Yesterday, I did something I have never done before- and it was great!

KB and I got "friendly" on the sofa, moved to my bedroom, fucked each other's brains out (on the bed, the floor, me sitting astride him facing his feet, him on top of me in the corner of my room, my head on some bag or other, gosh where did I get that carpet burn on my knee!?), he came inside of me after assuring himself it was "safe". I felt lovely and fulfilled, and we lied back on the bed and cuddled.
Then I began to feel horny again.
He slipped his hand between my legs and felt how wet I was, "with his help", of course... - then I persuaded him to go for a second round: by licking and sucking his cock until he was hard again.

Tasting myself on his shaft, his salty taste mingling with mine on his balls, sucking them whilst he stroked himself, made me even hornier.

Soon, he was ready and entered me again- right into his own cum from the first time!

I think there must be an expression for that- the buttered bun or something, at least I heard it referred to as such in German (or does that just apply if it was another man's come?).

In any case, it felt delicious and neither of us lasted very long. I collapsed on top of him and then he wanked himself off until he spunked onto his stomach, narrowly missing my lips which were locked to his nipples.

Bliss!

In any relationship (fledgling or longer-running), there are the little niggles which you need to consider if things are to continue. Ideally, the "cons" will be outweighed by the "pros".

Here are mine:

Ideally:
He would have a raging hard-on as soon as things get "interesting". This boner would not subside until he has received a blow-job, gone down on me and given me a thorough rogering. The thing I would most like to happen is: him going down on me and then sliding himself up my body and inside of me without interruption, just before I come. He would then fuck me vigorously until he exploded inside of me, allowing me to ride the same orgasmic wave.

In Reality:
He doesn't always stay hard. When he does, he takes ages to come. This is especially a condom-related problem, when he often doesn't come at all, or just goes soft. Sometimes, it is difficult to get him hard- I (or he) have to liteally yank and wank (or lick) him until he gets an erection.

Fortunately:
He doesn't care if he doesn't come (although I do, it leaves me somewhat frustrated/deflated/feeling useless or unsexy...).
He always makes sure I do (or offers to, even if I came earlier). He has asked me to get my vibrator out and fucked me with it until I came. He has pushed two fingers inside me and pushed them in and out of me whilst I rubbed my clit until I had an amazing orgasm. He gets hard (and wet) before things even start, and I can see (and smell) how excited he is. He is considerate and won't continue fucking me when he hasn't come and I have, and want him to stop.
He is extremely affectionate and says: "it will sort itself out, sorry, that's just me..."
I wonder if it may have anything to do with his ex though.

Ideally:
He would have a nice, trim body which he somehow keeps in shape, he would eat sensibly and would be confident on the dance floor.

In Reality:
He is overweight and hates it. His friends call him funny nicknames relating to his weight (oh the cruelty of superficial queens!), yet he eats fattening food and is proud of the fact he doesn't own trainers. He has no rhythm and isn't always sure which hand should be where when you partner-dance, he also swings his hips in a strange fashion... I would bet my life's savings that he has never danced in front of a mirror!

Fortunately:
He is open to suggestions and eager to learn. I found out that my own BMI is reaching worrying proportions, and I moaned to him I need to exercise more. He is supportive and even suggested he buy trainers and join me in the fight against waist flab! He was up for coming rollerblading with me, although he ended up having to jog alongside as all the hire shops had disappeared.
He has come dancing with me and was having fun, even when he had to watch me dance with other men. He is interested in taking more lessons.
He is a great cook!!

Actually, now I feel I am being rather silly and I am glad I wrote all this down.
I should have no cause for concern at all and be happy he is with me! I like him a lot, lust after him like crazy, and feel spoiled like a princess when I am with him.
So- shut up, niggling voices, shut up!!!

Today I got dressed up for sexy Tall Boy- although I am with KB and he has seen us together and told me in the club we went to after my party that he thought KB's a decent chap.

I wanted to look nice for him (despite the despicable weather) although he has given me NO encouragement to fancy him at all -if you don't count the cheeky looks he shoots me from his emerald eyes, and the way he winds me up ever-so teasingly.

Fact is, he thinks we have nothing in common.
He likes Rock, I like House (where is the problem? you might ask- honestly, I don't know!).
He likes beer, I like champagne cocktails (again, not a problem- but he claims they are too expensive, whilst I despise the smell of beer).
He likes going to scruffy places, I prefer glam ones that he finds pretentious.
He prefers going out with a large group of mates to get hammered, I have slightly more upmarket expectations of my weekend, and I like nice dates.
He asked me out to the theatre, but let me pay (then gave me the money back for his ticket)- going Dutch on a first "date" (was it a date?): also not my thing.
He has continually refused any suggestions to go out again, although he DID text me at 4am once (when he was "in my area") and called me at 9pm (about a party the next night, which he then missed).
I get the impression that he is quite disorganised/unreliable.
When I got sick at work (he heard me throwing up!), he didn't offer to see me home or walk me to the tube- not very gentlemanly!

So- how superficial am I?
Isn't it weird how someone can behave in not-such a nice way towards you, yet you are utterly enthralled by their looks and charm?

And, on the other hand, how someone who is an absolutely wonderful and decent person can make you throw all your "expectations" about looks and weight out of the window because although they are short, fat and hairy, they make your spine (and other places) tingle with lust and your head spin with their wit and intellect?
That would be KB of course...

I exhausted poor KB this weekend.

After he treated me to a wonderful Oyster lunch at a popular market, we went around shopping again all day (hey, my mum is coming to stay, and two rooms in my flat didn't have proper curtains yet!), despite being exhausted from our early morning nookie session.

He was a very naughty boy.
I sleep with an eye mask sometimes, so my face was half-covered and I "couldn't see what was going on", which KB used for his advantage.
He began stroking my neck and back whilst I was still half asleep and wriggled my bum towards him, next thing I knew he was pulling up my silk nightie (he sleeps naked), pinned my arms above my head with his elbows and hands, and ravished me.
He pushed himself inside me without much ado, only the odd kiss and grope here and there, and didn't stop until my negligee was soaked with sweat.
I am getting moist just typing this! It was so wrong- I mean, there were condoms in my bedside drawer, and I think I ovulated last week- he didn't come inside me but on my belly, slowly trickling onto my skin and into my short pubes- yet I wanted him to do nothing else. I need to go back on the pill although that would feel severely schizophrenic...

I came twice or so, what a wonderful way to wake up. I wasn't even tired afterwards.

Ok, time to get back to the subject matter...

He didn't stick around that night. He had a cold coming on and felt tired- after goading him around all day, doing lots of fetching and carrying to add the icing to my flat, who can blame him? But still, I felt a bit abandoned, especially since I had been hoping to come with him and because I had no other plans in place. Um...

In the end, a repeat of some episodes of Desperate Housewives was on (which I had missed; largely due to having sex with K, so I managed to entertain myself in the absence of men, friends or my wallet (which he'd taken with him by mistake).

Sunday was a bit of a wash-out too, with no money and no place to go (all my relevant cards were in that blasted wallet!) I left countless messages on various friends' answerphones, only to get through to one friend who wasn't up for doing anyting, and one called me back, admitting she had been sleeping with a married man (this transpired in the conversation, it wasn't the reason for her call)!

This made me worry that I will lose all my social life if I get too wrapped up in Mr Kensington.

Also- what was he up to? (shopping, that's what- and he gave me a gift too, the sweetheart!!)

I met up with him at the movies later (my treat), we had dinner (his treat), yet then he went home alone again- I guess that's his revenge for turning him away last week after I flashed him at the club, also as a result of that blasted cold.

This morning, I had a nightmare.
I dreamt he had gotten back with his ex, and I found them together, all cuddled up with no space for me. He acted all aloof and told me he had to give it another go with her. I cried, then planned my impotent revenge.
I can't change someone's heart after all. She was - of course- posher than me; posher than him, even...

I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep.

I wasn't even in a bad mood actually, until the dream came back to me.

He broke up with his ex in November.

We started writing to each other in December.

Mindfuck.

Sometimes, I wish there was an "off" switch for my brain...

This is why I prefer to see him at my place- a clean slate, no memories.
I think of her body in his bed, his shower, on his sofa, eating from his plate. Her legs around his head, her clothes in a drawer somewhere, her hand on the key that now hangs on my keyring.

Being stupid would be so much easier... Or having a less vivid imagination!

Last week, KB took me to a rather stiff and pretentious reception in the honour of his old school- basically we went for the free drinks, and to meet his best friend from school who came too.

Afterwards we had dinner at his gentlemen's club, which is always a grand affair, only I felt much more comfortable in the surroundings than last time.

KB made me laugh by signing me in under the fake name I had used in my first emails to him, and the waiter recognised me and was being very sweet.

Also- last time I hadn't yet slept with KB, so there was all that nervousness and pent-up sexual energy swirling around... Which was not the case this time, we felt really happy and relaxed in each other's company and ordered some lovely food with a half-bottle of champagne. (How decadent, it wasn't even the weekend! Did I mention the man likes to seriously spoil me?)

We skipped pudding (although KB "loves me just the way I am"- see below!) and instead retired to the library with some drinks.
I sat in the same leather armchair I did last time, when KB had finally overcome his shyness and carressed my arm and hand, causing me to slowly melt into my seat.
Only this time, he was a lot more forward.
Coming round behind me, he forcefully kissed my neck and face, and slipped his hand into my top. His rough finger tips carressed my nipple, which sprang to immediate attention, and I felt myself gush with moisture in anticipation of imminent discovery by an 80-year old waiter or other!

On the other hand, I didn't want Kensington to stop, it simply felt too good... I looked about for any handy nooks and crannies, long table cloths or secret doors, whilst I didn't actually expect to let myself get carried this far.

His breath on my ear felt wonderful and he smelled simply divine. I could tell he was excited too, although not hard. He pushed my silk skirt up with his right hand, whilst still carressing me with his left, and placed his hand firmly between my legs.
Mildly scandalized, I cried out in protest, despite not wanting him to stop -to the contrary!

He let go of me. Basically, I am sure they would ban him if they discovered his guest in a state of undress in the library (you can only book rooms there if you are married, for christ's sake!), and he had packed his night things in case I took him home with me.

Before we returned to a more dignified state of affairs however, I pulled my underwear down and gave him a quick flash of my pussy from the confines of the fine leather chair.
I am SO classy!!

KB and I are going from strength to strenght- as naff as that may sound!
I still haven't given up thoughts of visiting the Professor (train boy) or meeting with the mystery internet guy for dinner- after all, KB hasn't asked me to be his girlfriend, whether we are "steady" or "exclusive", yet we have talked about our views on marriage and children...

Last Friday I cooked for him. He had supplied the bubbly and complimented my cooking

Under the pretense of replacing the sofa cover, I suddenly found myself kneeling on the sofa mattress, which was spread on the floor, giggling helplessly as KB and I made last attempts to straighten the bugger up.
I reached for him and we collapsed in a heap of kisses on top of the mattress, oblivious to the potential hazard of my flatmate walking in.
He touched my boons through the silk of my top, and ran his hands up my skirt whilst I slowly undid his belt and ran my nails across his back, hardly ever breaking the kiss.
Needless to say, we didn't plan on taking off more clothes than necessary- although we hoped the door would remain closed!
It was also tricky to position ourselves so the neighbours wouldn't get an eyeful if they happened to look out the window.

This is funny actually, KB regularly waves at the windows opposite his own flat when he is walking around naked- just so any potential peeping toms realise he doesn't care how fat and hairy he is- it's HIS flat! I only hope he doesn't turn up in a reality TV version of "Friends"...

KB pushed my skirt up just enough to get his head under it, and began licking me whilst I pulled my top up and my bra down to let my erect nipple poke out which he had made efforts to get hard.

I just love the feel of his stubble on my pussy, it is the horniest thing, and so primeval... He wouldn't even let me the time to have a quick wash, but judging by his taste I guess I must have tasted ok too. He kissed me, asking: "do you like to taste yourself on my mouth?" Indeed I do, or rather I don't mind. I guess I am not very squirmish, but I can't exactly expect him to go down on me if I despised the taste myself!

Same for guys, if they have a problem with you kissing them after they have come in your mouth, refuse to do it again...
Not that I swallow much on purpose that is- as I recall, it only happened twice:
Once when I was racked with guilt from cheating on Nice Ex, when I gave him a finger-up-the-bum blow job in the bath at his parent's house,
and the second time when the Sailor/Dolphinboy came to stay with me in London (again in the shower- I guess it can't hurt to have a water source nearby!).

The time at the club with that black male model (whilst my friend Samantha got fucked up the arse by his white mate) I wasn't planning on swallowing, but there was no other option really at the point of no return- and I chased it with Champagne, so that wasn't too bad.

When I lived with the Domestic Abuser all those years ago, he once pushed my head down on his dick in the bathtub, and it was either drown or swallow... Although I chose to spit it in the bath water afterwards, hoping it would clog his pubes!

Anyway, KB has never come in my mouth, and unless I ask him to (or am VERY patient), he never will.

Although I made a very good effort, it must be said! After releasing him from his belt, I poked his cock through his posh boxer shorts (some sort of multi-count striped cotton) and licked him slowly, cradling his balls in my hand.
I opened my lips slightly, allowing just the tip access to my mouth, and slid him out again... nibbled the sides, pushed his cock into my cheek, swirled my tongue around his tip and under the foreskin...

He was lying blissfully on his back, although I willed him to look up and watch me play with his hard-on. All thoughts of the flatmate were forgotten, I am sure!

He pushed me onto my back and started to get the condom out of his pocket (clever boy!), then he entered me and begun fucking me with abandon with a slightly intense look on his face, which soon turned into bliss as he felt my wetness around him.
"What's your dirtiest fantasy?" he whispered into my ear.
"I can't possibly tell you", I replied, thinking that if he knew any details about that rather perverse dream I had where my father penetrates me from behind by accident, he would be really shocked.

He could tell I had something good up my sleeve though so he kept pestering me until I relented.
"What if...", a lot of these sorts of conversations seem to start with, as in: "what if you came into your club's library, and I was there being held down by three men, who offered me to you"...
"I would send them out", came his polite reply.
"What if I struggled, and you'd need them to hold me down?" I asked back. "I still wouldn't want them there", he insisted.

I suppose that is one of the differences between "just sex" and making love to someone you care about- you would feel uncomfortable with that sort of scenario, jealous or whatever.

Later on, however, as we got more into the "fantasy" thing, he admitted he'd had thoughts of wanting to be watched "in the act", so I guess there is some scope there. Not that we have any outings to swingers nights planned, but you just never know!

He asked me: "Have you ever done it with two men?" and I recalled that night at the Aussie party with two friends, who left me in the arms of two hunky Australians, when I was too pissed, tired and horny to go home.

Boy 1 got saddled with a room full of used condoms, I got cystitis and Boy 2 got to shag his girlfriend next door the next morning (which is what woke me up) - argh!

I didn't go into too many details with Kensington Boy, but told him just enough to turn him wild with lust.
"What if there was another guy here and I was blowing one of you whilst the other one fucked me, which one would you want to be?" I asked him.
"The one who fucks you", came the reply. "You could see me suck the other guy's cock..." I suggested. "Yes," he grunted, thrusting harder.

I was on top of him by then and said: "What if some girl came and sat on your face, would you like that? I could kiss her at the same time..." He asked me if I would be jealous.

Yes, I guess I would- which is why this is fantasy, not reality!

...he said, over dinner at his club; prompted by me making a remark over my figure.
"You what?" I asked him, keeping my eyes firmly on my plate.
"I lover you just the way you are", he repeated, louder, and I stared at him whilst my smoked salmon slowly slipped off my fork.
"I see..", I replied with the biggest grin ever!

"Having a child together is a lifetime commitment, it's just not the right time yet", he told me on the phone. "If I said: 'let's get married tomorrow' you'd run a mile!"

"Give me some credit here", I chuckled.

The thought appealed to me- but not to him, obviously!

And all this because I suggested we stop sleeping together, seeing as it confuses me so much.

"Is this the 'let's just be friends' moment?" he asked.

"NOOOOO!" I replied.

"Thing is," he went, as much as I don't want to screw you every time I see you we end up doing it anyway".

"Yes", I agreed, "You can't help it!".

Me neither by the way.

KB and I spent yesterday just fucking the day away, literally.
We did it in my bed in the morning, then moving onto the floor in case the creaking disturbed my flatmate who was suffering from a cold (we could hear her sneeze- so much for the thickness of my walls!).
I spread the duvet on the carpet, and he knelt between my legs and thrust away. I think after that I lost count of my orgasms that day...
Later on, we did it in my bed again (after some well-earned rest) and I sat astride him until he pushed me off as he was about to come. My knees got covered in it- lol!
I fell asleep in his arms until about 1pm, when it was time for some breakfast (which he cooked-mmmmh! )

I felt really close to him, constantly touching, kissing and talking. He massaged my feet, I rubbed his back and every time I looked at him looking at me I just felt like melting.

His eyes were filled with so much love and emotion, I had to make a silly comment to laugh it off.

I suggested we have a bath and greeted him swathed in furry foam. He joined me and I was truly grateful for the generous size of my bath tub and his gentleness, as nothing was flooded in the process, even when things got a bit more "interesting".

When we were thoroughly washed and pumiced, I turned on the shower and presented my bare behind. He got the message and we did some very naughty things indeed... (NOT including anal sex, you pervs! I don't do that) First with both of us standing, then trying it kneeling and standing again, I sat astride him for a bit and lowered myself onto his cock- until he urged me to take me on the bathroom floor... A towel was thrown over the rug in haste, and I got to appreciate what my sink looks like from underneath.
It felt very exciting, we were both wet and naked, the floor was rather hard and a bit uncomfortable but he felt soft and heavy on top of me, evoking the horniest sensation in my now thoroughly lubricated and slightly swollen (from all that action) pussy...

He pushed himself inside me, roughly, without hesitation (oh how was I dreading his rush for those blasted rubbers again, only to find things were going soft in the process...) and fucked me, hard, yet with a very gentle look on his face.
I didn't want him to stop. I came again, touching myself at the same time, just before he withdrew and orgasmed himself...

We hung out a bit together after that, watching DVDs, reading - I didn't want to let him go, but in a sense it was ok when he left. I had stuff to be getting on with myself and we had spent most of the day totally wrapped up in each other.

I am getting to know him better and better, and I like him more and more. We share so many things in common (experiences, attitudes, expectations...) that I gushed about him to my friend for ages when I rang her later that night.

Only: I MUST NOT LET HIM KNOCK ME UP (yet, anyway).
I totally agree, it's irrational, should happen "in the proper framework" and I am a very irresponsible, daft woman indeed for letting my hormones carry me away so much. I want to go back on the pill. Actually, I don't. On the other hand, I am so frustrated at the fiddly business with condoms and wilting erections, suspended orgasms (he only came twice in the 2 days, on Saturday not at all! Compare that to my seven orgasms!) and involuntary childlessness at nearly 30...

I wish that intimacy didn't make me want to run a mile, for fear that by putting all my (emotional and physical) "eggs in one basket" they become very vulnerable indeed.
Especially when running, I might add, how ironic.

Am I ready to spend all that time with someone?

What about going to visit the Professor one of those weekends?
How about taking the Prince up on his offer of exotic travels?

I am courting disaster.

If music boy were in town, I would shag him. No problem. Too much champagne, all that history, the memory of the previous night, the reassurance any resulting kid would be very well looked after indeed.
Good genes, you see, and a Scottish castle.

Or would I rather have an (albeit minor) title for my future son? A surprise visit to a Notting Hill address late at night might do it, at the right time of the month.

I wonder why the Sailor hasn't been in touch. Has he sailed off to the Caribbean with his own yacht venture yet? Or found someone else for whom his distinctive averageness and H status don't matter?

I placed a call to a fellow blogger (a first, like crossing the line to an alien planet). They aren't quite real to me, and I am sure I'm not quite real to them either. Now the stone has been thrown, there are ripples in the surface...

Today, I called the boy whose dad was taken ill (that's how he explained standing me up on our date and being unavailable for a week) before Christmas.
I needed to hear his voice, to reassure myself he was just a bullshitter. Not sure if he is, still but we had a nice yet superficial chat about hangovers. He said he'd call me over the weekend.

For a reason unclear to me, I gave my number out on Valentine's night, to a boy who was sweet, polite and handsome; intelligent, complimentary ("you have the perfect figure") and appears to want to settle down ("you need a ***man to look after you"). He has the same job as my mum, another interesting link.
Today, a text. I haven't replied yet...

I still have an invitation to a remote Scottish island which I haven't taken up yet. I suggested to KB that he come too, once it gets warmer. Last night however I imagined the guy on the island in bed with me whilst KB made love to me. A problem?

What is Cashmere up to? Has he moved on to a different girl? Most probably. Or a boy. My inner stalker suggests going down there and watching his house, or ringing the door bell. I had a dream where I went to a party at his house whilst he was away, his flatmates and friends welcomed me and I snooped around the house and mingled with the crowd. I felt oddly abandoned when I woke up.

Little seeds inside my head, where is the weed killer???

Rugby Boy has been texting me, I told him about my Valentine's plans (he asked) and he seems happy for me, although I get the feeling he'd still see me (with some hope) if I suggested meeting up.

The little DJ wants to be my friend still, had his text this morning whilst having breakfast at KB's. Good for him, why not. He is harmless (I mean if he tried to kiss me he'd need a stepladder and I'd see him coming a mile off!).

KB left me to my own devices and I looked around the flat. I told him I would (or suggested I might, jokingly). The bank statements that lay around weren't that exciting really, then I found a note book. This reminded me a lot of myself, although I tend to date the entries and he writes in the third person a lot.
It suggests a lot of introspection and an obsession with signing his name. He has a nice signature, but the rest of the writing was sometimes hard to decipher.
"Wank Phantasies", I thought one heading read.
The list below it sounded somewhat boring, then I read the heading again. "Work Meetings" it now read.

My stomach dropped a bit whilst I snooped, but not as much as it had when I was after the Bastard's dirty secrets. I felt watched from the other flats around, and kept looking out the window to see if any neighbours were spying on my snooping.

I know, I know, I am a bad, bad girl.
But I have been burnt before and I am now looking for smoke and the fire escape...

The other night, we made love whilst watching the film "Secretary".

He has taken to spanking me lightly when I ask him, sometimes if I don't.

I want him to totally abandon himself when he fucks me, to let me feel his weight, to not hold back, to use me, to be unrestrained and to restrain me.

We play at words: "what if I didn't let you?", "What if I tried anyway", "what if I tried to push you off", "what if you couldn't?"...

He always reassures me he'd never do anything I didn't want him to, which spoils the fantasy somewhat (as if I didn't know that!), but sometimes he takes the whole thing of "being masterful" further than I had ever experienced it, and I like it.

"I want you to suck my cock", he instructs. "When?" I ask. "Now", he answers curtly. I ask him to say please, and he does. LOL!

On occasion, he grabs my hair, my head when I go down on him. Not in a disrespectful way, it makes us both enjoy it more I think.

He rubs his cock into my pussy, across my clit, teasing me and getting us both wet.
He won't let me tell him when to enter me, he likes the suspense.

Sometimes, I touch him lightly, teasing him. He grows harder that way than if I were to yank and squeeze it.

He doesn't lose his erection now, unless he wears a condom or is worried or getting tired.

We did come at the same time once- me on top, then I collapsed onto his chest as his semen pumped into me. Yuck but wonderful. Oops!

A work contact invited me, plus one, to an exclusive midnight concert.

I went home to rest (but ended up just nattering on the phone), changed into a silk evening dress and hold-up stockings, then met KB in Soho.

We were shown to our seats and KB ordered me a glass of pink Moet.

He couldn't take his eyes off me, or his hand off my knee.

As he slid his hand higher up, brushing the tops of my stockings through the silk, and higher still, I tried to stop him.

"Everyone will see what you are doing from the position of your arm!", I warned him.

"But you love it, really" he replied.

He was right and I was wet.

----------

Later on, he pushed me straight from the taxi into his bedroom.
My dress came off over my head and I stood there, in lacy knickers, a strapless bra, the stockings and my shoes.
He was eating me up with his eyes, his hands carressed my buttocks and he maneuvered me onto the bed. I kicked my shoes off in the process, he stripped my knickers off me and pushed my legs apart.
I unhooked my bra whilst he took off his clothes, then covered my body with my faux-fur wrap.

"Furs and no knickers", he remarked before burying his head between my thighs...

I do like oral sex, no two ways about it, but whilst it makes him feel close to me, I feel like he's miles away.
Sometimes, it can also be oddly anonymous, because all I see of him are his eyes and his hair. (Still, I prefer that to a set of dangling balls in my face- Porsche Boy's favourite position- urgh!)

KB likes me to grab his head and push myself against his face, I like the sensation of his lips and stubble against my bare pussy.
He adores my taste -but then, I have only ever had compliments about it.
When that first happened, I thought "what an odd compliment to make a girl", but as it happened more and more frequently I have come to accept that the taste of my pussy must be equivalent to finding a strawberry in a sack of raw potatoes. You are prepared for a slightly odd taste, yet find yourself pleasantly surprised at the juicy sweetness you encounter. Surely, other girls can't taste that bad? I might have to find out...

----------

Valentine's night wasn't bad either.
He picked me up after my work event in his trusted steed, I was "slightly" tipsy from the free wine and carrying a large bunch of tacky balloons I had picked up on my way out.
He had a bottle of fizz in the car, wore a cashmere jumper and smelled divine.
We arrived back at mine and settled on the sofa, I had a quick snack of I-don't-remember-what and he popped the bottle.

After the first sip, he "started to molest me"- which I greatly enjoyed. After all, we hadn't been able to "do anything" over lunch, although he now told me he'd really wanted to! Not that practical in a well-respected restaurant though...

So, my sofa became once again the setting for a rude encounter. He had told me about some fantasies he'd been having the weekend I was away, and as I bent over the arm rest with my behind towards him, he thrust into me and told me: "that was it"!

I also admitted to a sneaky wank with his face in my head. He always looks so happy when he fucks me! A look of pure bliss, not that ugly, contorted cum-face of a stranger you can get with other men.

He tried to run off for some condoms, thinking girls ovulate straight after their periods- lol! I straddled him and suggested he read up on a few things, bless him.

He probably has a point though and I need to respect this. I expected him to pull out in time, but then I could feel his sensations building up and he spewed his load right into me whilst fucking me from behind. A divine feeling, but oh-so-wrong...

He didn't do it again last night. Instead, after I came once with his tongue on me, and a second time with him on top (his back sweaty from the exercise), he wrapped me in his pyjamas and stroked me to sleep.

This morning, the full works in terms of breakfast and 2 hours late for work... Ah well!

Spurred on by a bubbly Valentine's lunch with KB, I just tried on a lovely, dark blue silk dress.
It was from the last dregs of the sale, £140 off- wow what a bargain!

It looked great on, only the back seemed to be gaping somewhat, and the tag was weirdly resting against my stomach.
The lady in the shop suggested I might try it on the other way around?

Turns out I had it on back to front. Duh!

It looked even better the right way around and I bought it of course.
Then I stepped out into the sunshine and into a phone box.

Oh how I like well-spoken boys, even if they are confused by my lack of an accent...

I guess I like confusing boys too, in both senses of the sentence.

I asked KB a couple of weeks ago:

"I have just been offered some work for the evening of the 14th, shall I take it or do we have 'plans'?"

He said Valentine's was overrated and tacky, and I should work- we'd have our own one at a later date, including a champagne shower.

I am tired today, having only got back to London this morning, and I feel distinctly odd.

Feb 14th 2006: Cashmere took me out for coffee, prior to my evening job which he walked me to. He had got me a book about poetry (I had read him some of mine) and then proceeded to tell me at the bar that he didn't mind me having other lovers (I was still involved with Rugby boy at the time and had shagged him only the night before).
What a strange comment coming from a man who'd also offered to take me skiing and along on his trip to South America the very same afternoon! Then again, who said I don't go for odd men...

Feb 14th 2005: I was still with the Bastard, and quite oblivious to things 'not being quite right'.
I think I had just found the first lot of texts/pictures, forgiven him for the sake of Valentine's and he cooked for me at home.
I gather now this was because
a) he was a cheap fuck
b) he had spent the actual Valentine's cooking up something for the Bitch ex.

Then he called me by her name, which put a bit of a dampener on the evening.
I seem to remember I got over it by eating the M&S roast and giving him a champagne blowjob.

And who said romance is dead?

The ex reared her ugly head, sending me into a downward spiral of inexplicable depression.
I cried down the phone to KB, to my mum and to nobody in particular, keeping me in the office an hour too long for no other reason than that it's dangerous to cycle when you can't see for tears.

I bought a bottle of special offer plonk from Tesco's and settled down in front of the telly, trying to watch Ugly Betty without any idea of the plot.
My cooking plans dissolved into thin air and I had crisps, dips, carrot sticks and uncooked asparagus instead.

KB arrived to find the bottle mostly empty, and me mostly full.

I don't think anything I said made much sense, I just knew whatever happened he'd meet the Ex the next morning to give her back a chair (a chair?). Yes, a chair. And other odds and ends. Normal stuff really, it just got blown out of proportion by my Bastardized brain...

Kensington Boy massaged my feet until I was ready for him to jump me, then we went into my bedroom and made sweet, sweaty love accompanied by creaky bed slats and animal noises (I was too drunk to be very considerate, and too turned on to care).

Ugly Betty reached an unclear conclusion and I passed out before remembering to puke up the wine.

I awoke at 2am, still in my knickers (which KB hadn't bothered to remove in the heat of the moment, only pulling his cock through his shorts, pushing my knickers aside and entering me just a fraction after I'd really, really wanted him to).

After he'd met the Ex and I went to the gym, we spent a blissful Saturday shopping and fucking, then deciding too late to pay a visit to his local cocktail bar. They didn't even acknowledge us (maybe shag-hair makes you invisible? His, not mine!) and just continued to count the till, so KB walked us down the road to a rather more questionabe establishment.

You had to ring the bell and wait for someone to open the door; downstairs it was all mid-nineties music, a rather drunk bloke and two tarts in respectively a low-cut top and a gold lame minidress.

They didn't have half the drinks on the menu, the ones they did have, the Chinese barman added too much watery ice to, and every bloke who came in gave me a rather strange inquisitive look (or three).

What was this place? KB and I kept whispering to each other and looking like an annoying loved-up couple, clearly the wrong clientele for that bar, so after 1 and a half drinks we called it a night and ambled back to his humble abode.

The two ladies had got lucky and the blokes had gotten more drunk, so the barman had been trying to overhear our conversation out of boredom.

On Sunday morning, KB left me to sleep diagonally across his Ralph Lauren sheets whilst he went into the lounge to read cook books. After the second consecutive dream about work/Nazis/some other unpleasant subject, I decided to get up and join him.

As I snuggled on the sofa in his too-big pyjamas, he made me a freshly pressed Buck's Fizz, a freshly-ground cappucino and a full English breakfast. All I had to do was smile (I was happy!), look pretty and read a book about a botched sex change operation. What bliss!

Radio 1 began to play my favourite song from the summer of 2004 (the gay holiday!) and I stipped my top off and demonstrated to KB the dance routine I had come up with for the gay boys in Sitges. I bounced about in the sunlight with my boobs out, for half of Belgravia to see! The boy really lives in a fish bowl but I don't care...

He was a very appreciative audience and had to be rewarded by a spontaneous shag.

"Would you like to join me in the bedroom?" he asked in my favourite husky voice, his hand between my thighs and his breath on my neck. He lay down on his back in his dressing gown and I straddled him until he eagerly pushed himself inside me.

His cock had grown an impressive amount from my first, timid licks of the day between garlic mushrooms and egg. He was slick, I was wet and after I played around with him for a bit he was ready for action.
I trailed my hair across his body, his dressing-gown now open, and he gasped as my locks reached his groin...

I definitely took a more active role that time, and rocked and rode him until he exploded inside me. I collapsed on top of him, my fingers between my legs, with a simultaneous orgasm, our first.

Apart from spending Sunday afternoon drinking wine and looking at 10'' cocks on his flamboyant gay photographer friend's computer and experiencing a rather premature pregnancy scare including a mad dash to London's only 24/7 pharmacy -in Earl's Court since you ask- (I got my period the next day), it really was your average weekend. Quite.