intrigued. Why is the Sexy friend calling me? Fair enough, I did ring him earlier, but only to return his call a day late in order to finally get some clarity on what happened between the Colonel and Food Porn woman on the last day when I "caught" them on the yacht.

Screw caller ID! Or don't, seeing as I was pleased to hear from him once all the misunderstandings had been cleared up.

Bearing in mind this is the same guy who had a different, identikit woman on his arm in France every night and is planning to split up a lady in London withher boyfriend before he comes over, I was slightly confused about his emotional outburst.

"What happened?" I ask him.
"Oh, she checked all my PERSONAL emails and found messages from these ladies, they are just pen friends, I would never really meet them, just conversations, I can't believe she checked my personal stuff, some of them I have been writing to since before I met her, she is out on her own, she left me..." it came pouring out of him.
"Are you worried about her?" I ask, at a bit of a loss.

"Of course I am, I LOVE her!" he replies.

I chastise him for writing to other women. "What sort of things did they say? She obviously cares about you or she wouldn't react like that", I say, my disastrous last weeks with the Bastard preying on my mind.
"Oh, they just want money, a ticket to Paris, they want to meet a man with money, they are just penfriends", he insists.
I can imagine how insulted she must have felt.

"She locked her computer now and I can't get into my email", he moans.

No shit, Sherlock, I think.

I am now sure he is drunk.
"Maybe you should try to understand her" I say. He goes something like: "I've only been with her 3 months, and in France we weren't really together, but I love her, but she keeps asking when we are having a baby and if we'll get married and so on".
I assure him I am there and listening, but that he shouldn't be surprised that she walked out. They don't even live together, give the woman some space!

I change the subject by asking him all about the Colonel.
"He is my friend and I love him", he says, cryptically.
"But if he is really in love with someone, he is the most romantic, chivalrous and generous guy there is".
"But we only just met" I reply, "how can he feed me all this stuff when he barely knows me? Also he was really rude to all my friends and contacts" I add, and proceed to tell him how dismissive and disrespectful he was towards Daddy and people who are good networking contacts of mine.

Sexy friend seems embarrassed for the Colonel. "Um, that's just Y, he lives in a dream world."

We both agreed that he should be less arrogant and get a regular job, Sexy was also peeved with him about talking down to him and other people on the boat.

"You are such a spoilt little prince" I once told him.
Daddy, who I repeated my words to, suggested that he probably liked to hear that.

Sexy and I talked for about half an hour, I had set my VHS to record the show by that stage- right until his girlfriend surprisingly returned.

God knows how that must have looked to her, to come back in and find him chatting animatedly on the phone- although she knows me and my connection to the Colonel.

We said goodbye and this morning I had a message on my answerphone (in French), asking me to call him.
Maybe he just had the wrong number?

I am glad I am making a new friend/potential fuck buddy in Mystery boy.
We met in France and have since met up in London twice.

He really doesn't give much away about his daily life and routine, apart from the fact that he has never had a "conventional" relationship, just friends with benefits (who then stop having sex with him "temporarily" if they get serious boyfriends/married) and doesn't want to know the names of my other lovers.

This honesty pleased me no end, it was a great relief to find a kindred spirit, and one who didn't beat around the bush (boo-boom) so to speak.

He took me for dinner on Thursday and all our conversation revolved around subjects such as: "What's your greatest fear?" (Rejection, abandonment from people I care about- for him, it used to be public humiliation but he has since changed his mind about that), to "What's the most exhilaratingly scary experience you have ever had?" (Tropical storm in Thailand me and the nice Ex had to face in only a bin bag, him, an ice berg collapsing in front of his kanu in Alaska), to bondage (his mate apparently has these handcuffs on the gear shift in his car as a subtle sign to anyone who might be interested).
Fascinating stuff!

That means, I know about his sexual and travelling habits, a bit about his sibling and parents, but nothing whatsoever about his job. He said he's not in the Mafia (as if!), because "once you're in you can't get out"!

Anyway, he is far too nice for anything like that.

He doesn't drink and he kisses like a 21-year-old, meaning no stubble and soft, caring kisses.
Coming to that, I also don't know his age. Unless he really is 100, and his brother 3!

He probably doesn't do anything exciting (despite claiming to have constant meetings with people from Saudi and what not) but is a lonely student with too much imagination- who knows!

Still, he can tie me up anytime...

I also had an email from Music boy recently, suggesting a repeat performance at the S Hotel...

You see, what I crave most is attention.
One man simply wouldn't be able to dispense it as freely as I need it, especially if we are both not "sure" yet and want to let things develop at their natural pace.

For Music boy for example, this means sex once a year because of work commitments, the Colonel lives in the States, Cashmere spends 6 monts a year abroad, Dance obviously had the libido of Mother Theresa (if not her generosity), and people like Romeo are simply too new in my life to base any predictions on.

Daddy friend, Mr Bigshot and the new Canadian (who is divorced with 3 kids) will never be more than friends (without benefits).

I just started reading "Men Love Bitches" as recommended by one of my blog sisters.
My flatmate bought it after feeling that she could do with improving her confidence, following our Friday night out.
Whilst she sat at a table looking uncomfortable, with hunched shoulders and a tired expression, I was doing my best chatting with people old and new, dancing with Chelsea boy and getting us free drinks.
Exhausting but necessary if you want to have a fun time! No use being too much "in your head" about it all.

The funniest thing actually happened AFTER the club.
Waiting at the bus stop, we were approached by a fully nude man who appeared from the bushes in Hyde park. We laughed and I asked him if he was a nudist? But he just wanted a cigarette, undeterred that everyone at the bus stop said they didn't smoke.
He kept hanging round the fence for a chat, like an odd zoo animal, with his willie flopping in the breeze.

A guy from London Underground took a picture and the door staff at the club on the other side of the road nearly impaled themselves on the fence with laughter!

I just calculated how many guys have had the pleasure of my lips since June 3rd:

Sat 3/6: 1)Posh tie boy (brief, nice lips, had girlfriend- no tongues. 3 little pecks or so at the races)
2) Barbados man (on the naked boy bus)

Sun 4/6: 3)Dance boy, but it was more of a pity kiss from him, and goodbye from me.

Tue 6/6: 4)Mr Bigshot (briefly, me by accident, he by design)
5)Romeo! (Stubble mouth, but nice, nice, nice!)

Wed 7/6: Romeo again... (went for drinks before Canada's leaving do)

Thu 8/6: 6)Mystery boy (out for Thai dinner and drinks- he is a new addition and won't tell me anything about himself- mysterious!)

Fri 9/6: 7)a drunk Chelsea boy I danced with at a fancy club (loooovely lisser, soft lips, just the right amount of suction and pressure, kissed all the way down my neck, I nearly melted but I had to get up early on Saturday...)

Sat 10/6: nobody, stayed in to watch TV with my Neighbour, knackered! (However we met some really nice guys from Albania, one with a black Merc, the other with a Beemer who gave us a lift home from the park!)

Sun 11/6: nobody again, but out in the park with Essex boy and his friend, where I then bumped into yet another new addition to my lil black book of current crushes, Sunburn boy, who contributed a corkscrew and some fun conversation.
(After they had left, I got a text from Essex saying he "nearly" stole a kiss, well why didn't you then!?... On the other hand I don't think there is any chemistry between us.)

Mon 12/6: Out with Mr Bigshot for a fun (sober) dinner, then caught up with Mystery boy later and we had cocktails and more snogs...

Ok, I know it's getting boring, 3 posts a day or whatever, but what can I do when things just keep happening which are worthy of inclusion in my blog!?

Anyway, I was helping out a friend last night running an event in central London, and one of the other staff there told me as soon as I walked in the door that he knew me from somewhere.

Now this guy rang a faint bell of being gay, but I knew he wasn't, and I recognised him too but couldn't put my finger on it. Other than that he was basically the spitting image of the picture you see when you open the dictionary on "Sienna's type".

This guy- let's call him Romeo- was obviously disturbed by the fact he didn't know how he knew me, but by the end of the night he announced triumpahntly where we'd met in January. We both laughed the relieved laughter of a mystery well solved, and it also turned out that he was now single.

I recounted my frustrating experience with Dance to my friend and Romeo, which resulted in much incredulity (did I spell that right?)- my how times have changed!-, laughter and also sympathy about my female-equivalent-to-blue-balls-status.
I demonstrated Dance's sloppy-armed hug to Romeo with my friend looking on jealously (apparently), and sparks flew.

During the night, Romeo introduced me to a guy he knew who might be relevant for my carreer, but I brushed them off by saying: "look honey, I have just been networking for 2 weeks and if you don't stop going on about people in the industry, I will faint with boredom right now", which I am sure impressed Mr Bigshot as he is probably used to girls fallin at his feet begging to suck his toes as soon as he announces his job title. Yawn!

After the event, with some participants still milling about and me changed from my work uniform into a sexy evening top, Romeo, Mr Bigshot and I decided to stay for the drag queen cabaret.

Too drunk to pick up on the sparks flying between Romeo and I, and eager to create some sparks of his own, Mr Bigshot, sitting to my left, became more and more flirty and touchy-feely.

It went so far that, as we were laughing our heads off about the drag queens, Mr Bigshot licked my shoulder whilst Romeo was holding my hand and stroking my knee under the table, obscured by the table cloth.

I urgently whispered to Romeo what he thought I should do, and he advised I tell Mr Bigshot I was with him, but I didn't think this would quite work because they knew each other and it was fairly obvious we weren't a couple.

Mr Bigshot kept buying us drinks and food, then he went to the loo.
Romeo sensed the perfect opportunity to make his feelings clear, seized my head and kissed me with Mr Bigshot barely 3 feet behind him.

I was soo pleased!
I mean, here was a guy I thought nearly out of my league I fancied him so much, and he liked me too, and he was fun and gorgeous and affectionate, and sympathetic to my sex draught, and liked my theory about being unattached unless engaged and so on. And he kissed me with his astroturf stubble until I got worried Mr Bigshot might spot us and throw a fit.

As it was now obvious we liked each other and Mr Bigshot was biding his time until he could launch a second attempt on my lips or shoulder, I suggested we leave just after the drag queens performed a hilarious rendition of the Cheeky Song which climaxed in the fat one losing both her blow-up boobs to a cheering crowd.

I said goodnight to Mr Bigshot, telling him about my excruciating headache brought on by too much work, alcohol and watching neon-clad drag queens to a soundtrack fit to wake the dead, and Romeo reminded him he had to get up for a 7:30am start at a building site.

We left and Romeo kissed me passionately outside the latest Lloyd Webber musical.

I let my first bus go past on his insistence, and we revelled in each others tongues and eyes and smiles, pressing our bodies close together and breathing each other's breath.

"What?" he asked as another giggle escaped my lips, now raw from his astroturf kisses. "I can't even remember the last time I kissed anyone I fancied this much", I told him.
"What about the guy you kicked out for not sleeping with you?" he asked. "I fancy you much more than him" I admitted, blushing.

And you know what, I genuinely DON't remember when I ever kissed anyone I fancied more than Romeo. Strange.

Onwards and downwards, here my extremely frustrating experience from Sunday night.

Dance Boy asked to meet up in the evening, he'd been working and I had spent all afternoon working on my tan with my Neighbour, so after we'd soaked up enough sun I met up with Dance for dinner and drinks.

Needless to say, I paid half, or at least close to half because I wasn't carrying much cash.
Nice chat, nice food, but too much talk about Friend B for my liking, he discovered her birthday was on the same day as the girl he used to fancy at school, oh wasn't that strange?

Anyway, we ended up walking back to mine to watch a (birthday present) DVD, he even put his arm around me whilst walking down the road, or I did, can't remember.
Seriously, he is so "verklemmt" it's not even funny.
This basically means, stiff like an unoiled door, stuck, inflexible, self-conscious, awkward.

We got to mine and he went to buy some beer for himself, juice for me, I gave him a fiver because he'd run out of cash.

Watched the film lying on my bed but it was like there was an invisible wall between us, rather frustrating. At one point I took his hand and got no response, so I soon gave up.
He took off his shirt because of the heat, I trailed my nails across his back, both of us lying on our stomachs watching the film, again he didn't reciprocate or make appreciative noises so I became self-conscious about touching him and stopped.

The DVD stopped halfway through and I stayed watching him for a bit. His handsome face, greenish eyes, curly hair and muscular body, half naked in bed next to me.
He said: "go on, turn over the DVD, he just struck oil, I am really into the film now!"- so I did.

I was really hoping for some cuddles, but they weren't forthcoming and I began to feel really rejected.
At one point he turned around so his hands were near my feet, and I wriggled my toes hoping for a foot massage, still, nada...

The film finished and he started going on about his mobile battery running flat, I told him: "Don't worry, you can charge it when you get home, can't you?", making it obvious he wasn't invited to stay.
This hasn't bothered him in the past, he stayed over twice before without me encouraging him, and another time he left when I told him he could only stay if we "did stuff".

Anyway, he seemed surprised I didn't want him there but sort of appeared to accept it. He came back from the bathroom and hugged me, but it wasn't a passionate embrace, more a "might fall asleep on your shoulder" one.
So I asked him: "what you doing, are you going to sleep on my shoulder?" He replied: "If you want me to", but I said: "No, not really..." taking a step back so he nearly fell over.

(Made me think of the song: "Stand by your man... give him two arms to cling to..."- if he's too lazy to keep his own balance, why bother!?)

He seemed confused why I wanted him to leave. Suddenly, some life breathed into him and he grasped me feverishly as if we were dancing, then threw me onto the bed and himself on top of me.

This I liked, and I started giggling and expecting things to take a different turn, but it was like someone stepped on his brake. He came to rest on top of me and we just started talking, his hip bone pressing into my thigh.

He asked me if the dress I was wearing was the expensive one I had bought for my trip? I replied, "no, silly, this was 10 quid from Primark, do you think I would wear an expensive evening dress to the park?"

I had taken off my bra whilst watching the film, so he could have had easy access to my assets if he'd wanted to, especially as he'd already proven how easy it is for him to hold me down when I am struggling to get free, but he wasn't interested.
Instead we talked about how weird this whole thing was, how we'd stopped kissing when he had the cold sore, how he just felt like "my friend".

I didn't particularly want to hear this, and then he came out with this story about a girl he'd liked at uni (when he was still shy about women- I thought, so what's changed?)- he had stayed a night in her bed and nothing had happened.
"So she was just lying there next to you, creaming herself all night in frustration?" I asked him.
"No," he replied, "it was cool", like it had only just occurred to him.

Then he started going into why I had held off letting him in my flat at first? Not having sex stright away, like I was "playing by The Rules" or something.
I replied that a girl can have loads of reasons for not rushing into bed with someone straightaway, thinking: I was really into Cashmere and dating Camden, we were both injured, next time I think I had my period or something, I wasn't sure how much I liked him yet, didn't want to upset my flatmate, who knows!?

We debated how it was possible for us to dance like we were having a passionate sex life, and he admitted that when he first met me he thought we'd have great sex yet didn't... So did I, but I thought it was still possible.
I said: "I have known you since February, some marriages don't even last this long!"

I began to wonder:
-This guy has passionately kissed your friend in front of you
-He is capable of LYING ON TOP OF YOU without doing anything
-He expects to spend the night and have breakfast without anything happening
-He has told you he feels more like your friend
-He talks about other women constantly
-He said he didn't mind you touching him but hasn't reciprocated
-You lay naked in his arms at Easter and touched his penis, he never went below your belly button...

I began to feel extremely insulted and angry, I mean I am not a hotel, right!?
Again I asked him to leave, in a very serious voice. He could see I was getting upset, I had to look the other way so he wouldn't see the tears welling up in my eyes.
"What is happening?", he asked, "why are you getting upset?"

I couldn't hold it in anymore and basically lost it.

"I have spent nine months lying next to someone who was thinking about someone else the whole time, I don't need this!" I yelled at him.
I ran out the room and locked myself in the bathroom, sobbing hysterically. It was around 3am.

I tried to calm down, then took his shoes and bag from the hallway and threw them outside the front door on the landing.
I came back into my bedroom to find him putting on his shirt, took his mobile from the floor and chucked it into his shoe outside my flat, then I shoved him out after it.
"If you don't want to be with me", I said through my tears, "there are a million places on this planet you can be rather than in my bed!"

He didn't get it. "But I do want to be with me, and I never said I was thinking of someone else" he told me, utterly bewildered.

Next thing he knew, he was out on the landing and I locked the door behind him.

Suddenly I started to feel really sorry for him.
After all, was my outburst really fair on him? He had no idea of the can of worms he'd opened and I unlocked my front door and found him sitting on the top of the stairs, putting his shoes on.

"I'm sorry" I said, and he got up and hugged me.

We talked a bit more, but I was tired and it was too late to actually solve anything. I think he began to understand a bit more and he also confessed his last serious relationship ended 6 years ago.
Mine was just over a year ago, which he said was "lucky".
I asked him why nothing had ever worked out for him since then, and he said something about falling for the wrong people and the wrong people falling for him, but come on, 1999!?!?!

We kissed on the mouth to say goodbye, but it didn't turn into anything passionate and in the end he left.

I composed a text which I didn't send:
"As you have the social skills of a cruise missile, the tact of a tank, Scrooge's generosity and Mother Theresa's libido, last night was the last goodbye."

He called and left a voice mail yesterday, asking if I was ok. I won't call him back.

I had the MOST FABULOUS birthday celebration, ever!

I decided since I never meet men who take me to the races I would treat myself and my friends to a special day out and booked a day at the Epsom Derby.

We arrived early-ish with a monster picnic which we shared around enjoying the sunshine, and then I placed my first bet.

In the paper that week (in a section I never usually read) I had spotted a horse called "Sienna Storm" and put a fiver on him- the tickt nearly had me faint with the astronomical odds as Sienna appeared to be the total outsider.
Needless to say, the old mare lost, but hey, I had better luck with some of the others- BEAVER PATROL made me shriek with delight when I won around 40 quid!

Power to the beavers I say!

Wandering around the outside of the track sans shoes clutching a glass of bubbly, I encountered a group of guys all sporting the same tie- one of them around his head, City Rambo style.
He beckoned me over and I half expected the immortal line: "hey, if I can make you come with one finger, imagine what I could do with the rest of my body...!?" but thank fuck this line never came.

Instead we had a brief chat which climaxed in one of them poking my upper arm and the others complimenting my hat and eyes whilst they sipped DP 1988 straight from the bottle.

Dope boy's long-lost brother turned up wearing a "shirt like a deck chair", flatmate had to leave in time for a ball that evening, Canada boy only made the last 2 races and my Spanish friend arrived at 3pm after she'd been the one adamant to meet at Waterloo for 10am!
LOL!

It was the hottest day of the year and some of my friends developed odd patches of red divided up by bag and bra strap-sized strips of white, whilst all that alcohol went straight to my head and the strawberries and cream went straight to my thighs.

I had packed a frozen cake which kept the contents of the picnic box nice and cool until we ate it. The cake, not the box!

Suddenly the races were over, the sun still beating down and I discovered I'd have to hurry up to make my own dinner reservation, so I asked the identikit-tie-boys for a lift into town on their hospitality double decker bus.
They agreed and Spanish girl, Canada boy and Friend B (Dance's snogging partner from Friend A's birthday) piled on.

Within minutes, I was flirting with an extremely gorgeous guy from Barbados, drinking wine and soaking up the sunshine on the top deck surrounded by 200 totally drunk men in identical ties, my hat flattering in the breeze.

Once in London, the atmosphere suddenly became more electric, and the guys started singing a totally silly song which instructed them to take off their ties, socks, shirts, trousers, and, you guessed it, eventually pants too!

So there we were, driving down King's Road with 4 totally naked boys at the front of the bus, streaking to the world (and in particualr patrons sitting outside the Bluebird restaurant), wobbling their willies at passersby.
Friend B averted her eyes in horror (she has only ever slept with one man, remember), Spanish girl shrieked in my ear and I kept howling: "Naked boys, naked boys" to a random tune, alerting the stares of Sunday evening strollers in Kensington. Loads of people took pictures, and I expected all of us to get arrested, but we didn't come across one police car and I suspect the bus driver was totally clueless about what was going on above his head.

One of the guys (the one with the soft lips and the girlfriend, who I'd kissed briefly at the races) had an absolutely microscopic cock but didn't seem to care. So much for the uninhibiting qualities of alcohol!

Eventually just as we reached Knightsbridge, the guys got dressed again but then one of them remembered me saying I would get naked if all of them stripped off (GROAN! famous last words!), so to the cheer of "Get your tits out for the lads!" I eventually succombed to flashing my nipples at them outside Harrods.
First the left one, then the right one, out the top of my cleavage. I mean, I wasn't exactly going to take my posh dress off, but under all that peer pressure I had to keep up some end of my bargain.

After all only around 5% of them had actually got naked, so I only revealed a small percentage of my body! Frigid Friend B nearly fell off the bus in shock.

It all got a bit much however and I was horrendously late for my own dinner, so Canada and I got the bus driver to stop and let us out in South Kensington, whilst the guys kept cheering: "Get your tits out, get your tits out..."
Just then, Dance boy rang to find out where I was. I tried to explaing, but he hung up, repulsed by the cheering crowd I suspected.

The other girls stayed on the bus, too drunk, tired or confused to hop off together, and Canada and I persuaded a random guy in a convertible Merc to take us and the picnic box to the nearest bus stop.

From there we finally got to the restaurant an hour late, greeted by the rest of my party who had had to kill an hour in each other's presence but didn't seem too bothered by our late arrival, thank God. Maybe they were feeling guilty they hadn't come to the derby, who knows!?

I opened my presents and cards, had a yummy lobster and stopped drinking for the moment. Dance had got me a great book and written a really sweet card, but somehow the spark wasn't quite there.

I danced with him at the club after dinner, he didn't buy me a drink again but danced with me like he wanted to ravish me, however it was all show.

Some of my male friends were confused by us, my neighbour had to endure a range of questions whether he was "my new fella". She didn't really know how to answer that, knowing about the Colonel, Dolphinboy and my feelings for Cashmere as well as the fact that despite meeting Dance in February we haven't had sex, but for the rest of the world we must have looked like a couple very much in love with a five-star sex life...

We all left at midnight, exhausted from the heat and the drinking and the long day (well we are all getting seriously old now), and apparently noone got laid despite Canada and Friend A taking off in the same direction.
No snog from Dance either, how strange...

Does anyone else get fed up with the snail-pace speed of the blog server these days?
It ain't my connection speed let me assure you,all my other sites load fine, come on guys, sort it out!

I am not the most patient girl in the world...