I had to have a spontaneous cone biopsy yesterday, owing to re-curring abnormal smears.
The doc showed me a tiny tissue sample they had snipped off my cervix, and it bled a bit, but I am glad someone is taking care of it... although I am scared that the mighty C might come and take my womb away before it's had the chance to fulfil its purpose.

Ah, the privilege of being a medical volunteer so future generations can be vaccined against HPV...

--------

No news from Flaky Boy, big surprise. "The mobile phone you have called is switched off". I think he may be a spy!

--------

KB was in touch about his friend's drill I still have in my closet. Still, no contact for 3 months and then he wants his stuff back? Um, no mate.

--------

I got a very nice massage from a male friend at a private members' club last night, mmm... I am still sore but can't wait for him to do it again (with oils, he promised).
My shoulders and back have been a mess ever since I was about 2 months into my desk-bound job. Oh the price you have to pay for a mortgage!

--------

Tall Boy phoned me at work, on his day off, to arrange when next to come into the office - when the cat's away so to speak. Unfortunately, when he called all cats were in, and listening intently to our conversation. We will get found out for sure.

-------

I have been in touch with the Prince to arrange a spontaneous holiday in the sun together.
After the encounter with Phat Boy I thought: Hey, why not!? I am young, free and single and I want to travel, and at least the Prince is slimmer (and younger) than Phat Boy, and seriously rich. He would spoil me rotten, we'd drink champagne for a week and I could go diving and return with a tan.
He was up for the idea - amazing really as I met him nearly a year ago and haven't seen him since - but I wonder what the "deal" is.

Then again, fuck it. I have slept with plenty of people without getting anything in return, invested my emotions and had my heart broken, so what if he expects me to be his love slave whilst putting me up in his five-star suite!?

Now I'm just wondering how I explain that one to my mum and my more conservative friends. Any suggestions?
("I am now 30 and decided to work my way slowly into high-class prostitution before I get too old" may not wash so well)

[I also hope he won't steal my passport and sell me into white slavery, watch this space!]

---------

Dinner with the Aristocrat next week. Hey why not, he did like me at some point and I know we'll have a laugh again, even if it's not the big romance he made it out to be last year... and at least any accidental offspring would bear a title.

-------

I chatted to Nice Ex via msn and made him feel like crap. He told me the loveliest thing I heard all year, and nearly made me cry with shame. "You were dating me and not my parents, and I loved you with all my heart"... Sob.

-------

A week tomorrow until the Bastard's wedding.

-------

Other places I could travel to and combine some sight-seeing with a good seeing-to:

*Geneva with Mr Shortie (it's not really on the cards and he has pissed me off, but I am sure it would be possible)
*Zurich to see a former class-mate-turned-investment-banker.
*New York to catch up with the Colonel and snatch our film off him (only if he signs a contract promising not to try anal sex again).
*Anywhere with Tall Boy (Barcelona?)
*To the seaside with young Chelsea Boy (if we can get over the 6-year age gap issue)
*LA, to see Music Boy (how long has it been since our wild night at the S Hotel? 2 years!?!?)

Who said blondes with a passport don't have more fun!?

I met up with Phat Boy at the cinema as agreed, with sand still on my feet from the gorgeous beach Flash Boy had taken me to.

I was glad I didn't have Flash Boy around me the whole weekend, as at least Phat Boy and I have things in common to talk about, since we are passionately involved in the same industry. Flash Boy however went off on a tangent about the intricacies of telecommunications, higher maths and obscure yet market-relevant languages, whilst I nodded my head like a dashboard dachshund.

He had recently been left puzzled by a surprise breakup, with another one on the way as far as I could make out. He even showed me his ex's business premises he'd invested in heavily, and told me how there were now lawyers involved in her attempt to buy his share back at a bargain-basement price.
I also gave him a speed-run of the last seven years, and generally we managed to have a good time despite the lack of sun screen.
"I'd like to come to London again, and spoil you", he told me, and I didn't argue.

I cringed again when he showed me and the car off to some ten-year-olds at a petrol station, and introduced me as "Sienna from London" to a politely smiling artist in her seaside studio. Oh dear!

Anyway, Phat Boy and Flashy managed to have a halfways civilised conversation (I thought it would be good for them to meet because of potential future business endeavours or whatever), and then Flash took off and Phat and I had the cinema to ourselves-literally.

It turned out that the film we initially planned to see was in French with Swedish subtitles (um, no thanks!), so we went for Spidey 3 instead.

When it finished, Phat Boy attempted to be romantic again. "Look", I told him, "I don't want things to go weird between us, and they always do if one has stronger feelings than the other" etc etc. "I want us to be cool, to be friends..." and so on. Whatever, I knew what I had coming to me.

Later on, sitting on his sofa with takeaway and a scary movie, he pulled my feet onto his lap and began massaging them and stroking my legs. Very nice! I think it helped that I had some Absinth, oh, and some sparlkling wine with the dinner.

I was totally exhausted, and really didn't plan to sleep with him, but I knew I wouldn't be able to help myself once I got well and truly turned on. The naughty edge of not really wanting to sleep with someone that fat (and that besotted by me) also did its magic, and I found myself unable to stop the run of events.

After the film, he pulled me close and smothered my face with kisses, his eager breath came in lusty bursts (you just can't fake that) and I got swept up in the wave.
He began to grope my breasts and thighs, his hands all over me and sliding under my t-shirt, whilst his tongue tried to find my nipples through the neck hole.
Suddenly, he pushed up my skirt and touched me almost forcefully by pushing my knickers aside (oh darn those French knickers! No protection whatsoever!), his hand pulsing and rubbing and slapping against my soaking pussy.

I must say that was a bit of a wakeup call, because horny as it was, it told me he didn't have much of a clue of female anatomy (or an ex girlfriend with an extremely large and grateful clit).

Still, I guess we had reached the point of no return, and he dragged me into the bedroom.
He insisted I take my skirt off after he had disposed of my knickers, then fumbled for ages with my bra, before disrobing himself. I sat on the bed like one of his pin-ups and smiled a lusty smile in anticipation. He bit my neck relentlessly and asked me to do the same to him, and I knew I'd regret it in the morning.
(I did. Damn, why don't I wear silk scarves!?)

He rolled onto his back on the bed and pulled me on top of him (I had wondered how all this would work, given his size), and pushed himself inside me. I nearly exploded with lust, and it took me no time at all to come. Feeling him inside me, with my legs either side of his bulk, and knowing how much he'd built me up for it to come to this, and how much he wanted me were very powerful aphrodisiacs.

I was afraid he might come. This also pushed me over the edge. Who could still say he'd forced me, when I was on top of him? I came, feeling my pussy suck on his cock for all it was worth. I asked if he had a condom. He pushed me over on my back and continued fucking me, although his stomach got in the way somewhat. "Put a condom on", I told him, scared and excited I might feel his hot cum shooting up inside me any minute. I wanted him so much, and I wanted it badly, and I knew for a fact that the reason I was so, so turned on and carried away was nothing more profound than ovulation.

He, on the other hand, loves me -and told me so. OH NO!

I tried to block out his words, concentrating on his body and my pleasure instead.
His head moved down my body, and he was licking me, frantically and all over the place, but enough for me to come again. His fingers were fucking me hard, there was sweat all over the sheets and I told him to touch himself. He did for a short while, but I think he gave up owing to physics, balance and gravity. He pushed his nose against my clit which irritated me, but finally I came, hard, in his face whilst he burrowed his head between my legs.

He came up, shaking, and held me. He had come when I came. He continued stroking me, which I hated, then suggested a shower and I got up, feeling stressed and tired and locked myself in the bathroom.

"Sienna!" he called from behind the door, "I didn't mean to upset you". I ignored him and brushed my teeth.

"I am not upset", I told him, dry now and back in my PJ's, "just tired. I need to sleep, I have an early flight tomorrow".

"I know", he said, his hand reaching out to me.

I woke up to him kissing my shoulder, with a full breakfast in bed.
Fuck, how I wish he were sexier. But he wouldn't be the same person if that were the case.

I had to put more foundation on my neck than onto my face, and I felt a bit tired and irritated, especially given the fact that he continued to be so affectionate.

He pecked me on the cheek at the airport. "Bye, darling", he said, "see you soon"...

I had made plans to see an ex fling whilst in Scandinavia; a guy who came into my life seven years ago like a knight in shining armour (I had had my handbag stolen in a club thanks to dancing with him, and he got me home safely and took me out for dinner the next night, things went from there...), yet distinctly cringe-worthy conversation.

"Ride me honey", "I always shave my balls" (with demonstration) and: "Can my friend come up, she'll only stay for an hour or so" (to a puzzled Indian hotelier who then attempted to charge him extra), still make my ears throb.

Phat Boy wasn't happy.
We hadn't really made any plans save for driving around, having lunch by the beach and going to the movies later, but he still insisted I was over there for too short a time to make too many plans not involving him. Ugh!

He kept attempting to grab my hand on the pier and whilst walking along the beach, and although I went along with it sometimes, it didn't feel comfortable.
"What's with the PDAs?" I asked him. He laughed and asked me what that was, being Swedish and all. "Oh, I am just an affectionate guy" he told me when I explained.

Due to some number-miscommunication and him locking himself out of his house, the ex fling didn't turn up until 2pm or so, by which time Phat Boy and I had ordered our lunches and nearly run out of conversation.
I had warned him that the ex's car might be a two-seater, and since the plan had been for him to take me on a drive, there may not be room for Phat Boy, too. Surely he should understand that!? After all, I'd see him at the cinema and for dinner that night...

As it happened, he was just extremely awkward, and made me feel awkward and guilty, too. I can't imagine an English guy being that graceless- he'd just say ok, and elegantly stay out of the way. It's what I would do, it's only polite. After all he's not my boyfriend, and neither is the other guy, so no need to be possessive and jealous!

Eventually, the ex's car rolled up, gleaming in the sunshine and with the speakers blaring, and right enough, it was a tiny two-seater as anticipated.
He got out and walked over to us, recognising me immediately- and boy, he was so flash my eyes hurt!
His hair was groomed in a very "done" way- I can't imagine ANY straight boy in the UK with that much colour, highlights and product in his hair- he was wearing white-and-gold Gucci sunglasses, a white tailored shirt and jeans.
DOLCE AND GABBANA! screamed his belt, he strolled over to us in polished designer shoes with tiny holes in them, and enveloped us in his scent like a travelling perfumery.
I must say, I have always loved a touch of Cool Water, but this was like a flood of biblical proportions!
Still, he looked handsome and cute, and a lot younger than his 37 years (thanks, no doubt, to an extensive and pricey skin-care routine).

As soon as he sat down, the cock-fight started.
"I thought we'd have all day", said Flash Boy, in a disappointed voice, "I've made no other plans".
"I think you're not here long enough to see ten different people" was Phat Boy's opinion. I smiled and ate my steak, attempting light-hearted conversation to get the two rivals to get along.

Instead, they just started competing about their successes in business, and although I tried to follow the banter, I mentally fell asleep and just enjoyed the cheese sauce with my lunch.
"So, what shall we do?" asked Flash Boy.
"It's a bit awkward for me", said Phat Boy, "I would like to tag along, so why don't we just go somewhere together? You won't have much time anyway since the film starts at 5:30..."
"But it's only half past two!", I replied, getting annoyed. "I don't think a weekend is too short to go away and see a few people, it's what we do in the UK. When I went to Berlin, I saw about 6 people in three days, and met lots of new people, too! And I don't think a couple of hours is too short to go on a drive somewhere in the sun. I'd like to go with Flash in his convertible, as that was the plan, and I'll see you at five at the cinema. Do you know where it is?" I asked Flash Boy, and Phat Boy gave him directions in Swedish with a long face.
AAAHRGH!

Still feeling guilty (why, oh why!?), I watched Phat Boy drive off and slid into the sun-warmed leather seat next to Flash Boy.

I am really embarrassed about what happened on the weekend.

I had gone to see a friend with the intention of joining in some midsummer night party fun, knowing full well he has fancied me since he met me a few years ago, but expecting nothing to happen.

How naive am I!?

Of course we got drunk, of course he still fancied my pants off, and of course he is lots taller and stronger than me, and of course that turns me on. Of course, because I was ovulating, and horny as hell.

So the first night I met all his friends at a fantastic, low-key party with lots of food, drinks and a few small children (I think I have never eaten so many meatballs and pickled herring in one night), then his mate dropped us of back at his and we sat on the sofa where he started to stroke and massage my feet whilst we talked.

I got wet immediately, and wished I didn't, I wished that my eyes could just tell my pussy to shut up, I don't fancy this guy, he is enormous and totally invades my space!

I could tell how much he was trying to get close to me before, driving in his car and walking along the seaside- he kept touching me and hinting how much he liked me and so on. I said early on that I wanted to be friends, nothing more, and didn't have any expectations in that direction, but it all fell on deaf ears.
Even admitting to being "involved" with Tall Boy didn't help, he just said I shouldn't worry too much and see what developed.

I think I am really turning into a bit of a chubby chaser: first 21-year-old (by latest admission) Chubby Boy in Edinburgh, then XL-shirt-size KB from Kensington, and now Phat Boy in Sweden!

The things all these guys have in common are an easy confidence (a thin veneer over a lifetime of hurt and rejection, but appealing nonetheless), a genuine generosity, a beautiful mind, an intelligent ear and patient, soft hands. Oh, and a surprisingly small dick.

When I first fell for the charms of Chubby two years ago, having got drunk on plentifully provided Pimms and spirits and found myself carried into his bedroom like I weighed nothing at all, I was hoping to encounter a strong, determined penis- and was instead confronted by a disappointingly small sausage.
The same happened with KB- although he was eager as larry and horny as hell- so horny I could smell his pre-cum whilst he was still dressed- his limp dick often had trouble keeping the condom on! Still, this may have been to do with nerves, as I did see him get properly hard a few times, but it happened less frequently as with, say, Tall Boy. Tall Boy gets hard, stays hard, and fucks me with a relentless erection.

It is really quite annoying when he has stroked you into ecstasy, and you expect to be pounded by his weight and a penis that matches in size, overpowered and fucked hard by a panting mass of flesh, to then have to start pulling and teasing a reluctant and minuscule cock into life.
Hey, if he were sexy, no problem: you'd do it in a heartbeat, eagerly licking and sucking his large cock til it stands to attention, watching the lust build on a handsome face, but if he's got you so far (almost against your will) you just want him to keep going.

The first night, not much happened. We had established early on that the bed was big enough for two (and the foldy-out-one looked like an instrument of torture), so tired and pissed as I was I let him lead me to his bedroom from the sofa. He started kissing my neck in the hallway, his hands carressing me more eagerly and his breath coming in excited gasps, then he turned me around and kissed me, deeply and probingly on the mouth.
It wasn't a nice kiss, but it was a horny one.

I must say that beauty is no match to real lust.
If you are in bed with a gorgeous guy and you get the feeling he'd rather be elsewhere (or with someone else), a girl can get insecure, annoyed and dry.
I mean, could I get more insulted than Tall Boy's beginning to snore as I stroked his dick!?
A fat boy, on the other hand, is so much more appreciative.
There are no half-measures, no glint of distance in his eye or lazy, selfish hands. No, he is there with you, in the moment, in love, keen and horny and eager to fuck you, you're too good to be true and too real to be ignored and he tries to flatten you like a steam roller.

It took all my determination and resolve to tell him to stop, I just wanted to sleep. He continued stroking me a bit as we lay in bed, whilst my pussy was churning itself into a froth and I pretended to be asleep.
I ended up telling him to stop or I'd sleep next door. He did.

... I would never have thought that today I would
-still be single and barren
-live in my own flat
-have gone to a lap dancing bar and enjoyed it
-be sleeping with someone AT my/any office
-rather go to Sweden than Ascot
-be even more cynical of guys, their proposals and propositions
-own even MORE gold shoes
-get a diamond for my birthday
-be subjecting myself to laser treatment
-start to look into adoption and fostering.

Answers on a postage stamp please (I need to know before 6pm)- a weekly or monthly figure would help!

Just now, I found the girl Tall Boy is/was sleeping with on the web.

She couldn't be more different, and I don't know if this is making me more jealous or not, or just pissed off he's not more honest with me, or whatever.

My stomach is churning and I'm confused.

Basically, I have liked him since last October, from the first day I saw him. He was friendly, fun and flirty, but not more; he didn't seem available.
One theatre date was followed by pretty much nothing but a pleasant atmosphere whenever he came to the office.

Then I met and started going out with Kensington Boy (KB )in January, and Tall Boy saw us together for the first time at my house warming party where he got really drunk (he gets really drunk a lot).

He kept his distance, but remained friendly and asked me how it was going for example- just before the weekend KB and I went oop north to meet his mum. All great, but the cracks were beginning to show because of his age, and I told Tall Boy that.

In any case, we split up at the end of March and suddenly Tall Boy came sniffing round again. He suggested we go out and that's when we slept together for the first time: on April 13th. Basically, he was too tired to go home, and I was too drunk to say no.
But man, the sex!
It made me feel so sad that I'd been missing out on that for KB and his chubby gut and droopy cock, but at least KB was available and reliable and I thought he loved me.

Ah well...

So then Tall Boy did his little disappearing act the next day, and we didn't sleep together again until that fateful day at the office, which I blogged about- and on my birthday morning.

Oh, and this morning!

Yesterday we worked together and had a dream holiday-like lunch break in the sun, where we kissed and cuddled like love's young dream, then in the evening we met up again.
I joined him and two mates after a night out with my friends, and Tall Boy was really rather pissed. So pissed in fact that he sent his cute mate to come pick me up from the hotel bar I had wandered into, confused about where they were.

So then he kissed and cuddled me in front of his friends, bought me drinks and flirted and laughed along with me as we bantered about drinking, related criminal activities, and odd places we'd had sex.

He got us a cab back to mine (although I am "more than invited, anytime, you know that" to E17) because I had to get clothes for today from home, etc, and we frolicked on my new sofa for a bit.

He was keen for us to retire to my bed, where we frolicked some more- until he started snoring with his dick still in my hand!!!
The rudeness!

I sat astride him, his cock still hard in my hand, and watched him fall asleep. Nice.

I gave it a few more half-hearted strokes and even briefly, idiotically considered fucking him anyway (I was horny and drunk and very annoyed) but thought that would be really fucking weird.

I rolled over and tried to go to sleep, but couldn't. He pulled me towards him, spooning me and nuzzling my neck, but I was not in the mood for fake cuddles and pretend affection.

So, I did the "logical" thing: picked up his blinking phone from the bedside table, and retreated to the bathroom like a cat with its prey.
And surely enough, there were messages explicit enough to confirm that:
-he was sleeping with another woman at the end of May
-he had gone to see her after he left my birthday party, and before he returned
-they had got up to some naughty stuff in public
-some other girls seem quite fond of him too
-his "sent" box only stores five messages (damn!)

...

Ok, so my heart was pumping and I felt my insides drop by a few inches, but as it didn't come as a massive surprise, just a confirmation of my instincts I didn't totally collapse with the shock like I had done when I snooped in the Bastard's phone all that time ago.

The important difference: Tall Boy and I aren't really going out, there was no talk of commitment, exclusivity, fidelity, love or other such shmonsense, and also: I had guessed- having by now learned to trust my gut.

My gut, in turn, churned, and I was glad to be in the bathroom already as I kept flicking through the messages. I felt stupid, small and sad and resented the drunk, naked man sleeping in my bed- but:
Hey, what would anyone find if they looked through my inbox!?
Messages from Flaky Boy/Bollinger, thanking me for a wonderful afternoon (xxxx), Mr Shortie complaining of my lack of affectionate blabla for him, Pet Shop Boy raving about our day on the beach, Chelsea Boy flirting and asking me to sleep over next time, the wannabe Sugar Daddy confirming our dance date tonight, my Swedish friend looking forward to seeing me this weekend... and my former therapist getting back to me with rates and times of when she can see me.

Also- wasn't I happily riding another man's cock on a yacht just a few days before Mystery Girl remarked to Tall Boy that "this poor man really got an eye-ful!"!?!?!

Ok, what pissed me off the most was that Tall Boy wasn't honest (well, then again I hadn't really asked him anything), that I had yielded to his charms in the first place, and that ON MY BIRTHDAY, he had a gift for HER, not ME.
I mean, it was only a small, token, going-away gift (yes, she is now abroad- but not without texting him her new number) but it meant something; whilst he didn't even get me a birthday card!!

Oh yes, and that I slept with him anyway. Two weeks ago, after kicking my sister out of bed, and this morning, when we woke up and he started to kiss me sweetly, stroked my pussy and smiled at me with these wonderful green eyes. Oh and despite all the booze I witnessed him consume, he smelt like an angel- and fucked like a god.

I found her online later this morning; she's petite, black and 22 years old, with a wide nose, skinny arms and short hair.

Her being so different from me (and abroad now) made it somehow easier to digest. P
art of me is smiling: we're just as bad as each other! With possibly the distinctive difference that I really do want to be in a committed relationship, and he doesn't at all. He told me himself this morning, and when I asked after her (without confessing about the phone of course) he said she's just a friend.
With wheels apparently. And ten years younger.
How convenient!

Lunch date, Friday:
This boy had been cropping up in my life repeatedly since I "met" him through a dating site in 2005- at the time, I didn't feel like I wanted to meet him as I was disappointed from knock-backs by the Journalist and the Pilot, so our preliminary contact fizzled out.
Recently he had joined a friends/networking site I am on, we discovered a mutual friend and we had somehow got back in touch.
I shall call him Indie Boy because of his hair and taste in music.
After a bit of text-tennis (he works odd hours) we decided to have lunch on Friday, although from talking to him I already knew there wouldn't be any romance on the cards. Still, always nice to make a new friend who likes music and writing!

I was pleasantly surprised when I first clapped eyes on him, he was tall and better-looking than his photo- although he does need a hair cut, and his slow, bored-sounding voice did nothing for me.

He was a friendly guy and had obviously made an effort to come and meet me, but he smelled of clothes left in the washing machine too long and his lack-of-energy personality made me anticipate total mental exhaustion as I tried to balance out the "heavy" energy he seemed to emit by being extra smiley and bubbly.

Also, he said he needed cash - in a busy, touristy area of London notorious for its lack of cash points, causing a 20-minute delay in my lunch. I got my food and sat down to wait for him to get some money and his own food, but of course I couldn't start without him so I sat there with my book for ages whilst my salmon teriaki was getting colder by the second...
Especially gutting was the fact that a cute guy in a pinstriped suit approached my table as waited, and I had to tell him the other chair wasn't free.
Indie Boy arrived back with his lunch and we chatted about all and nothing- pleasant but not very "special".
It felt less like a date and more like teaching someone's younger brother how to eat sushi- which he picked apart with his chops sticks instead of eating each bite whole.

Poor guy- I realise how critical I sound, but in future I think I will try and trust my gut and not meet anyone I don't feel excited about!

Beach date, Friday:

A couple of weeks ago my flat mate and I met him and his friend at the Pet Shop Boys concert I'd spontaneously received free tickets for, and after he told me that they were not, in fact, boyfriends, we spent the night flirting, then holding hands, then kissing and dancing at Mahiki.

I discovered early on that Pet Shop Boy is, in fact, five years younger than I am, but didn't share that observation with him and enjoyed the night for what it was, some unbridled flirting and sweet snogging with a new toy (boy).

Then, he invited me to Brighton last weekend and I got the train straight after work.

It was great to sit on the beach with him, eating fish and chips and drinking a bottle of wine I had brought with me- barely 2 hours after leaving the office! It was mild-ish and a bit misty, we laughed and chatted and watched the goth kids fall into the surf drunk with their trousers round their ankles, and before we knew it it was time for me to amble back up to the train station again to catch the last train home.

No snogging this time, but confessing I had just turned 30 possibly didn't help the matter.
He gave me a sweet peck on the lips however, saying: "Next time, you have to be a bit less German and stay the night"....

[We had discussed the main cultural differences- he does a better German accent than I do, having lived in Munich for a year- how English people will seem prudish about discussing sexual things, but "do everything" especially when drunk, whilst German girls are incredibly liberated, having grown up on a diet of sex films and nude beaches, yet won't sleep with any new partner for months, then turn into their "mother" straightaway!]

Museum/Park date, Saturday:
What a revelation!
This guy had been so hard to pin down, I called him Flaky Boy in a previous post.
Basically I met him online around the same time I met KB, and we exchanged a few emails and messages- then family problems took over. One night we were meant to meet up (before KB and I were and item) he stood me up and never picked up his phone, I later discovered his dad had been taken ill and he had to travel abroad and so on...
To be honest, I thought he was just messing me about and I couldn't believe a word he said.
Maybe I am just too suspicious, but as I didn't know him I really didn't know what to make of all this and how to respond. As it happened, we sort of stayed in touch but I took everyting he said with a pinch of salt, assuming he must be a bit of a player and some sort of arrogant, unreliable twit.

We met at the V&A to see a current exhibition, and I was surprised how different he seemed in the flesh to what I had expected. I recognised him, but his personality was a surprise compared to what I had feared he might be like. Instead of an arrogant charmer, I was faced with a polite, friendly but almost shy guy who had waited patiently at the entrance, tickets in hand whilst I had managed to be nearly half an hour late. Bad manners, I know!

Sadly, I am strangely attracted by arrogant "bastards", but it was nice to see that "Flaky Boy" wasn't like that at all- and therefore all my suspicions instantly vapourised and I found myself be more sympathetic and understanding about his circumstances instead of feeling hurt by his constant "rejection".

It was great to talk to him and look at the exhibits together. I had forgotten a few facts about him we had talked about previously, but when they came back to me it was nice to remember how much we had in common and how much I already knew about him. We also had very similar opinions about most of the stuff on display, including some rather strange wallpaper!

We liked the same furniture, hated the same clothes, laughed at the same hat and wanted to buy a copy of the same jewellery (which they sadly didn't sell).
We reminded each other that we both spoke French and love diving; we both like the same obscure-yet-famous restaurant in France and have been to parties at Pierre Cardin's villa (although I didn't tell him about the sex-in-his bathroom episode... ), and as we got closer to the exit we also got closer to each other- with his hand hovering over the small of my back, and our faces getting close whilst chuckling over some especially bizarre object.

After trawling through the museum shop for a while, we decided to head out into the park with a bottle of Bollinger.

I continued to find out more about him, and he about me. We talked about our families and things we'd done and hoped to do, and his recent experience in Monte Carlo and mine in Cannes.

As we sat in the high grass getting high on champagne, he reached over to touch a grass seed away from my lip. "I am so glad I met you", he said, "finally. You see, I do exist", he smiled.

Nearly all my scepticism continued to evaporate. What great timing, really. I mean, if I hadn't been with KB I may not have continued to casually chat with him all this time- as he clearly had his mind on other more pressing things than finding a girlfriend- and although it's sad what has happened to him in the past six months, I am glad my patience paid off and there were genuine reasons for us not getting to meet before.

When he touched my face it was such a sweet, tender gesture and I looked at him reclining in the soft grass and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

He took my hand and stroked it, looked at me with affection and warmth ("I am glad you have green eyes", I told him), then stroked my cheek and took my face in both his hands and kissed me.

"It's so nice to meet you", he continued to tell me. "So, am I different to what you thought I might be like?" I asked him. "Yes", he confirmed, "better".

happened this weekend, it was the useless Tall Boy, but man does he have skills in the bedroom department even if his social skills otherwise are sadly lacking somewhat.

Imagine coming to someone's 30th, let alone someone you are sleeping with, sans card/flowers or any present whatsoever!
Actually I am doing him an injustice, he had scored tons of chocolate somewhere which I gratefully inherited, but still it didn't require much of an effort on his part...

I really don't know what "this" is between us, but his behaviour should give me a clue.

He had come to my party earlier with two friends, one got off with one of my friends rather swiftly, the other left with Tall Boy when to join another friend for her going-away party, the around 3:30 am they returned. Woozy from booze and sleep and "being too nice" I opened the door to them and their two cans of beer, then we settled onto my huge new sofa in the lounge to chat and drink and get our feet massaged (flatmate and I, although Tall Boy was rubbish at it... no effort whatsoever!).

Flatmate retired to bed, thinking in English was straining her brain and it was late (cue: birdsong and dawn breaking), Tall Boy's friend trailing in her wake.
We heard a few words being spoken in a normal (i.e. not sexy or seductive) voice, then he was back. "I don't know you", she had told him in no uncertain terms, "and I am going to bed- alone. Good night!". Wish I could put things simply as that sometimes!

Not five minutes later (it was 4am by now), Naughty Friend was back in the game. He picked up his mobile and called his fuck buddy- whilst I was in earshot! I couldn't believe his brazenness! And her chirpy replies to his probing questions and blatant attempt at manipulation to make her invite him over ("well, you'd regret it if I didn't come round" etc).
Men! Urgh!

This prompted me to kick him out, leaving Tall Boy snoozing on the sofa.

In the morning, he joined me in bed and stayed for breakfast, but I felt nearly as used as the other boy's fuck buddy.

Apparently, she's a "butterface": everything about her is great, BUT HER FACE.

What does that make me, I wonder?

Imagine you are on a yacht surrounded by your friends, happily imbibing free canapés and more champagne than you can drink, and a guy you met a few nights before comes and sits on the Jet Ski behind you.

You pose for photographs and stick your butt out, and he grabs your waist and grinds into you and laughs and smells amazing.

A little while later, when you are both buzzing from the champagne he catches you on the lower deck just as it is getting dark and people are starting to queue up for the tender back to shore. He tells you in a soft, husky voice how turned on he got on the jet ski, how your bum made him hot and how he felt himself getting hard and wanting to take you doggy-style. Then he kisses you. And kisses you. You kiss him back, surprised but flattered, he has nice eyes and a nice tender tongue and his words have alerted your clit whilst his hands caress your bum.

People keep walking past and smirking, so you decide to move the action elsewhere. You take him by the hand and he follows you around to the bow of the boat where he sits on soft cushions with his back into the still-warm wood of the yacht whilst you straddle him.

More snogging.
“I am so turned on”, he gasps, and he unzips his flies and you glimpse his hard cock.
There are people on the boat and one guy in particular is getting closer, you can see his elbow around the corner but he is on the phone, paying no attention.
“I want to fuck you”, the boy says and pushes your skirt up. He can feel how wet you are as he pulls your knickers aside, “let me just put it inside you, just for a minute”, he begs.
“Do you have a condom?” you ask, and thankfully he does so you don’t have to launch into a speech about falling pregnant by strangers or catching STDs on yachts.
He puts it on swiftly and pushes your dress up far enough, and enters you in a swift motion which makes your breath quicken, you can’t believe you are sitting in the open air on a boat surrounded by people- whilst a boy you just met is fucking you.

Of course we did it properly then, my skirt covering our laps whilst he thrust into me again and again, quietly, so the guy on the phone five feet away wouldn’t know what was going on (as it happened, he did anyway although he never looked at us).

The seat made slight noises and we were kissing and sucking each other’s tongues, but we were so carried away we didn’t really care too much. He came, I didn’t, it was a quickie after all, and we straightened ourselves up and re-joined our friends in the queue for the tender.

I suppose some fish got a used condom on its head, or maybe he was still holding it when he said hello to his friends, in any case the whole boat knew (or suspected) what we’d been up to.
Probably it was just the grin on his face that said it all, or the immaturity of his mates (a bunch of 19-year old male models), or the fact that my friend Andy had feared I had fallen off the boat because I was gone so long.
We parted ways as my friends and I blended into a party on the beach whilst he and his posse moved on to another boat party.
What a start to a fun night!