The situation with Tall Boy causes me pain.

He gathered that there will be no-one in the office on Friday, so he was all keen to come over and do his thing (so that then we could do "our" thing)... Only, I won't be there either.

I will be on my way to the big blue and beyond.

In any case, I am trying to break if off with him, as it's so toxic for my emotional state.
Lust-sex feels fake, all those emotions waiting to bubble to the surface and nowhere for them to go.

MSN:
Tall says:
well I thought we were having fun but if you're not happy with that then so be it

Sienna says:
I try.
I can't deny I am having fun, but it's not enough for you, and not enough for me

Tall says:
well I had a girlfriend for two years and now I want to be single
so your situation in reverse

Sienna:
Man logic. I will never get it! But I understand, guys these days just want their cake and eat it, and dumb us give it to them
I don't want to be a "girlfriend" either, I don't believe in that anymore.

Tall says:
just a husband, eh

Sienna says:
or lovers
boyfriend/girlfriend is so schizo

Tall says:
hahaha - okay, my situation: single, don't want a girlfriend at the mo, ex-girlfriend who is abroad, over her, no emotional baggage-
simple!

Sienna says:
(you forgot to mention that you are also irresistably sexy and a closet beeraholic!)

Tall says:
hahah

Sienna says:
good that you are also not jealous, otherwise that would really complicate things! LOL!

Tall says:
indeed - did I mention that I'm someone who loves shagging you??!

---------

Basically, I can't win. He is handsome, charming, horny, unreliable and happy single.

How can I get him to "work" at it?
The "Rules"?

I want to fuck his brains out, but the lack of love makes my eyes sting with tears.
I want to be in love and feel loved, and have our children as a happy by-product of that love.

Somehow, I believe that women having unemotional sex is a total myth. Something to aspire to, no doubt, but something that grinds us down from the inside out with each failed attempt to do so.

Following my (for him) very sudden departure from Channel Man's five-star Kensington shagpad, I expected to see him for lunch the next day.

In the morning, however I realised that not only would I be unable to eat raw fish at Nobu, I was also unable to walk five paces without feeling dizzy and wouldn't be joining the rat race that day.

Basically I was still in the grip of the evil bug, and text him that he was welcome to pop round to hold my shivering hand, but that he had to do Nobu without me.

Which, apparently, he did.

For someone who came to London with the sole intention of seeing me, no other plans and distractions, he had an impressively full schedule to meet which left him unable to show up at my doorstep before his flight back to his island at 8pm.

So, sadly, I was left with no flowers, no Nobu and no sympathetic words from Channel Man.

Instead, I had a very uplifting conversation with Chelsea Boy whilst the (stratospherically superior-to-the-Gwynnie-version) original of Great Expectations played in the background in varying shades of grey.

Oh why can't I put him into a time machine and fast-forward him by eight years or so!?

I now know what I should have replied when Channel Man told me he'd never before dated anyone over 23 (apart from his ex, who is now 25 but was 21 when he met her): "ME NEITHER!"

(But I understand why he was surprised that his manipulation tactics didn't work so well on me. Experience, you see *taps her head*)

I thought I had overcome the nasty bug which has been haunting my innards for the past few days, but a cup of boring black tea sent me bolting to the loo just now.

Nothing happened, but I still feel nauseous and queasy.

Surely, my body should have purged itself of all contaminations by now?

Maybe I have to stop eating Ryvita?

I would, if a lack of food didn't turn me into a zombie due to low blood sugar. Back at work today and feeling like crap/high as a kite/dizzy and hungry doesn't help.
I am fed up with this now and want it to stop.

Also, there is my outfit to consider for tomorrow...

I got a text from the Channel Man:
"U free tonight? I have just booked a flight over 4 one night! Call it impulse x"

Free I was, if mainly for the reason that my intestines were being wrecked by a nasty stomach bug, which had left me incapable of human movement and ingesting anything stronger than tea and Ryvita for the past 24 hours.

He had sent this text just after two, and now it was 5pm in the afternoon. I called him, half pleased, half confused, half apologetic (yes, I am mathsdyslexic) and explained that I was really too ill to do anything, but that I felt flattered he'd come to London (albeit without checking with me first, which I thought foolish and presumtuous beyond belief).

Anyway, I am no cruel monster and with this spontanous act he had managed to appeal to my sense of guilt: after all, if our brief meeting had bewitched him enough to leave his island and fly all the way to London on a whim just to see me again, who was I to deny him that pleasure - dodgy tummy or not!?

Sticking to The Rules like a fly to honey, I didn't pick up his next call (or maybe I was just in the loo, which is more likely) and he left a message saying sorry I didn't feel well, and that he'd call me as soon as he got to London.

I didn't hear from him until about 10pm, by which time I was ready for bed.
However, curious as we are, my flatmate and I had checked out the luxury hotel he was staying at on the internet and decided it would be worth visiting. Again, dodgy tummy/hot and cold sweats/churning insides/dizziness/the inability to drink anything remotely interesting or not...

It didn't take long for him to convince me to meet him.
After all, he had come ALL THIS WAY (just to see ME), and since I wasn't ready to play hostess to him in my (slightly neglected-looking) flat quite yet, I jumped in the car he so thoughtfully sent over, clutching my bikini.

Spotting the gorgeous-looking pool on the website, a boring day cocooned at home and him mentioning my favourite film (PRETTY WOMAN in case you forgot) contributed to convince me it would be a really great idea to travel halfway across London with stomach cramps to meet a forty-something guy I had only seen once before, well into my bedtime.

"I thought I'd do something really romantic, come over to London on a whim with some flowers for you, has any guy ever done this for you?" he said in a disappointed voice when I initially told him I was far too ill to move or receive visitors.
"What if I'd been busy, or away?" I asked him. "You should have checked with me before you came, I am really sorry but I was even too unwell to go to work today", I explained to him, clutching my duvet under my chin. "And I am sorry but it's just soo late now, I was planning to have an early night..." I added.
After all, two of my friends had told me to forget it. The whole thing about him trying to get back with the ex, being too drunk to remember much and so on, as well as his "I whistle, you come" attitude didn't make him sound too great.

What does he think I am, a pizza service?

In the end, expecting an obscene bouquet of flowers, a pool hired just for me and plenty of herbal tea, I was convinced enough to put on fresh knickers and some makeup, and pop my contact lens solution into my bag just in case.

I am proud to report that I have grown up though, and the "case" never occurred.
It started with him coming outside the hotel to meet me, clutching a cigarette.
Remember, I hate smoking and had been lying down all day, feeling nauseous even at the mention of food on the TV, so the last thing I felt like doing was standing outside in the cold sniffing second-hand smoke.

"Were we smoking when I met you?" he asked me. "Most certainly not", I replied, "I have never smoked in my life and remember, your companion was kicked out of the club after having a sneaky drag under the table".

"I want to go inside and sit down", I said, "and you shouldn't smoke either- it is bad for you".

He slipped me his room keycard and told me the number.
"I am not going into your room", I told him. "I thought we'd sit down and have a drink, then check out the pool?".

Needless to say, the cash he had saved on dinner for me hadn't been invested in any flowers, either. Instead, he had made two new "friends" at the bar who had become so attached to him that the waiter had to assure himself that "the ladies weren't bothering you, sir?".

He joined me after he finished with the evil weed, and we ordered some mint tea and had a chat.
That is, he chatted and I drank tea.

Although he was interesting to listen to, I didn't even get to tell him about my one (and only) car -whilst he told me about four of his.
A graphic description of an accident I would have found hard to stomach even when well was only interrupted when I threatened to throw up on his £6000 suit, and I didn't need to know how many of his exes were supermodels and why he had never had sex with his ex wife either.
I never even got round to asking him whether he would consider adopting, although he had gone on about his past working with underprivileged kids for quite some time.

We had a bit of a snog (that tongue again!), finished the tea and got in the lift- to the pool, I thought.
Instead we ended up outside his room (at least he thought it was his) - and couldn't get in.

"What's so interesting about the room anyway?" I asked him, "I thought we were going swimming". He gave up slotting the card through the reader and we went in search of the tropical paradise as advertised on their website.

Alas, it was shut. So much for: "Bring your bikini baby, I'll hire the whole floor!".

OK, back to the room. He seemed to cotton on to the fact that I wouldn't be staying with him... slowly.

Surely, anyone would understand this. It is hard suffering with the runs even when surrounded by your nearest and dearest, let alone by a near-stranger who you'd like to preserve at least a smidgen of sexual allure for!

Also, I was struck down by the longest period in womankind's history. I was tired and suffered from bouts of sweats and cramps. I didn't feel sexy, and the false intimacy of "just cuddling up to" a man I met only once before - and sober, this time (me, not him)- really didn't appeal.

I couldn't drink my brain into seductive submission, I wouldn't be able to eat breakfast and I had nothing to sleep in, so the whole thing seemed completely pointless.

The realisation started to hit him, and he became a bit uncomfortable.
"I thought you liked me more than that",
"I paid £600 for the flight",
"Do you think I'd jump you and rape you?" (small tip guys: "rape" is a good word to cross from your dating vocabulary),
"Don't you trust me?",
"I'd never do anything you didn't want me to do",
"No, it's not our first date, it's the second date",
"Don't you think it's nice to wake up in the arms of someone you like?" and
"Please, stay"
didn't manage to convince me either.

We admired the view from his balcony (like Edward Lewis, he is convinced the top floor is the best... unlike Richard Gere, his budget didn't stretch to the penthouse) where "look, no hands" didn't win me any brownie points for my ability to recite the film verbatim, so I doubt he even knows it that well.
Just to recap, Vivian got paid to "accompany him into the hotel", and she even scored some flowers at the end!

Or: "He was into you too much and now has thrush in his mouth, and that's why he's not calling?"

Who knows!?

In any case, Outrageous Boy (the drunk one I picked up after work a few weeks ago) hasn't been in touch again after a few tentative texts.
And now that I am committed to "The Rules" I couldn't possiby call him...

It could be that
a) he isn't nearly as confident sober as he is drunk (he wouldn't be the first one... oh how annoying!)

b) he got back with his ex (always a possibility)

c) he won the lottery and is too busy sitting on his yacht drinking champagne to call me (um, no...)

d) he caught thrush on his tongue from giving me oral sex for 2 hours. This possibility is becoming more likely as the days and my paranoia unfold; after all, don't babies get oral yeast infections too?

I am truly embarrassed at this, and should probably have discouraged him. After all, I was still a bit sore from the afternoon shenanigans with Tall Boy a few days before (I must remember to carry my own condoms next time... although there SHOULDN'T be a "next time"!) and God knows what havoc a nearly-cleared-up bout of thrush can wreak on some poor drunk bloke's undiscerning palate.
*holds head in her hands in shame*

Well, at least it wasn't Herpes and the other way around!

> Before the arrival of your lover, make sure you empty all the bins and check under the bed in case there are any stray condoms or wrappers knocking about from that last one-night stand.

> Change the sheets.

> Cook dinner, but don't expect him to bring any wine.

> Prepare to feel like an idiot afterwards.

> Actually, fuck the sheets.

Tall Boy had some news for me last night.

Apparently, my boss found out about "us".

Not, I hope, by the strange marks on his desk and the crumpled paperwork, but for other reasons.

After all, there are only so many times you can "secretly" go swimming with someone on your lunchbreak, come round the office in their car to pick up some furniture, or mention things you may do after work, before the penny drops even in the thickest of skulls (not that my boss is thick or anything...).

Last Wednesday when I was off sick (and my boss "caught" me the same evening having drinks with a friend... see, not thick at all!), Tall Boy came in to do some work for us and asked where I was- and my boss told him: "Sienna's off sick; why don't you give your girlfriend a call to see how she is?"

"Ah-ha-ha", laughed Tall Boy, not sure what to say.

And he didn't tell me about that little episode until dinner last night.
Get boys!

Not that it's important, but we are NOT an item, and more importantly I don't want my employers to think I am being unprofessional (after all, they might guess what goes on when they are not here...).

Plus if he had told me sooner, I wouldn't have reminded him about the play last night within my boss' earshot.

Cringe!

Not that anything happened. We had dinner that I'd cooked, sweltered in the hottest theatre in London, flirted a bit, he gave me a peck on the lips and was off to meet a friend.

Romantic or what!?

AM I confessing? To whom?
I have always written, it makes my life less confusing.

With my sexual awakening came my writing.

My friends and I used to swap dirty stories at school, which we'd written ourselves.

My best friend and I had imaginary lovers who we told each other about. We used to get gang-raped almost every weekend. That made for an exciting breaktime... How many teachers would suspect that a couple of twelve-or thirteen-year old girls walking through the playground together eating their sandwiches, would be talking about how their leather-clad biker boyfriend had lost her to the rest of the gang in a game of poker again...?

Or that one of them got raped in her sleep by one of the other girls' housemates? Who was in love with the girl he sleep-raped? Oh how we loved that.
"He" (she) wrote me love letters for weeks afterwards, apologising for his misdemeanour.

This carried on until her mum found the letters, the books and the pictures (we used to cut them out of catalogues) and made her burn them. It was as if a world collapsed. She cried and I was deeply embarrassed. My mum never found anything, I think I still have all that stuff in her basement somewhere.
I think I might get it all out again with her this summer... I have known her for 27 years. And we will have a laugh about how filthy we used to be.

Now she has been with the same boyfriend for seven years or so... he was a virgin when they met. She has slept with 3 men in her life I think.

The numbers in my little book are now nudging 40. I wrote down their names, ages, nationalities, and what we did. If it was love, an affair, a boyfriend, or an one-nighter.

I think everyone does that...

A friend challenged me to a bet yesterday:

We'd both stick to "The Rules" as laid out in that old classic book for a year, then see who gets married first. OK, it sounds silly, but we clinked glasses and agreed that that's what we'd do.
The only thing is, she has a somewhat unfair advantage, as she's learned the book off by heart and has stuck to it for ages already.

As far as I can gather, it's mostly about respecting oneself and that can't all be a bad thing.

So, it will be no more chasing guys: let them chase us.

No more calling them, they've got to call us (and get OUR numbers first) and for every 3 calls from them we only return one.

That rules our pretty much everyone already- except, perhaps, Chelsea Boy (who is more of a friend anyway).

Actually, here's what happened on the weekend: he came back to mine after dinner and a movie at friends', and we watched a scary film together on my sofa, which I'd turned into a double bed for him.

He stripped down to his shorts, and I joined him under the covers after a while, where we cuddled up- his arm around me and his head on my shoulder.

It felt very nice. I miss cuddling, and feeling close to someone. The only thing I can't stand is that fake intimacy which comes from shagging the wrong person- where you wake up and wish you were alone because it's all so false.

Like the first time with Tall Boy- he'd already told me he was about to go, and I felt rotten for having done it with him whilst drunk and not really in the mood, and he stroked my foot with his and grabbed my toes with his toes. A sweet, intimate gesture- but it felt so insincere, because everything meant nothing.

Or Outrageous Boy- enough that I'd let him go down on me for ages, fucking him despite feeling sore and agreed to let him stay over- but no, he had to keep waking me up by stroking me and being too clingy in bed!

Phat Boy: another bad example. We were lying in bed, naked, sweaty and exhausted, and my post-orgasmic glow was dying down amongst thoughts of why I'd got so drunk and horny that I had slept with him... when he just wouldn't stop touching me in a loving way which totally freaked me out. He then started going on about having a shower, and who first, and blablabla just when I began to drift off, so that I jumped up in a huff and locked myself in the bathroom because he was stressing so much.

In any case, drunken one-nighters rarely turn into fulfilling relationships.

Something is always out of synch.

I didn't want to ruin my friendship and affection with Chelsea Boy by giving into it, so when he stroked my waist I told him it tickled (which it did- in all the right ways, but I didn't want him to know that) and held his hand still.

It would have been so easy... instead, I trailed my fingers over his arms in a "friendly" way and we cuddled until we were both asleep (the film was shockingly bad and it was late), then I woke up and got up to go sleep in my own bed.

I found a note from him in the morning. Very sweet indeed, but maybe an indication that he was feeling as confused as I was.

I miss being in love, and feeling loved.

Next month, my blog will turn two. Unbelievable!

I don't find the new blog layout very user friendly at all.

It just took me about 5 minutes to figure out how to post a new entry... Is it just me!?

I woke up last Wednesday, feeling rotten.

The only think I could conceive to do without bursting into tears was to spend the day in bed with the duvet over my head.

My throat was sore and I felt heavy and dizzy when I got up, so I texted my boss that I wouldn't be in that day.

I slept till noon and didn't get dressed until 5pm, then arranged to meet a friend who is going through a hard time.

Oh, and the next day, my boss casually mentioned that he'd seen me. What's the chance of that, in a city of 12 million!?!?

The day improved when I met up with two girlfriends at a notorious celebrity haunt, where my lovely friend who runs it soon offered us a table.
This table, in turn, attracted a mad blonde boy, a well-to-do party animal in his forties from the Channel Islands, and two random girls: a skinny blonde and a large black one.

Cocktails were bought and our tails shaken on the dancefloor, then an Aussie couple in their fifties joined us with a bucket of champagne...

Channel Man and I got on great, we shared cheeky banter and lots of hugs and a little dance, he got me a crazy cocktail and I took lots of insane pictures of us (posing with sunglasses) on my mobile.

In any case, I got the impression that he was single and on the lookout for a serious relationship.

"I am picky", "Our kids would have blue eyes and blonde hair, perfect", "Let's go divin in the Maldives" and "I'll fly you to my Island" gave me further clues how he felt about me.

Another club in South Kensington, neverending drinks, hugs, jokes and affection as well as flirty banter whilst never excluding my friend from the proceedings, and I got to really like him too. A sexy body and those eyes finally convinced me to kiss him.

SLURP! I had his tongue in my mouth. Not so sexy, with me being more of a traditional girl who likes to feel lips before saliva, but I just closed my mouth a bit more the next time.

Still, the cheek of it, so intrusive! On the other hand, I enjoyed his attention, affection and all the mad banter. He returned from the bar with a jug of shots for £75- insane! I mean, the flavour wasn't something you'd wish on your worst enemy, and as for the quantity- absolute madness. 10 shots for 3 (drunk) people on a Wednesday night!?

I had one glass and gave one to the fat boy at the next table to chug away, then I had enough and told Channel Man I'd have to go.

Channel Man didn't seem to mind so much, and insisted on placing me into a cab.
"£25", the driver said, and CM pulled out a wad of twenties. "Do you have a fiver?" he asked me. I wasn't going to fall for that one again. "Yes", I replied, "but you promised me a cab home and if I have to pay a fiver I'd rather get a night bus". "You're a tough woman", CM chuckled to the driver whilst he waited for his change. Too damn right!

Two days later, I found out CM was trying to get back with his ex girlfriend- and that he has a serious alcohol problem with frequent blackouts.

Why do I always seem to like the charming (but drunk) ones!?

Also- he shouldn't be surprised I guessed his correct age. He told me he was 38 and acted all insulted when I told him I'd thought about 42. It then turned out to be his 43rd birthday a little later this month. I'm not that easily fooled by age, you see... just by over-enthusiasm for my company.

I am so glad that sometimes I can overcome my own pre-judgements and surprise myself because I occasionally end up posivitely surprised.

Like last Friday.

I met the cute Nigerian boy for lunch, just vaguely remembering his lovely, shy smile and those sincere, kind eyes as he chatted and flirted with me.

The whole time, I was thinking: "he's only a security guard, he may not be very interesting or smart..."- but I was pleasantly surprised and my pre-conceived ideas duely squashed.

It turns out that he is studying for his Masters.
He holds a law degree.
He runs his own business, and he is ambitious, intellingent and interesting.
He is calm, kind and patient, positive and a great listener with some insightful comments on all sorts of subjects we discussed.
He tried to take my hand and paid for my lunch, he's generous (he shared his lunch with me and tried some of mine) and seemed very genuine and chilled out.

We had a lovely, interesting lunch and he walked me to the post office afterwards, paying me sincere-sounding compliments and looking cute in his sunglasses and trendy white shirt.

Immediately, he asked to see me again and I look forward to it- although somehow, I wonder if he's "too good" for me...

At the moment, it looks like the choice is mine.

I feel wonderful, like a kid in a candy store with all those boys in different shapes, colours and ages, and I am loving being single (yet not lonely).

Incidentally, this was the week the Bastard got married, yet I only feel relief that it wasn't to me!!

To my utter horror, I was booked to work on Saturday.
Having turned up tired and wearing my glasses (attractive...Not!), I expected to get sent home as soon as all the other staff turned up, but to my surprise they had booked me onto a team.

Feeling unattractive and slightly apprehensive about my emotional state that day (due to the Bastard's wedding... whilst I am still on the shelf!), I didn't have very high expectations about my day to say the least.

Oh how I love how life can surprise you sometimes!

As in the job itself there is hardly anything to do apart from chatting to other staff (which you're also not supposed to), that's what I did.

A beautiful dark-skinned boy was promoting smoothies at the event, and I asked him for some to put in the staff room to cheer up my bored co-workers. He was lovely and smiley, and sent me packing clutching a large box of the stuff.

We spent the whole day flirting every time he saw me.
One time he snuck up behind me and startled me by touching my shoulder, but when I saw who it was I collapsed with giggles. His skin felt amazingly smooth and I couldn't help but touch his muscular arms. "What do you do?" I asked him, "are you a dancer?"
-"No", he replied in a sexy Brummie accent, "everyone seems to think I am, why do you say that?" -"Because of your body shape and the way you walk" I replied. "But I don't even do anything!", he chuckled. He admitted to working as a model though. A-haa!

Later on, during another flirty conversation, he held both my hands and playfully pushed them back and forwards. "Do you feel that?", he asked me. "What?" I smiled back. "There is something between us, can't you feel it?" I admitted that I did. We exchanged numbers and he promised to call me the week he gets back to London. After he left, we kept texting each other although I wasn't even supposed to have my phone on me. It will be nice to see him again and see what happens!

Another guy was part of the security team. Some of them came up to me (what was it that attracted them to me in my size 16 polyester suit -they come out small!- and nerdy glasses, I will never know!) and whilst one of them was giving me all the chat, I noticed a Nigerian boy with a beautiful smile hanging back a bit, shyly.

He looked quite young to me, so I gave him a hard time when he finally plucked up the courage to ask for my number. "How old are you?" I asked him, and he was surprised that was important to me. For some reason I had a really good feeling about him, he looked like a genuine, kind and honest guy with a really handsome, open face (and a slightly hard-to-understand accent) but I didn't want to waste my time dating any more kids.

He turned out to be 28 (ok, still young, but old enough I suppose) and I gave him my number . We spoke this week, on which occasion we both had difficulties understanding the other person, but agreed to have lunch tomorrow. Should be interesting!

I don't know why I have this sudden fascination with Nigerian or half Nigerian boys, maybe a distant reminder of gorgeous BBP?

Also their bodies are seriously hot!!

Towards the end of the day, a really tall and slightly drunk guy approached me with a question. He was feeling left out by his friends (two couples who were "constantly getting off with each other") and wanted to find out how he could access a different area of the event, but I had to tell him that was impossible.

In any case, we got chatting and ended up winding each other up for a laugh and seriously flirting hard and dangerously.

"I wanna take you out", he admitted after a while of no-holds-barred banter, "let's go out for a pint". "Of champagne?" I grinned back. "Sorry", I had to admit, "I am busy tonight...but hey, why don't you come along? I am going to a friend's birthday at a pub". "You are outrageous!", he boomed, which was his catchphrase for the night. (as in "outrageously sexy", "outrageously..." everything really)

So that's what we did. It was slightly hard finding him once I'd changed and got outside, but we jumped on a train and headed out into London nightlife.

My mate was completely pissed when we arrived, so Outrageous Boy fitted right in. I made him get us a bottle of champagne in a bucket and four glasses, one of which went to Chelsea Boy who was along for the ride.

As it happens, everyone flirted with everyone else, the birthday girl and I danced on the table within five minutes of my arrival and Chelsea Boy and I had a half-serious heart-to-heart where I expressed my regret at our six-year age gap...

After a while, I went to sit next to Outrageous Boy again and not long after that, we started kissing. After all, we'd already discussed our wedding in Mauritius...
He was an outrageously good kisser, and I got really turned on. His sheer size was quite a turn-on too, as it seemed that he would be able to lift me (and do all sorts of other things with me) without too much of an effort.

Last orders came, and it turned out that Chelsea Boy couldn't give me a lift home since he'd promised the passenger seat in his convertible to one of the other girls (who lives further than me), so Outrageous and I decided to share a cab. The plan was for him to catch a train from the station back to the sticks (although it was about 2am... maybe he was too drunk to realise there are no such late trains, or otherwise there may well be- I certainly don't know!).

Instead, I found myself rather turned on in the back of the cab, and when he suggested coming in for a cuppa, I let him.

Of course, the cuppa turned into an orange juice and 2 hours of oral sex!
For me, that is. About 2 mins for him, max.

His dick was interesting. Long and thin, with a larger head- which made rolling the condom on a dream, but felt slightly odd when he finally fucked me. Not like the full feeling of Tall Boy's thick cock, but more gentle, stroking and bearable.
Also: not nearly as horny!

I kicked him out around nine. I wanted my sleep and he kept waking me up by being affectionate, which is nice but no compensation for a broken night. I knew he would get a train now, I would get some sleep and my flatmate wouldn't have to be faced with any awkwardness over the breakfast table. I wanted to give him a chance to sober up and decide if he wanted to see me again, which he was sure he would.

We hugged and kissed goodbye, and yes, we have spoken but not made any firm plans to meet up again.

In brief, a seriously nice and lovely tall guy who is available, affectionate, funny and seriously orally talented (with a tendency to fetishise, perhaps). At least all these traits apply when he's had a few pints. Time and sobriety will tell!

After I got back from my "date" on Thursday, Tall Boy and I spent a delightful day in the office together and I told him about the weird events that had just taken place, then later on things got more interesting between us.

I just can't keep my hands off this beautiful man (maybe the Italian was right!?) and just seeing his eyes across the desk made me so happy.

Every time we went through some paperwork together, he sneaked his arm round my waist, or I mushed up his hair or massaged his shoulders, until we were nearly done with everything that needed doing.

He pulled me towards him onto my boss' chair, and grasped me firmly to him whilst my tongue slipped into his mouth. He really is such a wonderful kisser, and I feel utterly amazing with him!

The only thing is: he doesn't appear to be "all there"- not in a mental kind of way, but whilst our bodies merge and our hands meet and our skin melts under the other's touch, I feel that he is mentally distracted and emotionally distant.

Not a nice thing to feel, especially when I know the difference so well!

It is hard to know which I prefer: being occasionally close to a kind, beautiful man I have feelings for, who makes me gasp and fucks me relentlessly with an ever-hard cock, who could cost me my job- or being pursued by a lusty, fat, possessive and over-emotional Scandinavian who is prone to unwanted PDAs and might be useful for me professionally (and luurves me)...?

Anyway, back to Thursday afternoon.
Tall Boy gropes and grasps, he doesn't stroke and coerce. I love it. He pulled up my dress and fondled my breasts, until I suspected that people may be watching from the other offices across the road.
"We'll have a never-ending line of applicants for a job here tomorrow", I joked and he laughed and pulled me to the floor.

We were grinding into each other and he kissed me hard, and I could feel his erect cock through his jeans rubbing against my clit.

He got up to pull the blinds down, and I took my leggins off.

He came back to me but didn't lie back down, instead he unbuckled his belt whilst I stayed on my knees and waited for the release of his beautiful cock.

I sucked him deeply, making him moan and gasp. He turned me around and pulled my dress up, he was on his knees behind me now and fondled my ass, my breasts, then my pussy through my see-through black knickers and pushed himself closer to me, the tip of his penis nudging my butt and trying to burrow between my ass cheeks.
I wanted him inside me soo badly, and I was aware for the first time that he'd quite like to dispense with the condoms as much as I do when I'm with him. Normally he is so organised and whips one out without me having to remind him, this time he could feel me push back onto him and grasping him firmly whilst I teased him with the tops of my thighs and butt cheeks.

"Are you on the pill?" he asked (more credit to him!) and I had to admit that I'm not. Out came the condom (of course) and I turned and sat on my boss' desk whilst he put it on.
He whipped my knickers off and I parted my legs, then he went down on me where I sat like a very naughty secretary indeed. When I couldn't stand it any longer and asked him to enter me, he fucked me whilst I lay back across the paperwork, utterly overwhelmed by the size of his cock and its sensation inside me.

I grasped his butt close to me and pulled him into me firmly, deeply and as hard as I could stand. I felt a slight discomfort and I wasn't sure if that was a side-effect of the cervical biopsy, the size of his dick or a lack of lubrication, so I attempted to go a bit gentler. He turned me around and I bent over the desk whilst he entered me roughly from behind, the neighbours now luckily hidden from view by the blinds or they would have got an eye-ful indeed. Both naked now, we fucked like bunnies on my boss's desk with no regard for the paperwork or anything, until he came with a groan, grasping me hard and kissing my back.

We collapsed on the floor and he held me whilst I continued to stroke my moist clit for a while, to enjoy the afterburn.

I had to go to a leaving-do whilst he was meeting an (engaged!) female friend, so we said goodbye until Friday.

Although he has now frequently invited me to his house, I need a "reason" to visit him- after all, I am not a sexual pizza-service...

On Thursday, Tall Boy came to the office to do his thing, but I just opened the door to him and rushed out to my lunch date with the Italian boy who'd emailed me a picture of himself in his pants.
You should have seen the look on his face when it transpired that I'd never received his text telling me he'd be round at lunchtime instead of first thing in the morning or last thing in the afternoon...LOL!

As if I'd cancel my plans for him at the last minute anyway...

As it happened, the "lunch date" was an utter wash-out though.
I arrived about 5 mins late at the agreed location, and Italian Underpants boy was nowhere to be seen. I called his phone, no answer.
I wandered around some more, checking out various restaurants' menues (I hoped he'd be paying, as they weren't exactly cheap) until I decided to just sit down and have a coffee until he arrived.

"Beep-beep" went my phone. It was a text from him, saying: "I can see you". Weird, I thought, he's close enough so he could just come up and say hi without texting first, but I guessed he'd be along shortly.

No such luck. "Are you wearing red?" came the next message. As a matter of fact, I was, so he obviously knew who I was and I looked up to see if he was approaching. But - nothing.

"Are you enjoying your coffee?" came the next text. By now I was getting annoyed and a bit creeped out. Where was this weirdo?

"Coward " I texted back, a bit impatient now because my stomach was growling and the mocha was vile.

"I don't think I am" he responded, but still didn't appear.

I looked at my watch: 13:30. Basically I had wasted half an hour in an overpriced café in the draught, exchanging meaningless messages with a faceless freak!

I called him again. "Look", I said, "where are you? It's been half an hour and we wanted to meet for lunch, I'd like to eat now, so what's going on? Why the strange messages?"

"Oh, ah, um", he said, "I'll be right there, five minutes, can you wait?" I was incredulous: "What do you mean, five minutes? You obviously saw me so you were here, why did you leave again?".
"Wait for me", he pleaded, I'll be right there".

"No thanks", I told him, "this is stupid. I was here on time, you should have just come up and introduced yourself instead of wasting my time with texts, I am hungry now and want to eat. I'll pay for my coffee and leave, I can't be bothered with this, bye!"

I wanted to grab this opportunity for a quick getaway before I had to spend the rest of my lunchtime with this weirdo, regardless of whether he'd pay or not.

Thankfully, I didn't bump into him and found another (cheaper) café instead where I cursed myself for not bringing a book.

He called, I ignored it.
"Fine, so you are not going to wait for me,so you don't deserve me, but you are very beautyfull, im sorry.bye", the next text went.
"Ok,you have all the reasons to think im a monster,im really sorry,you are beautyfull and youll find a beautyfull man,sorry.UnderpantsItalian"

He admitted he was shy or whatever, but why waste my time wanting to meet me after I'd told him that
a) I am TALL and
b) I don't fancy Italian guys,
but he still insisted I'd fall in love with him as soon as I saw him- who knows, I may have done if I had actually seen him in the flesh!

I responded to all this bullshit by saying that what he did was rude and creepy, and that I wanted to meet for lunch and not play hide and seek- can you believe an oddball like that can hold down a job in the City? On second thoughts, actually: yes.

... have been wrong numbers.
I think I will go home!
Good night!