For a few weeks now I have been in conversation with a rather random guy, who kept piling on the pressure to meet him for dinner.

His witty writings, friendly voice and my innate (or insane?) sense of curiosity finally persuaded me to meet him and his light blue Rolls in Mayfair.

The car came around the corner looking like a baby blue yacht on wheels, and I looked through his window to discover a curly-haired man in his fifties behind the wheel, wearing the most beautifully coloured silk tie.

I could tell from his numberplate that he hadn't lied about his name (always a good sign), and he drove me to an Italian restaurant.

Some light and fun banter ensued.
I swear that man has more mad stories about women than I do about guys, he'd already shared some of them via telephone and I kept laughing my head off in disbelief.

"Now", he says, "I met this girl", and then some escapade follows usually ending with him taking the girl to some hotel (often at their insistance), discovering she's bisexual or that she wants to blow him in his car.

About 15 years ago he met some girl who invited him for dinner at her place. A "French Maid" opened the door.
He and the girl sat down to dinner, which was served by the two French Maids, then as they started eating their soup the maids disappeared under the table and one started blowing him whilst the other one was eating out the other girl.

He nearly lost his appetite, he said, but then he got into it.
It turned out they had a properly equipped dungeon next door which one of the girls showed him after he fucked all three of them.

So, that was his introduction into the BDSM scene. The girl showed him how to whip her, flog her and spank her and he hasn't looked back since.

I told him to write a book.
This would then contain the following stories:
-The bisexual sisters (yes, sisters!)
-The S&M website girl (a submissive) who turned up on their first date with a goodie bag full of flogging devices, and expected him to spank her in the back of the Rolls within full view of the restaurant
-How he fingered two bi girls at the restaurant we ate in, then had each lick the other one's juices off his fingers
-How he's living with a woman who won't have sex with him

I think he is quite lonely.
He took me back home via the wrong side of the river first, going the "scenic" route and telling me how I was a cut above the rest. I laughed and told him I remembered him telling me that he knows how to make any girl feel special, not quite an hour ago!
I know I'm just one of 100+ he's taken for dinner, and I don't plan to give it up that easily, if at all.

I don't fancy him but maybe a Sugar Daddy would be just the ticket after all the recent emotional upheaval.

I got a text from him at 2am: "Thank you for sending me back to the casino, I have now made £4500." I replied: "I hope you are planning to spend some of that on me!"

As if.

I let him touch my thigh and arm which felt nice, and agreed to meet him on Thursday (tomorrow) but now I don't feel like it.
I would love to get spanked at some point, but I'm not sure I'd want him to be the one to do it although he must have a lot of experience by now...

... but my feelings are not.
Neither is my pussy. It's lonely and confused.

Tall Boy left after his job here was done, he kissed me full on the mouth and said: "See you soon"- who knows what that means?

At least I get the gratification to know that his throbbing cock wasn't taken care of today either, unless him and my boss did it whilst I was waiting in a little cafe at lunch time... doubt it though!

He must have gone home with seriously blue balls yesterday.

He was hard all day, as he let me feel when he put my hand on himself through his jeans as we walked back from lunch hand in hand, when he pushed himself against me in that random door way (yes, it was about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, we got some strange looks!) when I snuck over to his desk for a kiss and a grope.

"It's a shame that desk doesn't have a long tablecloth", I told him. "You could tell my boss: Oh, Sienna's just popped out to the shops..." Wicked grin.

He typed on the MSN: "I am trying to consolidate some figures... but I'd rather do it with my cock in your mouth".
Holding hands over lunch. "A proper date", I joke. He pays. "A date at lunchtime for people with busy lives", he chuckles. Another stag do this weekend, so he won't be around.
He asks if I still speak to KB. I don't really want to go into it, so we briefly touch on his ex, then move on to a different subject.

******

"Fuck me, fuck me!" my pussy whispers, moistening in anticipation.
"Take me, take me!", shivers my body when his hands grip me hard (he is so big, I am sure I couldn't stop his passion if I tried).
"Love me, love me!" plead my eyes, my lips on his stubble, my fingers in his soft curly hair. So I close them.

"What the fuck is going on!?" screams my brain, silently. "First, you couldn't even get him to go for a cocktail with you, then he was too 'respectful' of your relationship with KB to say anything, now he won't let go of your tongue or your hand or your booty, what are you, a fucking TOY?!"

A kiss on the mouth, "I'll see you soon"- his job is done, he's gone... WTF!?!?!?

With a spring in my step, a swing in my hips, a tingle in my thigh and a twinke in my eyes, not to forget a misting of dew in my knickers I came into work today, knowing he'd be back.
Yesterday, a lot of stolen kisses when the boss was upstairs, a snogtastic lunch and holding hands in the high street (then getting pushed into someone's gated driveway when his passion took over); today, noboby in for an hour at least.
Wahey!

Tall Boy is coming to (at? in?) my office tomorrow, wahey!
I am a bit nervous. And a pit peeved he's not wanted to see me before. And I feel a bit used. And a bit horny. Actually, rather horny, as he's been the object of my wanking fantasies those past 2 weeks (alongside KB fucking me without a condom)...
I just can't get the smooth taste of his cock in my mouth out of my head, and I want him in my pussy again.

One of the neverending string of web-boys took me out on our second date last night, I forgot what I called him when I wrote about him before but he replied to the same ad I met KB through and we'd kept in touch as friends.

A nice pub dinner in South Ken was followed by watermelon cocktails in a funky bar close by, and the sexy music and the alcohol and the way he'd been looking at me all night suddenly prompted me to launch my lips at his and we had a very nice snog indeed.

Oh and the fact that he proposed to me by text (will the romantics never die out!?) the day before and told me he wants kids with me (yes I know, loonie alert!) might have had something to do with my giddy feelings for him too.

I regret it a bit, as I don't really want to get physically involved with him before I know him better, then again a kiss is just a kiss.

Plus he is really short (think Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, even when I wear flats).
On the plus side, he is funny, cute and stands to inherit a large fortune.

We'll see I guess. I asked him if he's on coke (he was just a bit too quirky) and he said no, so that's a good sign I suppose...
He paid for my cab too, as a real gent should!

2:20am last night.

Reading the word "Belgravia" in a book, I found my body shaking with a slow sob, which led to crying full-tilt.

I rang his number twice and let it ring, number withheld, no answer.
Then I got a pair of scissors and pulled KB's cashmere socks he lent me out of the bag also containing some other bits of his, and I cut them into little pieces. I put the fluffy bits in the bin, but I couldn't stop crying.

I got my landline and dialled Canadaboy's number in Toronto, so desperate was I to speak to someone who wouldn't strangle me because of the time.

He answered, and I could hear people in the background.
"It's Sienna", I sobbed and sniffed.
"Sienna, man, what's up?", he asked (he always calls girls "man". It means he is concerned.)

I realised at that point, yet again, how much I miss him. Our easy, non-judgmental, spontaneous, honest and close friendship, how every time I saw him we just had such a blast.

"I can't stop crying", I told him. He knows all about my breakup with KB, having given his two pennies' worth during a recent MSN chat, but he was confused.

"Is this a new guy?", he asked. As if. To be honest, I think I would be confused too. After all, didn't I tell him we broke up a month ago?

He managed to calm me down, whilst I explained to him from under my duvet that I had found it so hard to get close to anyone for such a long time because of my experience with the Bastard, how that was a reason I never let myself get close to him, Canadaboy, and how the last time I had attempted not to have sex with someone straight away, they dumped me anyway before we got around to it after 3 months.
How I felt I was running out of methods to assess a guy's true intentions, and how English men never want to be "just friends" to establish a trusting relationship before taking things further.

He told me all the "right things": You are young, you are gorgeous, you are so talented, you will meet the right guy, it's his loss and so on.

I started to feel a little better, then I felt guilty for keeping him from his friends, and we ended up chatting about mutual friends and his plans to come to London again soon.

I think if I got involved with someone I really cared a lot about, I would never be able to deal with the breakup.

A man I dance with has spelled it out for me:

"Why don't you just let ME pay half your mortgage, then you won't have to find a new lodger and I can just come round sometimes".

I laughed, and told him I wasn't THAT cheap.

Then again, if he only ever came once a month or so... or even less... and I'd have the whole flat to myself...
He's not unpleasant, a bit older, yes... but not much fatter than KB.

He seems generous and not opposed to the idea of girls "putting themselves through college" like that, and he mentioned another "young friend" he sponsored through film school.

Ah well, I suppose it's more honest than dating random young guys you are hoping will propose to you and provide for you.

Then again, I am NOT a hooker, and doing something like that for such a comparatively small amount is a bit sad.
Still, if I weren't such a pervert I'd not even consider it.
And I bet he wouldn't even have asked me.

...and other stories are now open to new friends in my archives, a year ago.
Enjoy! ,)

If you are bored, can you take this quiz for me please?

What, in your opinion, is a sign of love:

a)kissing on the mouth
b)oral sex
c)kissing on the hands
d)kissing on the eyes
e)vaginal sex
f)blow job with finger up the bum
g)anal sex
h)marriage
i)having a child who looks like your partner
j)saying: "I love you"
k)expensive jewellery
l)not fucking other people
m)not fucking other people without your partner's consent
n)not fucking other people the same sex as your partner
o)being honest
p)making sure you don't make your partner unhappy
q)letting your partner come first
r)getting turned on just thinking of your partner
s)thinking of your partner whilst close to someone else
t)masturbating about your partner
u)not using condoms
v)wanting their baby
w)getting an STI test
x)not fantasising about someone else when you fuck
y)looking after them when they get bad travel belly
z)caring more about their happiness than their inheritance

Multiple choice and alternative suggestions welcome.

to a little apartment in Belgravia, consisting of a lounge/kitchen, and a double bedroom/walk in wardrobe with en-suite bathroom.

Floors throughout are covered with crumbs and bits of wrapping foil, the toilet is plumbically challenged and won't flush properly, hence you will need a good room spray, an iron bladder or a tolerant nose.

The fridge is permanently overfilled and the freezer compartment hasn't been defrosted in years, but there is plenty of storage for foie gras and champagne.
The apartment is freezing in winter due to its draughty windows and you'd need to be more generous or wealthy than its present occupant to heat it properly.

Peeling wall paper and rickety curtain rails included. The panoramic view into neighbouring multi-million apartments which have been modernized or at least decorated within the last decade make this bachelor pad a real gem.

Do not bid if allergic to dust, due to the large volume of antique books piled up everywhere.

Send your highest bid in strictest confidence to the author of this blog.

Free with this offer: an electric drill with drill bits.
---------

LOST: Rose-tinted spectacles. If found, please return to yours truly. I can't see properly without them.

Finder's fee: a cashmere hat and a designer bag, no longer needed due to attached memories.

...that I got that sexy boy into my bed!

After all, I now know he fancies me (at least when we're drunk), I saw him lick my juice off his fingers so I know he likes the taste of me too, he likes the smell of my breath (he told me so), the way I kiss and the way I stroke his cock.

So why do I care he didn't want to try my coffee!?

I can't believe I slept with Tall Boy last night.

My dream come true, I mean I have fancied the pants off him since I met him last October, and it was wonderful, better than I could have hoped.
He made love to me like I'd like to make love for the rest of my life.

Then he left without even a cup of coffee this morning.

I've been hanging round at home with a hangover and a confused head all day, despite the glorious weather.

I feel stupid, used (?), angry at myself for getting drunk, inviting him back and inviting him to stay, not stopping him; proud to have got him into bed, fulfilled at the memory of his stubble on my pussy, his tongue on my clit, his finger inside me, my vagina swelling with his thrusts, tightening with his sperm pumping into me, it was so intense when he came I burst into tears (but hid it well I think).
I have never felt anything like it.
The tip of his penis was the smoothest I have ever tasted, he was hard as a rocket, the perfect body, his orgasm was the most amazing I have ever experienced - I literally felt my vagina stretch even more when his come pumped into the condom and we stayed attached like that whilst he caught his breath and I swallowed down tears and my shivers subsided.

I don't know if this was a one-off and I feel ashamed I couldn't wait until this encounter until at least things were clearer between us.

He probably sees this as an ultra-casual thing, after all he knows I've only just split from KB less than a month ago, and he's not made any indication whether this meant anything to him or if we are going to do it again in the future.

I wish sex wouldn't leave me feeling so vulnerable, especially sex with someone I really care about.

We suddenly had this amazing chemistry, after he kissed me in the little secret room in the club I took them all to, then couldn't keep our hands and lips off each other when my friends weren't watching.

I am stupid, stupid, stupid, why not play hard to get for a change?
Stop drinking after the second cocktail?
Why couldn't I find the right moment to tell him I can't do this right now, I need to get my head straight and that I like him too much to just be a casual shag to him.

How else to interpret his denial of breakfast or even coffee, for chrissakes the man didn't even have a shower this morning he was so keen to leave!

His kisses on the lips for goodbye were only a small compensation to my feeling of doom when I think about seeing him again at work, and dealing with the rejection I expect.

I can't stop thinking about how screwed up all this is, and I try very hard to just see it as a nice night I spent with him, a validation for my attractiveness and an experience to be hopefully repeated soon.

I mainly feel cheap and confused and like I want to punch someone.
I took 6 Paracetamol and I still have the remnants of a headache.

Ok, gotta get myself out of the house!

Thursday night my two Berlin friends and I ended up at a posh club where girls in bunny outfits (that's "Playboy", not Playschool) were handing out chocolate vodka shots by the gallon.

Somehow about 6 of the shots found their way into my mouth, and that same mouth then
asked one of those "Ibiza massage girls" swanning about the place for easily the best massage I've had all year (swoon!),
rejected some "famous East Enders actor" (yeah right),
and kissed a boy I barely met.

He was a great dancer and he wasted no time in introducing me to all his friends, asking if my new black friend was really a man (actually, who knows, he got me suspicious - especially after I touched her/his legs...), and inviting me on a sailing trip.

My head had barely stopped spinning the next morning when he was on the phone, eager to arrange that sailing date. Time will tell...

Trouble is, I don't know if I can be bothered.

One guy from my dating ad last year is back in touch, I suspect he's shagless or whatever and has suddenly remembered me,
+another keeps running through my head as a way into the swinging scene (he mentioned "orgies" he'd been to...)
+a Scottish boy and the Sailor are keen to meet for lunch on Tuesday (decisions, decisions...)
+I am curious at the prospect of being able to take things further now when I go visit Train Boy at his university (whenever that might be),
+Rugby boy has been on my case for weeks about meeting up again when he returns from skiing,
+Tall Boy is up for the suggested get-together and could be mine for the taking after a few beers (?),

but how come you only want what you can't have?
I don't fancy going through the motions of the "first few months" again with someone new, I have no desire to call any of them or wait for their calls, I don't want to switch on my head but I miss the sex, I miss KB and our conversations and he's been ignoring me and I have been getting more and more wound up about it.

Ok, I know he doesn't want to be with me, but I refuse to accept that I am worthless to him, that it meant nothing and that I could easily find someone like him again.

I am beginning to realise that KB is NOT my ideal man, looks-wise (watching the latest Jack Black film has just made that clear again), but it frightens me to think how hurt I'd be to be rejected by someone who's 100% right, when being rejected by KB (who's 70% right or less) is this hurtful and irritating.

I want to put my head in the sand, under the duvet, under water in the bath; stop breathing for a while; stop thinking.

I've been thinking how lonely I'd be if I were pregnant by KB after all, how much hate would flood my body and harm my child, how much I'd struggle on my own.

I've thought how easy (or hard) it might be to find someone new with someone else's kid in tow, and whether I'd want to risk it in case I didn't meet anyone else, ever again.

If Music Boy were in town I'd fuck him, I know that. Not many questions asked. I'd let his driver pick me up and take me to his hotel after midnight, even if it meant changing out of my pyjamas again, I wouldn't insist on a condom and I'd probably let him come inside me. After all he's old enough to know how babies are made. Depending on the amount of champagne consumed I may not mention that I'm not on the pill. Then I'd panic because on average I see him once every 24 months, swallow the morning-after pill or just worry and worry for 3 weeks and be unable to reach him.

Nice Ex called and I confessed that I had been dumped because so many guys don't realise that women come with a sell-by date. "That's so sad", he said. "A sell-by date".

And he meant it in the sense of "regrettable", not "pathetic".

Today saw me battling along a windy sunny beach, pushing a pram.

Two posh boys with a rugby ball walked by, struggling to pass it against the breeze; one was wearing trendy aviator style sunglasses with a gold rim, the other one a white pair and they looked relaxed, handsome and very young. Not surprising in a student town, with a world-famous golf course.

"It won't happen!", I shouted against the howl of the wind, "the wind is too strong- I tried earlier", and my smile indicated his warm, sleeping form in the pram and the neon green football underneath.

Indeed, I have been running after a man again all weekend, or rather after that damn ball of his - against the wind, down slopes and into thorny bushes.

But oh, the fun of it!

I am being rewarded by slobbery kisses, a constantly runny nose, grazing my cheek against baby-soft skin and stroking downy, soft hair, his laughter tinkling my ears and tickling the bottom of my soul.

I feel relaxed, fulfilled and rewarded, even if nothing much is happening to saturate my day with excitement.
His screams and occasional tantrums see me reaching for the tissues, the spoon, his nappy-clad bottom with ease, and he calms down as easily as he got excited.

Nothing I can't handle, even if the day and hours stretch- there is always another beach to explore, a cafe to sit down in, a kite to watch, ducks to feed, ice cream to buy and a nice comfy home to go back to.

I know it's for a short time only, and his parents will be there to take over from me as soon as I get back to the house, grateful, with food ready and smiles, admiring my patience and his affection for me.
"Mummy" gets confused with my name in the excitement of digging and running and playing in the grass, and I don't mind.

I won't abduct him I reassured her, I'd rather make my own. However his presence in my arms quietens my soul and my desperation, I feel loved and useful, even if it's only my tissue wielding and ball fetching skills which are required. "He suits you", she smiles, watching me with the pram.

In the evening, I turn him over to his parents, although his eager cries try to reassure I am still within calling and playing distance.

Although unmarried, their relationship has spanned 12 years and two continents and I have trouble even binding someone to me for more than 3 months after adopting his country as my own, but I am glad I left London to regain some peace and breathe some fresh sea air.

He is far too young for me of course, or too old- depending how you see it.
I couldn't have asked for a better Easter.

Yesterday I spoke to Tall Boy, who is now back from his xth holiday this year.
I was curious to find out how he'd liked South America, but he was keen to find out how I'd been: "So, what have you been up to?" "Getting dumped", I replied. I couldn't really go into details surrounded by my colleagues, but he was immediately sympathetic. "Yes, I remember you saying he was too young for you" Tall Boy recalled. He was surprised to learn that KB is 27, not 40 like he'd thought. "Well, he dresses older..." I agreed.

Straightaway he suggested we go out for drinks soon. I am tempted to arrange something for Friday the 13th, my lucky day.

--------

Had drinks with Camdenboy last night. He has just been dumped too, by the woman he cut all contact with me for.
Weird that was, I had met him around the same time I was seeing Cashmere, and we had a few nice drinks, night out and a sneaky snog or two, then he went all monogamous on me as soon as he was safely coupled-up with Ms Stuck Up.

He apologised for being distant this past year... No worries mate, all I text you for was to ask if I could borrow a drill anyway!!

--------

My flatmate told me yesterday that he is moving out.
Booohoo, why does every man have to leave me!?
It turns out that his new job only pays £600 a month (nope, you're not missing a zero, and that's a month, yes, not a week!). I nearly fainted. HOW can anyone expect you to survive in London on THAT!? A five-star hotel no less!?
I told him he'd find a better job more easily than a cheaper flat.

It's shocking that they initially told him he'd make £900 a month; almost as shocking is the fact that he was fully prepared to spend 2/3 of that on rent and bills!

I guess you live and learn. The next one had better had a payslip handy for me to check out...

-----------

I am turning into Ex-Crush-Hotel.
Just now, a friend from Berlin and his girlfriend (wow she was stunning! If I were a man... ) dropped off their luggage at the office since they'll be staying with me tonight, then after Easter I have another friend coming to stay on the sofa for a week.

It's great that people are finally taking me up on my offers of hospitality, but why does it have to be all the bloody ex crushes?

Berlin Boy had a serious thing for me once I seem to recall, and when I first met Beard Boy there were sparks flying everywhere although I was still with the Bastard (who didn't even bother to ring me that New Year's Eve).
I just hope for his own sake that he has now cut the embarrassing multi-coloured beard off, or I can see myself trying to save him from knife-wielding maniacs on the nightbus!

Hey, at least now I am single. I still hope he's cut that beard off though, for my own sake.

-------------

KB continues to ignore me. I have turned into Insomniac Girl and text him my domestic woes this morning at 2:30am, just after I had finished changing my bed sheets and spare duvets. I have guests coming, and also who wants to sleep next to their ex's sweat?
I hope he's miserable as fuck, or was at least unable to go back to sleep after his phone beeped.

I think I've been too depressed to write.
I mean, what's there to say?

KB came over on Sunday, we'd both been down and wanted to see each other, but I suspect for rather different reasons.

Instead of bringing flowers, a cuddly toy, chocolates or anything else impractical, he brought a pregnancy test. Nice.

I packed some chilled bubbly and took us off into the sunset to my local park, but what could have been a very nice reminder of our recent outdoors frolics was tinged with sadness.

As the champagne began to take effect, it came spilling out of my eyes when I realised that although he has still not said it in so many words, it's definitely over.

I mean, why would I want to keep seeing him "as a friend"? I would just constantly be reminded of his rejection. Maybe in a few months' time or so, but in the meantime no contact is key.

He thinks I am taking it all too personal.

On my sofa, before we set off on our picnic, he admitted: "These past two weeks have been the most down I have been in my life", which was possibly an exaggeration because he followed it with: "I just don't think it could work between us because I couldn't live with you".

My stomach seized up, spoiling my appetite. I was seriously hypoglycaemic after a long-ago breakfast and three hours spent at the gym, so I felt my eyes beginning to well up. After I'd tried to be all fun, light and lovely, too! I had even made a special effort with my appearance, wearing a cute skirt, low-cut top and leggings- but all to no avail.

I can't tell you how insulted I was.
HE can't live with ME?

At least I hoover my fucking floor!
I flush the toilet!
My feet don't smell!
I don't take 3 hours to come!
I don't look fat naked!
My flat isn't freezing, my fridge is clean and I haven't had an ex try and commit suicide in my filthy bathroom!

"You get so frustrated and angry sometimes, and I don't like conflict" he admitted.

Well, what reasons do I have to get angry? None, apparently. And it didn't count towards my salvation in his harsh assessment that I was very very depressed when we went up North, and sad that he didn't want to go out with me on St Patrick's day for fears of being lynched by a lager-fuelled mob of yokels!

Also it has to be said that I like the way he stays calm, and that his measured and usually kind way of reassuring me has often been a special comfort to me.

Well, no more I fear, no more.

His self-flagellation about the whole issue doesn't help, it utterly annoys me and although he told me he'd be "supportive" if I indeed turned out to be pregnant against all the odds, I find it so patronising because he obviously doesn't give a flying fuck about me. Oh, I forget: He CARES about me. A LOT.