Hey but on the other hand, my "Archive" works fine now!

Knock yourselves out you voyeurs!
x

The helpful answer to my query, why my archives don't work anymore:

Author: cYzzie
http://www.blog.de/user/cyzzie/

Comment:
change your design to the new design system, we are not giving any more support to the old one, support for that was stopped end of 2006, archives will work in the new one

-Ok, so now I gotta figure out how to do THAT!

Because I don't know what to think.

KB called me last night, just when I was trying to drink myself into oblivion on free cocktails, I don't know what he wanted really.

We had a bit of a chat (him in Piccadilly Circus, me at the bottom of a staircase in a bar, so the setting wasn't ideal), about the same thing over and over, I tried to sound upbeat.
Well I guess I was upbeat.

Or trying to be.

Really, I am just sad.
And I feel rejected.

We had a long msn chat in the afternoon too, in which I told him I did another test because my period is still a no-show.

He kept going: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry".

So he should be.

He seems to think everything between us is just hopeless, and the fun has gone.
Whatever.

I told him not to call me today, as I have a date.
I suspect he may be a nerd though.

Plus he is really short (again!) so I better think about a sensible footwear option.

Why do I do this? Try and distract myself with yet another dead-end date. Well, it could be fun.

Who knows. He is funny and intelligent, but I feel a bit unfair being still so emotionally raw and all.

The alternative: lie on my sofa and cry. And eat chocolate. Or in my bed.
Boring.

I have tried dragging my cellulitey arse into the gym/dancing to no avail. TO a bar, yes, but on the treadmill, no.

I have tons of very un-sympathetic friends, which doesn't exactly help.

By the time I cycled home last night I was so drunk I don't know how I managed it. I have also become allergic to my helmet. Not a good combination!

At least that should help burn off some of those free cocktails and canapees...

-------

Rugby boy is still keen to see me, I may visit Train boy at his posh uni- but really who can be bothered.

I mean- how would anyone interpret this story?

Boy meets girl
woos her
gets her into bed
gets her to fall in love with him
reassures her that he'll be there for her
she starts to believe him, to spend lots of time with him, to fall for him and to imagine him in her future
he does a runner.

nice.

I have just been "unblocking" some of my first posts from long, long ago, so new friends and people who would like to become friends can read about what I got up to when I first started writing this blog. Enjoy!

I went round to KB's house Thursday night.

I just couldn't stand the distance and coldness that had suddenly come between us and I was scared to lose him without talking to him face to face again.

He told me he thought it was sweet I had turned up, although I woke him as it was around midnight (I had been out with NewDance Boy and some friends).

We chatted for ages downstairs in the hall, and he just looked so sad and empty. He thinks he isn't the right man for me because his life plan is so different from mine and no matter what I said I couldn't convince him otherwise.

He was rather stand-offish for a while, then let me cuddle him (it was freezing!) and I felt a bit closer to him again although the light in his eyes seemed to have gone out.

He let me stay and we cuddled and went to sleep.

I woke from a horrible nightmare and was glad things weren't THAT bad.

Basically he has taken everything I said so much to heart it has hurt him deeply, and he feels guilty for "misleading" me -which I never accused him of- and of not taking the opportunities to spell out how far removed that type of relationship was from his agenda.

I wanted to clarify that am NOT TRYING TO GET PREGNANT by him! I just wouldn't mind. I agree we have to spend more time together, having fun and getting to know each other, but by having that subject pushed to the surface so soon, it is hard to ignore it and just carry on as if nothing had been said at all.

Yes, I wish I had kept my mouth shut.
(he doesn't - he thinks it's important to talk). Yet I feel I am being punished.

I have had medical advice to the effect that if I want a family, the sooner the better- of course kids aren't the be all and end all, but I cannot imagine my life without them.
There is NO rational way to explain this feeling or make it go away, I wish there was; it's an instinct or something.

Holding on to a man and getting him to commit without having sex with him first... I think in this day and age that is just unrealistic (unless I joined some church).

He walked me to the tube on Friday morning we hugged goodbye. My last words to him were that I'd give him time and wait for him to get in touch.

So far, no word.

Not having KB around to occupy all my spare time, thoughts and plans (well, the thing about the thoughts is a lie), I found myself spending more time with my girlfriends.

On Friday night, A came round for a glass of wine.
The flatmate cooked her some pasta and did all the washing-up afterwards, oh how I love young boy slaves in the kitchen!

She had mentioned to me on the phone that she needed me to take some pictures of her for her love so far away, and I agreed (thinking it was portraits she wanted).

She wanted portraits alright- of her boobs!

It turns out that these past few months with him so far away in Asia, they have been sending naughty texts to each other. And here was me thinking she was finally getting over him!

She showed me some pics on her phone which she'd taken herself, some of her bum in a zebra-print thong, some of her ample cleavage in a push-up bra, but she hadn't succeeded getting flattering shots of her bare breasts all by herself.

This is where I came in... glugging down some courage in the shape of wine, I asked her where she wanted to pose. In the end, the background really didn't matter at all because she wanted her boobs to fill the entire screen! No faces, you see...

We shut the living room door to keep the flatmate out, she undid the top of her dress and rolled it down to her waist.
Her boobs jumped out and I didn't dare look at them unless it was through the screen of her mobile.
Although she is petite, her chest must be about a DD cup! Talk about boob envy...

She posed with her arms up for the most flattering shot, then I asked her to push her breasts closer together by cupping them.
There was really not one bad shot, but she is a bit self-conscious after putting one some weight over the past year or so.

In any case, there wasn't an ounce of flab to be seen, as if any man would have noticed focussing on THOSE tits!

I hope I helped make him a happy man.
Talk about making someone come at a distance!

*

B is going through a tough time.
Her mum has just been diagnosed with cancer and her aunt died last week, so to cheer eachother up we have spent a lot of time on the phone chatting and telling funny stories.

She decided to tell me how her friend met her new rich, handsome boyfriend.

It turns out, that this friend (let's call her C) was in a lot of debt after splitting from her investment banker ex, and her work was drying up somewhat.
She came across an ad in a paper, asking for call-girls in Switzerland, and decided to give it a shot for a few weeks. She went with another girl (who is married with a child- her hubby thought she was going away on a work assignment...) and they stayed for 2 weeks.
The set-up was in a flat with an elderly madame for security, they each serviced 2-3 clients a day and earned €300 a pop, helping to clear their debts.

C returned home, some cash and experiences richer, then decided to look into trying the same thing in her home town.
She signed up with an agency, and received an out-call to a posh part of town.

The door opened, and there he was: They both "knew" instantly! They talked all night and he paid her €1500, just for her delightful conversation.

The next morning they met up for breakfast, their dogs became best friends and they have been inseparable ever since!
When B found out how they met, she was stunned. The guy looked like such a normal, respectable type and not the kind of guy who books hookers. In any case, I suppose they were both honest from the start, and are very happy and faithful to each other.

****

D called me out of the blue and we arranged to go out on Saturday.
Somehow, we got to chatting about orgasms and masturbation.

It turns out that she usually has vaginal orgasms and regards clitoral ones as somewhat of a disappointment!
I tried to get her to describe her technique.

As she had about 3 years of dry spells in the past and just reached her thirties, she has had plenty of time to experiment and is feeling super sexual these days.

She insists that if she "just gets a clitoral orgasm, she's disappointed" and that "what she usually does with her fingers, she can use a guy's penis for" without going into details.

I was intrigued and curious. "Can you write this down for me?" I asked, "I think I need lessons!".
She tried explaining it was all to do with finding your G-spot and the right movement, even in the missionary position.

I told her I usually stimulate my clit whilst the guy is inside me, and have rarely (maybe twice or three times) experienced what she calls the "only real" orgasm.
Usually, this was from pure frustration, but I recall one particular time when the old Pirate was doing me from behind and I came, I screamed so much his upstairs neighbours must have fallen out of bed!
So I do get what the fuss is about. I admitted that it had happened to me too, but that usually it takes ages to achieve. She said it takes her only 5 minutes by herself!

She confessed that other girls she had told of her orgasmic abilities were stunned too, and two had admitted they only ever came from oral sex.

I tried "it" when I got home. Usually, I masturbate by just circling above my clit with my finger and clenching a cushion between my thighs, but this time I inserted a finger inside me and moved it upward to tickle my G-spot.
I have to say, it was rather tricky- or maybe my arm just isn't long enough! I managed to get some excited twinges out of me, but couldn't sustain the movement for long enough to bring on an orgasm.
Maybe I just need to practise more!?

I am starting to get angry.

I mean, KB had PLENTY of opportunity to just casually drop into the conversation some kind of hint that we may be at opposite ends of the scale when it comes to planning a family.
Thus I would have been able to back off and save face, or count my losses and jump ship, enjoy it for what it is without feeling bitter or ANYTHING ELSE that may have made me feel a lesser sense of loss and abandonment right now.

Opportunity 1: when I cried in his bed after finding it so hard to sleep with a man who was SO eager to make sure the condom was still on, it really spoiled the mood.
(Suggested line: "I just want to make sure there are no more accidents for the next three years...")

Opportunity 2: when we were babysitting my friend's kid and I happened to mention that I had always rather hoped to have my own before I turn 30 -which at that point I realised was never going to happen.
(Suggested line: "Well, I want to WAIT until I am 30 AT LEAST")

Opportunity 3-13: Every time I mention my friends' and cousin's kids, who are the same age as me (the friends and cousins, not the kids).
(Suggested line: "So, you wouldn't want to wait another three or four years then before having your own?")

Opportunity 14: When we had that scare. I didn't want to tell him what I was worried about, yet he guessed and was all loving, caring and supportive whilst I panicked.
(Suggested line: "I understand if you'd want to wait a bit before having kids with someone you so recently met. I personally want to be OVER 30 before planning a family")

Opportunity 15: When I mention that my sis doesn't want kids with her boyfriend yet, although they have been together 5 years.
(Suggested line: "I don't think it's the length of time you have been together, both have to be ready. I will be ready when I am over 30, not before, regardless what happens")

Opportunity 16: When I told him of my disappointment that neither Nice Ex nor the Bastard seemed anywhere near ready to make a commitment or plan for a family in the near future.
(Suggested line: "I can understand that, a woman who is that set on taking the relationship that much further would worry me too at my age")

Opportunity 17: When I mentioned that at 18/19 I was nowhere near ready to get pregnant by my then-boyfriend, although he seemed to like the idea. "However," I added, "things would be different now!".
(Suggested line: "Yes, 19 is too young- but so is 27!")

Opportunity 18-35: Whilst having sex with me.
(Suggestion: USE A CONDOM or PULL OUT IN TIME!)

Sadly, I missed most of that programme the other night, or should that be "thankfully"?
I caught some of the advice Ulrika was given however, and it made me think.
Any addiction is used to mask one's feelings or as an escape from a situation where one might be confronted by those feelings, as in:
Sad? Have chocolate!
Bored? Go drinking!
No mates? Play on that XBox/computer/your bits!
Lonely? Have sex!

This behaviour, to use sex as an escape/validation/confidence-booster or pastime can probably be ascribed to me too, at least in some situations.

Not sure what someone feels about you? Seduce them! You will feel like they love you/find you sexy, attractive or not too fat.

Want some closeness but keep meeting bastards and your friends are fed up with your moaning? Pick someone up and have an entertaining one-night stand!

Horny as hell but no boyfriend? Chat to your mate across the pond via MSN until he comes all over his keyboard!

No-one to talk to late at night? Call that sweet and caring fat boy in Scotland with the depressed mum, he will listen and his soothing voice will talk you all the way to orgasm!

Nothing on TV? Think something sexy and have a quick wank.

Bored at work? Traipse the online personals and feel desired and mysterious!

Can't be sure of someone's true intentions towards you? Have a few more dates for back-up!

Feel like shit? Get dressed up and hit the town, darling!

I got the following email:

"Hi there

I saw your advert and got rather turned on.

I'd like to get a nice girl pregnant and fall in love.

Is it ok to correspond?

Garry xx
39 London"

Then, after I responded (yes, I am a pervert too!):

"Hi

thanks for your mail, please find photo attached. It would be lovely to see a pic of you too.

I'm always very honest and upfront, and without wishing to be crude and too explicit, the thought of a lovely young woman posting an ad on an internet dating website, indirectly asking for her vagina to be pumped full of sperm again and again every night, till she's pregnant, is a huge turn on.
Im very good at giving oral by the way.
[blablabla]"

What on earth has prompted this? I thought I'd be upfront for once about what I want out of a relationship in the future (seeing that most guys think "subtlety" is a foreign country), and then I get THIS! LOL!

You don't even want to see the picture...

Saying that, I felt an odd and not unpleasant tingle at his explicit and despite what he says, crude words.
Unfortunately, going off from my desk for a quick wank isn't an option in this office...

Ah well, desire is so predictable!

Basically, I felt like crying the whole time.

Having had a rather nasty near-accident a few years back when I spun the car with my family inside in sleet and snow at 100mph, I can be a somewhat nervous passenger. Driving in the rain and darkness makes me especially worried. However when a little yelp escaped my throat (the car in front was breaking and I had a horrible slow-motion vision of us spinning off the road), KB wasn't very kind and understanding. "I don't need a backseat driver" he told me rather sharply, "that car wasn't even breaking". Well, how could I tell with the rain streaking the windscreen, not exactly helped by his dodgy wiper blades!?
I stopped trying to explain myself and instead tilted my seat down so I wouldn't feel compelled to watch the road anymore.

We got to the flat, and what was the first thing staring me in the face? Only that pic of him and his bloody ex again!

Thankfully, he had turned it on its face when I came back from the loo.
KB was feeling tired, and we unwound by drinking too much whiskey.

I just couldn't help but feel tearful and it spoiled the mood somewhat.
I don't exactly remember what we talked about, but it just seems to be going round in bloody circles!

Basically I feel rejected because instead of telling me: "Don't worry, we will work something out" in response to my unreasonable broodiness, he is doing the decent thing by insisting he doesn't want to string me along and being all understanding and affectionate - which only makes me love him more abd want to lose him even less!!

I miss our fun times, and the carefree way I used to feel around him - albeit with the secret thought in the back of my head how perfect he would be to have a family with.

Man, I really need to remind myself of his bad parts:

-He'd previously enthused about joining me in my efforts to get fit, join my dance class and buy some trainers, however no such purchase has been made to date.

-He offered me his red sports car which has been sitting dead in his mum's shed for ages, now he is talking about selling it again (for around 2k)- then again, I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about owning a car in London...

-He finds it hard to get it up. On our second night (admittedly after too much Champagne), he actually refused me and went to bed. Then again, it may be to do with the fact I was so up and down emotionally, it had been a long drive and he finds his mum so draining...

-He refused to go out on St Patrick's night. Not that I have any Irish genes anywhere in my family tree, but it seemed like a fun thing to do rather than staying in for the second night in a row. We had passed a rather noisy and fun-sounding bar on our way back to the flat and I was keen to go in for a drink. KB however was worried about the locals (despite telling me previously that the village was full of hippies and lesbians... maybe they don't frequent that particular bar?). "People like me get beaten up in places like that" he told me without irony. I told him I had been to that particular area before, and despite being from one of the world's most hated nations I never encountered any problems whatsoever, even when taking the locals on at pool or winning the karaoke.
"YOU shouldn't be so small-minded" I shot back when he went on about how chavvy and provincial people round those parts supposedly are. What a snobby thing to say, when all you want is just a drink in some fun-loving company! It's not like they would descend on him like a pack of dogs for wearing a nice cashmere jumper, right?

In the end, I just felt like getting drunk indoors and reading my trashy mag. (we didn't go to bed hating each other by the way, it was just a minor glitch but enough to spoil my mood a bit)

-He really hates "backseat driving". Coming from a family where "four eyes are better than two", a whiz with a map and my own views on how to get from A to B, I find his occasional snappiness in that respect hard to accept.

-Sometimes he doesn't spell out how he feels.
I can have incredibly thick skin when it comes to mind-reading, and the typical English way of pretending everything is "fine" when it's not, doesn't really help. KB, being as much of a bargain-hunter as I am, suggested we go to an outlet shopping centre, where I proceeded to shop myself into oblivion to distract myself from the bad feelings churning around inside of me.
He had taken ages to come that morning so we were a bit late in leaving for the day, which I felt made him slightly impatient before we even set off.
I got stuck in at the shops whilst he struggled to find much he liked, and with a cold coming on I could tell it wasn't the best place for him to be. The last straw came when I spotted Calvin Klein bras at £2 each and he was left standing with my bags. He refused to help me pick five knickers for £15, preferring to sneeze and look miserable surrounded by women in a lingerie frenzy instead.
I knew he was getting fed up but he didn't show it until I insisted he drag me away.

"We won't have much time in town" he moaned whilst I tried to stay cheeful enough to stop him strangling me with my new underwear.
Immediately, the shopping adrenaline dissipated and I felt like sobbing again. "You have to just drag me out of these places, I told you" I tried to joke, but I am not sure he got it.

As it happened, we had plenty of time in town, which was beautiful but freezing, and filled with shoppers buying flowers in an attempt to show their mums how much they love them.

He took me to the top of a department store where there was a beautiful view of the local church, and I bought us a bottle of Champagne to drink later that night.

I had brought a change of clothes to wear to his mum's, and planned to get changed in the car which we had left in a quiet street.
Having been unable to find any tights (and for the kinkiness factor of course) I'd brought stockings, which I slipped on in the passenger seat. This was so difficult I got quite flustered, and the windows started to steam up. Unable to help (I don't think they teach boys how to hook stockings onto suspender belts at public schools), KB was left to just look on, then look at his watch in frustration.
"I just find all this hard to handle, constantly being late and disorganised" he told me when I asked him what the matter was. I apologised and tried to make light of it, after all I was getting dressed up to look nice for his family!

I rolled up the second stocking, having decided to sort them out properly in his mum's loo, then I snapped the bloody thing with my watch strap. A huge ladder spread down my knee and we couldn't help but laugh at my misfortune.

I took the stockings off again whilst he started driving with the fan on full tilt. God knows what the shoppers thought we had been doing in that alleyway!

As it turns out, we were on time anyway.

On Sunday, I made pancakes for breakfast. He took this moment to tell me he doesn't really like pancakes - AFTER he'd gone out to buy the ingredients. He ate and liked them anyway, but I felt like this was a bit of a wasted exercise...

The sex was great.

And it was nice to get out of London and re-visit places I had worked in before, yes, they were all still there.

KB had packed a generous picnic bag for the car and we had some nice chats driving up, arriving just after 11pm.

We drank some whisky and cuddled up together, then fell into bed rather passionately.
He made me come with his tongue, then again with his dick inside me before I stroked and sucked him to orgasm. He is so thoughtful he doesn't even want to come in my mouth!
The morning sex was nice too, and he took full responsibility for making it "safe" (albeit in the wrong half of my cycle).

Saturday night not much happened thanks to too much Champagne and my low mood, but we went to sleep naked and cuddled up which was nice.

I woke up on Sunday, irritatingly hung over but rather fit, and began stroking his nipple without much thought.

After a little while, he started looking at me all deep, and rolled to look at me properly, then kissed me deeply.

"What's that?" I asked him, "what are you planning to do?", "I want to screw you", he replied and moved his hand down to my pussy.
"You are always wet" he told me, as he stroked me slowly. I was naked under the covers, so there was really nothing I could do to stop him - not that I'd wanted to anyway!

"What if I don't let you?", I wanted to know, "would you try to screw me anyway?" "Yes, I would pull your hair and hold you down and fuck you hard", he told me, pushing a finger up inside me whilst placing my hand on his hard dick.
I was pleasantly surprised to find him so turned on after not doing very much at all, and it looked like he planned to put his erection to good use.
My whole body tingled in anticipation of what he would do to me, and he pushed my legs apart, placed a condom on his hard cock and entered me slowly.

I think this was the first time I saw him properly in unforgiving daylight, close-up and naked, and I surprised myself how much I still wanted and loved and wanted to fuck him although he looked like a fat, dishevelled ogre. Albeit one with the most beautiful eyes in the world!

He rolled on top of me, pushing me down and putting his full weight on me as I pulled him closer inside me, although it hurt a bit I wanted him so much.

I love it when we talk dirty whilst we fuck, just general things like: "do you like my big cock inside you?" "Fuck me hard, fuck my pussy", "I love to screw you", "you are so big, oh, you feel wonderful", "you are so wet, you love this, don't you?" "I love to feel you inside me, fuck me harder"... etc.

KB is texting me as I type this - all sorry and guilty, lost and sad, "I can't give you what you want and don't want to continue stringing you along" [why, the alternative is we're both lonely and unhappy, how can that be better??!] and so am I - why oh why does my life have to continue being so fucked up!???

Sooner or later I might even let him fuck me up the arse, I sort of wonder what it would be like and as he's done it before he presumably knows how to do it nicely...
We talk about it sometimes and he thinks I am obsessed by it (only because I think it's so disgusting and because the Colonel and Cashmere seemed to go on about it all the time - which made me even less likely to agree to it).

I came with a yell (it's nice and relaxing if you don't know any of the neighbours! ) and he kept on pounding me. I felt absolutely amazing, and we continued to screw on the creaky bed until my legs started to hurt a bit. He refused to fuck me from behind, saying instead he liked me just where he had me, and looking me in the eyes with a lusty, loved-up gaze.

He held my wrist and I pulled his hair, he grabbed my hair and I scratched his back, pulling him deeper into me, then I turned over to ride him with his balls between my legs. He took the condom off and stroked himself whilst I pretended to hold him down, then I took a sip of water and took his cock in my mouth.
He moaned as he loved the sensation which enveloped his penis, and I thought he would come right then.

I sucked the water down and gulped on his dick, then continued to look at it as he kept wanking.
"This was all the way inside you", he told me, "fucking you".
I watched as he stroked himself, giving it the occasional lick and wrapping my hair around his balls, then he pushed my head away as he came on his stomach with a moan.

I put his dick back in my mouth after he spilled the last drop, sucking him and massaging the sensitive spot between his legs. "This feels amazing" he told me.

He never mentioned that the night before I had told him I love him, but neither did I.
I hope he forgot, and I bet he hopes I was too drunk to remember.

She says: "I think you are too young for me, we may want different things".
He says: "How can you say that, I am very grown-up and responsible"
She thinks: Great, he can imagine settling down and starting a family soon!

He says: "I don't want to be an old dad"
He means: "over 50"
She thinks: over 30.

He says: "No matter what happens, I will stick by you and support you"
She thinks: How lovely, he wants a child with me.

He says: "If we carry on like this, chances are something will happen sooner or later".
She thinks: He'll be more careful from now on. If he's not, that means he doesn't mind the consequences.
Then he fucks up again and expects her to save his ass by swallowing a hormone bomb.
She is too bloody honest to lie about: the fact she is ovulating; taking the damn thing.

They go to the theatre, then the pub, she gets drunk and sentimental, he drives her home.

He says: "I want you to have what you want. I may not be the right guy for you. I am sorry for misleading you, I don't want to string you along. Maybe you should see other people. There is no way I can marry you within the year".
She gets the message.

The last 12 months have been fun, here a selection of the funnest, dumbest and rudest quotes:

"I would like to invite you to spend the night on my yacht. It has six bedrooms, so if you want to be a lady you have the choice, and if you want to be a slut, you know where I am." THE COLONEL (I was a lady. That first night at least)

"I am not so much of a bastard that I wouldn't use a condom" KB (well, he changed his mind not much later...)

"My favourite place to come is the ass" THE COLONEL(no thanks!)

"This is a bit of a strange request, but could you give me a reference please?" NICE EX (For a job. NOT a new girlfriend. I was happy to oblige)

"Update your details on Plaxo" THE BASTARD(Um, NO!)

"I'll sponsor your ski school" CASHMERE (he did no such thing, I didn't even get to the ski resort!)

"After five minutes of talking to you, I fell for you." THE INDIAN PRINCE (via text)

"You are self-absorbed and I am in love with someone else" CHUBBY (that would explain the floppiness then...)

"We lay on the rug in front of the fireplace, high on Rohypnol and made love for 9 hours" THE COLONEL (about an ex...)

"I would love to see your clit..." DIVE MIKE (in reference to my description of the size of the Prince's diamonds)

"I have been with a French hooker. She picked me out of the line-up at the brothel" CASHMERE

"I feel more like you are my friend now(...) my last serious relationship was seven years ago" DANCE BOY (by way of an explanation why he wouldn't touch me)

to be continued...

The other day, there was a really beautiful women in my class at the gym.

She had big, bouncing breasts (mine are small and perky, normal B cups whilst hers must have been a DD or E), a round, smooth belly and soft, sexy arms.

She must have been about a size 18 or 20, but she was perfect. She had a pretty face, long brunette hair and a body just begging to be modelled (or covered) in clay.

I wondered what she would feel like in bed.

Then I worried that she might feel self-conscious because I am slimmer than her.

Then I wished I were a man for a bit, to live out this fantasy.

In a nutshell:

KB and I made up.
He knows about my dinner date, and told me he wouldn't even blame me if I had slept with someone else this past week, considering the circumstances.
He's a keeper!

He put up with my bad mood brought on by low blood sugar and bought me lunch yesterday afternoon, then we went into the park with two soft (cashmere?) blankets and a bottle of bubbly, and cuddled and laughed until the sun went down.

(Ok, I guess you are gettign the long version of events, in a coconut-shell ).

As the sun set and displayed some amazing colours, things turned slightly more naughty.
He slipped his hand under my dress beneath the blanket, and stroked me through my knickers. Then he pulled them aside and slipped a finger into my slickness. "You are always wet when you are with me", is one of his most-repeated observations...
There wasn't much I could do to return the favour: People were still milling about and it might have made it obvious what we were getting up to, plus my hands were FREEZING.

He kept pushing his finger in and out of me whilst kissing me deeply, and I played with my clit and lay on my back, blissed-out until I came, looking up at the branches of the tree above me.

We were getting really cold by then (I wasn't even wearing stockings or tights), packed up the remains of the liquid picknic and walked hand in hand through the dusky park until we found a taxi at the other end.

After some lovely dinner which he cooked and warming up in front of the TV, he took me into the bedroom when things got a bit steamy (an uncomfortable) on the sofa.

We had sex whilst still half watching "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", which made us laugh. I lay close to him and began stroking his cock, until he told me in a low voice to put it in my mouth.

He became really hard whilst I licked and sucked him, which got me excited to. He began maneuvering me on top of him, and slipped inside me before I was properly wet.

He felt totally amazing and I rode astride him for a while. I actually nearly came without even touching my clit, which is so rare for me I think it's a myth. Then my legs began to get tired and I really wanted him to keep fucking me (and put a condom on), so I turned on all fours and he entered me from behind.

What can I say? We got carried away in the heat of the moment, and he went all the way. "Come on my arse", I told him at one point, sure he would pull out in time- but he must have thought that got cancelled out by my encouragement of "don't stop, don't stop", so I suddenly felt him coming inside me.

I was totally turned on and fulfilled, then it hit me.
"That was a mistake" I told him as I rolled over to cuddle him, "I can't believe you came then. I think I am ovulating."

He should have known. It is NOT a good idea to sleep with a woman who is so hormone-driven she can't think straight, and admits to being broody as hell without contraception (I am much less horny on the pill anyway).
He is aware of my cycle, but chose to ignore it. I encouraged him to be stupid, and he took me up on it. We are both clean and healthy, haven't slept around and love being close and naked together, and I guess his controlled, sympathetic reaction to the last "crisis" encouraged me to throw caution to the wind, and risk getting knocked up by a guy I have known for less than five months.
He keeps telling me he is older than his years, and not worry.

He feels so fucking amazing inside me and I love the sensation of giving over all control to him- but now, I'm in control... and I don't like it.

I'd much rather NOT be in this situation.

I'd much rather be with a loving, long-term partner in a stable, established relationship/marriage where I can look forward to what might happen when I sleep with him on the day I ovulate.

I asked KB when he thinks he'd be ready for kids.

"Thirty onwards" he told me- so that's three years.

I don't want to wait that long; I don't want to lose him either. I don't want to be a baby-crazed hormone loony, I want to stop worrying that my tubes might stop working past 30; I don't want to bring up a child on my own. I don't want to take that bloody morning-after pill, because I hate throwing up.
And I hate knowing that it prevents a fertilised egg from implanting in the womb.

I hate the thought of it not working also, and the anguish and stress that would follow, finding myself in a not-quite-relationship with the possibly most amazing guy I have met those past 3 years, and forcing decisions on him that are premature to say the least.

I wish I had got more sleep last night.

I am glad I can talk to him about all this, because there is no-one else who understands.

And he is very very sorry for having put me in this position.

WHY hasn't he called me, or even text me since he went away?

Ok, so his phone doesn't work abroad. Big deal- doesn't his dad's? Highly unlikely, seeing as stepmum is stuck home alone with two toddlers...

Has he forgotten to take my number along? Surely he can't be THAT disorganised!

Ok, so it's only ("only"!?!) been 5 days, but still.

It brings up a rather nasty taste in my mouth, even without suffering (as I just have) from one of the nastiest stomach bugs known to woman.

("Oh, it may be morning sickness!" I thought excitedly, conveniently ignoring the fact that I had been merrily changing tampons for the past three days...)

Now I am back at work because I was driving myself crazy with obsessive thoughts and feeling sick as a dog.

Ok, Nice Ex called, which was nice. He had no idea of my predicament of course, but we have been back in touch lately ever since he asked me to supply that reference for his new job.

And I have a date on Thursday, with Valentine Boy - stomach permitting, a dinner date.

I have also considered getting in touch with Jumper Boy (my pre-Christmas shag with the two adjacent flats with the posh postcode, the two adorable cats and the penchant for injecting his wallet with insulin), "just to catch up" and find out how his solo holiday to the Caribbean went.

Even Posh Boy crossed my mind, the image of him fucking me in Kylie's pool (before I discovered the genital warts) crossing my mind whilst I was masturbating in order to forget about my abominable stomach cramps.

Some work is being carried out on the roof opposite my flat, and I couldn't be arsed to move from the sofa to the more discreet bedroom, so I wondered if I could risk getting frisky with myself in full view of the builders.
In the end, I covered myself with a blanket and fiddled away without being spotted, I think.

Valentine Boy was being very nice and attentive on the phone, so maybe I will concentrate on that before I hear from KB again.

I just wish I could block out the nasty images with haunt me:
Finding those pictures of the Bastard and his Bitch in France.
Knowing that she was lying next to him when I wasn't.
Reading what he wrote to her at Christmas.
Feeding his stupid cats when I could have spent the time nourishing my career.

Sending Cashmere that pic of my pussy to New York without getting a reply.
Knowing that he saw his ex there (the one he'd still marry if she weren't so much in debt!).
Feeling rejected when he turned down my offer to come and nurse him during his short stint in London when he was ill.
Never seeing him again and having all those painfully haunting dreams.

Seeing those pictures of KB with his ex on the wall.
Being painfully aware that it was her body between his sheets not so long ago.
Worrying that my few weeks with him don't hold up to the 18-month relationship they shared.
Realising that by being jealous and insecure I might drive him away.
Feeling annoyed that I was able to text him daily (even though I was rushing from meeting to party to screening to meeting) from Berlin, yet here he is, spending half his time just sitting in the passenger seat of a car, "too busy"(?) to press my digits!
Wishing I wasn't such an attention-junkie and could spend my time with nice, non-sexual friends instead of seeking reassurance by chasing cock.
Wondering WHY this abandonment-crap is a scenario which keeps repeating itself with no obvious way out for me.

...never marry down" is what I have come to learn.

However, it's not the same with sex, for every time I attempt to avoid "fucking down", I end up fucking up instead. Sometimes royally. Not that that is any kind of consolation of course!

Forgive me, boss, for I have sinned.

I have been writing my blog during hours I should be at your disposal.
I have bought chocolate bars with the petty cash.
I have used your stamps to send a few letters.
I have taken time off to train for a weekend job.
I have used company time and paper to send invoices for weekend job.
I have used expensive printer cartridges to print pictures of me and my darling.
I have snuck off on interviews and told you I went to see flats/feed my friend's cat or had a doctor's appointment.
I have been watching telly and being lazy when you aren't in the office.
I have hidden your bisquits after you told me off for not buying healthier office subsistence, and eaten them myself.
I have used the company phone for private calls.
I have used the fax machine to fax the job center (who STILL owe me money).
I would have no qualms about having my man round for an afternoon fuck if nobody was here.
I have had a wank on the office sofa... and then answered the phone without washing my hands!
I have eaten stuff from the fridge which wasn't mine.
I have nicked blank CD's and stationary.
I have flirted with your accountant.

I shall stop sinning as soon as you:
Stop booking cabs for family members on the office account.
Cease asking me for petty cash which you don't return or supply receipts for.
Don't "run errands" on company time anymore.
Give me proper excuses to use when your wife calls.
Go to the loo for less than 15 minutes at a time when you get an important phone call.
Stop blaming me for your mistakes.
Stop taking stamps for your private letters.
Agree to not save things you want me to do until the last minute before I plan to go home.
Don't make me run to the post office in my lunch hour.
Stop eating my fruit.
Treat people with more respect.
Stop giving me confusing instructions.
Start referring to people by full name and company.
Stop expecting me to read your mind.
Don't pop out "for quick breaks" which last 2 hours in which your mobile is switched off.

Thank God it's Friday!

"What's the rush?" many of you have asked me.
"Don't women these days still have babies in their sixties?" I hear you think.

Well, for once, the my blog age isn't my real age.
I have been pretty broody for nearly six years, when I was feeling particularly loved-up with the Nice Ex, but on the other hand I am glad I don't have a child's child with two broke parents running around.

I have always been around children, and am feeling a longing in the pit of my stomach that's as far away from my intellect as it is possible to be.

I then wasted 3.5 years on the Nice Ex, nine months on the Bastard, and two years trying to get over him and weeding out the wheat from the chaff.

Not an easy task at the best of times, especially when your judgement is clouded by the need for affection, and your over-active imagination allows you to view guys through rose-tinted glasses only.

Couple that with an overwhelming fear of commitment emotional hurt, and you can see the predicament I am in.

Here a little food for thought:
My aunt and uncle had their daughter when my aunt was in her forties. Nobody knew what took them so long, but she was a very much wanted child with a doting mum.
Now my cousin is seven, and it hasn't escaped her attention that her mum looks somewhat older than all the other mums.
At a recent family event, she threw the following into our lunch table discussion: "My mum looks so old, more like a granny than a mum! Look at all her wrinkles...". I felt mortified for my aunt and tried to soften my cousin's harsh judgement about her mummy's epidermis by telling her that wasn't a very kind thing to say.
However, she has a point...

This topic was brought to you apropos of the fact I am grumpy because I got my period this morning, a whole week earlier than expected, and that nothing I do or feel these days makes very much sense at all.