I think I am just not suited to "being with" just one man.

I mean, a man can disappoint you in so many ways, and although 3 men can disappoint you three times as much, having some kind of "back up guy" can save you from becoming too down in the dumps about someone ignoring you.

It never works how you'd like it to, though: either they all crowd you at once, or they all disappear from the face of the earth at the same time.

Yacht Boy has suddenly re-surfaced, and invited me for a weekend's sailing.
Now he is "less busy at work", turned 29 and bought a boat, he seems to have remembered me all of a sudden. Just to re-cap, he is the guy I met at Chinawhite's at Easter, who thought my friend D was a man...
Then we had a nice dinner/drinks/snogging date, a sailing invitation followed and was never followed up, and the earth swallowed him or something.

Anyway, sailing it is then. After all, what can I lose, single and fancy-free as I am!?

I was beginning to get cold feet however, when he mentioned that we'd stay on the boat overnight. I mean, I have seen this boy exactly twice in my life: what is he thinking? Apparently, his brother and the girlfriend are coming too, but on their own boat. I don't feel threatened by the prospect of staying the night with him, just a bit daunted as I don't know him well.

I also hope that my sore throat will recover for Saturday.

Channel Man has sent a text the length of a cheap novel from South Africa: It appears that they had a small car accident in Durban, and poor Channel Man was scared for his life in the "gun-carrying" suburbs. Still, nice of him to enquire about the state of my tan, and to tell me the exact units he's been drinking. What am I, his AA sponsor!?

Canadaboy has found some pictures of the year we spent together in London on his phone, and posted them on his site. How lovely, and what great memories! I came over all sentimental. I miss that boy... We recently had a long msn conversation about his recent break-up, despite his ex-girlfriend's "perfect pussy"... I'll spare you the details. LOL!

Doc 2, the Greek God has been suspiciously quiet. No more talks of Mykonos, but he confirmed that there were nasty fires in Athens... it seemed to worry him. I am not surprised, just look at the news!

I recently thought of the Indian Prince. Long time no speak... I think he knew that inviting me on a lavish holiday wouldn't guarantee him access to my nether regions (although, admittedly, it probably would) and so he gave up and threw himself back into his company. As well as, undoubtedly, the company of women closer in proximity.

Phat Boy got an email from me yesterday. I apologised for being out of touch and asked for my pyjamas back if he didn't happen to pass through the UK anytime soon. I really hope we can stay friends, and I hope he won't press for details of my feelings towards him. I mean, how do you tell someone that in order for you to fancy them they'd have to halve their bodyweight and become less jealous?

According to his profile, Sportscar Boy (2005) is now "in a relationship" with some Latvian beauty, born (wait for it!) in 1985. I am sure she is young enough to find his Porsche a compensation for his disappointing penis size and performance...

I found out that cute Chelsea Boy has a fuckbuddy. Funnily enough, we are close as ever, tell each other we love one another and kiss on the lips, but our friendship does have an odd "siblings" feeling about it. We flirt, we regret he's not older than me (or at least I do), but I guessed about him and FB and he confirmed it.
I am jealous... after all, what does she have that I don't? He said it was more "friends with benefits" but made no suggestion where I might go for my benefits. Still, I hope this won't stop us spending time together. I might even get to work with him soon!

On a more positive note, I think I am falling for someone. I haven't met him yet, but I can't wait. He sounds absolutely lovely, thinks I am perfect and he looks cute in his pictures. Unfortunately he lives abroad at the moment, but you can't have everything, can you... His voice is beautiful, and I am looking forward to seeing him face to face. I just hope he's not boring...

Whilst on holiday, I received a text from Ex friend Samantha.

We had stopped speaking to each other after I found out that since my breakup with the Bastard, she had kept a close friendship with him, and lied about it to me.
Their friendship extended to her going on holiday with him and his new girlfriend (now wife), and lying about that, too.

When she finally told me, and admitted that far from breaking all contact with him following his treatment of me, she had spent New Year's Eve 2005 sipping Champagne with them in France, whilst I was contemplating suicide.
I am not just saying that, I literally lay on the sofa unable to stop myself from crying, with visions of a rope tied around the door handle and slung over the other side in my head.

Anyway, enough of this.

Her text said: "I heard you got a lovely new flat, I also have big news: moved to _ and had a baby!"

In my half-drunk state, still a bit rattled from the fact that my holiday was nearly over without me getting even one scuba dive in, and surrounded by people who were mates but not friends, this was like a punch in the gut.

I don't know why this news unsettled me so, after all there have been big changes in my life, too (albeit no marriage or babies ) and I don't wish her ill- I was quite genuinely shocked, surprised and pleased for her, so I replied: "Congratulations, I can't believe it, who's the daddy?".

First, however, I went to the beach and sobbed. I don't know why.

She replied, saying it was a guy she'd known for 3 weeks through a dating site, and that they weren't together anymore.
That made me feel sorry for her, and also hopeful that even at her age it had taken her less than a month to conceive with a total stranger, so there is hope for me yet!

Then she sent a picture, which I couldn't open whilst abroad, so the conversation stopped for a week or so.

I got back to England, curious to see her, and to meet the little one for the first time.
After all, I am a total sucker for babies, and they flock to me like the proverbial flies.

Also, another close friend had just dropped her sprog, a girl this time: premature but healthy. In the text, a perfect carbon copy of her useless daddy.

Who knows, Ex friend's new arrival and ex flatmate's little girl might grow up together and fall in love!? Ahhh...

I must say, in a way I had my reservations:
didn't I used to look after her cat, for free, when she was on holiday with her latest beau- only for her to complain that I'd not hoovered up the cat hair? What am I, a maid? And now, a cheap and convenient emergency babysitter?
Was she bored in her new life? After all, it can be lonely looking after an infant by yourself, day in, day out (and don't I know it).
Had other friends turned their party-loving backs, now that she is a single mum?

Was she sorry at all?

As it turned out, another friend was to blame in her new-found interest in me. She had received an email from Samantha, and suggested she get in touch with me. After all it was a pretty safe bet that a new baby would soften my heart, and make her more likely to see the error of her ways.

So, off I trotted to see them on Saturday.

I took flowers and the humongous teddy that Nice Ex had got me, and which is quite wasted on me.

It was odd having her open the door to her new flat, the little one in her arm.
It was odd that she didn't know she has to hold his head until he is old enough to do it himself.
Strange how quickly it all happened, for her and the dad, a penniless giant who lives in a flat share in Oxford.
What a shame she went off him as soon as she got pregnant, and told him to leave just after he got her the cheapest ring Tiffany would yield (sans diamond).
Odd how she expected to live off the £60 a week he can afford to give them.

The flat was a mess after they had just moved in two weeks before, and the baby's crib was still in its parts, the nursery un-painted.

As she exclusively breast-feeds, the cat's bowl is still getting washed with the one and only sponge in the sink...

I sat down and held him whilst she made us coffee. Two years' worth of the biggest changes in our lives since we met told in thirty minutes.
My flat, KB, new job, her ex, new flat, and delivery rushed through in a flurry of re-discovery.

He smiled up at me, and I felt his soft baby skin and hair. He was quite happy, although he'd only just met me and I had interrupted his lunch.

She took him back and continued feeding him, telling me how only after moving in she had realised that the lounge has no windows...

I suggested going to the park, and as it was sunny for the first time since he was born, she was happy to leave the flat.

I pushed the pram on the way to the park, feeling like a proud new mum. On our way back, she pushed it and I got cat-called by a bunch of builders in a van.

Isn't it strange how getting covered in your former best friend's breast milk can begin to heal old wounds?

There were more texts from the stalker, and I finally sent one in reply telling him I had informed the police.

He then seemed to get frightened, telling me I should ring the police again to tell them he'd done nothing wrong, and tried to explain it away by saying he had meant the texts for a different person, but had got the spelling of my name wrong.

Still, that doesn't go any length to explain how they got my number (and name) in the first place!

Then, without further comment from me, the guy got more abusive: calling me all sorts of names (but mostly: "bitch"). Then he said he was a drug dealer and would sell the SIM at Notting Hill carnival (ever heard of anyone buying a dodgy sim card on the street? When you can have one for free from most phone shops??) and I should text my "new friend" (a big, black rasta) instead...

Is he insane? Who would believe that bollocks?

Needless to say, the police have been slow in following this up, the stalker won't pick up the phone if called from a withheld number, and googling it has yielded no results.

My theory:
-Thief steals Tall Boy's mobile
-Tall Boy cancels SIM
-Thief puts new SIM into it
-Tries texting a girl in his SIM contacts (which now come up with the contacts stored on the phone) at 4:30am
-I get it the next morning and confirm that that's my name (more or less)
-He starts sending cock videos
-I try to coax out of him who he is
-He sends more cock videos but won't confirm a name, yet he says he knows me
-I get worried and annoyed and call the cops.

To be continued...

I received about 6 more videos and will call the police now, just for an assessment of the situation.

Tall Boy had his phone stolen, so the conclusion we have all jumped to is that it's the thief, having a laugh.

This person has no idea what I look like or he wouldn't have asked for my picture, he isn't someone I've been intimate with or I would recognise the penis in question, and he stays in cheap hotels so he must be quite young or badly paid... He also looks/sounds middle Eastern/Asian, and I have never given anyone of that description my number.

People who know me are aware of my boyfriend situation and that I would be open enough not to mind a name to go with said cock, which is a further confirmation that it must be a stranger...who has my number, no less.

Very unsettling!

I have well and truly attracted some form of stalker.

A text at 4am informed me the sender was feeling horny, then in a second text he asked if this was Sienna's phone. Like a nunce, I said yes, thinking it might be Tall Boy on his new phone or something.

Curiosity got the better of me when I couldn't figure out who it was, but the first cock video I received at 9am confirmed that I DIDN'T know that person. Such a long, bent banana I would be sure to remember.

I have a theory as to who it could be, but no confirmation yet despite getting friends in on the case to phone the unknown number, and the one belonging to the strongly-suspected candidates.

Ok, I now know who it ISN't. I can't believe I suspected the lovely guy I met on the Bastard's wedding day.

I will get to the bottom of this... especially as I now know which hotel he's staying at!!

LOL! http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/index-7.html

You don't have to hit someone in the face to hurt them.
Much more effective are:

>kicks in the leg (wooden slippers help)
>shoves (towards a hot surface/deep fat fryer preferably)
>punches in the stomach (also makes for a nice surprise effect)
>choking (very intimidating to the victim)
>pushing to the ground (the resulting injuries will look like >consequences of accidents)
>threats to their life or health
>constant talking and stalking
>lies
>threatening suicide.

When challenged, say: "She walked into my hand", or: "Well, you were threatening me with a lighter and a spray can, so of course I would have killed you".

We were both 14, had chatted all night long in his bed and watched late-night sleazy TV, and now it was late. We turned out the light and lay down next to each other.
The he kissed me: a vacuum pump with allures of grandeur, thinking he was Rhett Butler. I wasn't sure if my tongue was supposed to hurt, so I didn't complain. He tasted of the herring he'd had earlier, but I didn't mind.
He stroked my back, which I loved, but when he tried to get me to take off my top, I went back to my own bed.

When the summer was over I went home again and we kept writing to each other, until his letters dried up. The next year, he was moody and ignored me mostly, and I was hurt. I never understood what had happened, or what I had done wrong, blaming mostly my body and my awkwardness...

Last year, he tried to explain. He turned up at my mum's birtday party and as we lay in bed together again, he apologised. We kissed, and his technique was much improved. I was drunk then and it was dark, but I remembered that I don't fancy him, and although the sensation of his erection against my body was turning me on, I turned him down and sent him back to his own bed.
He tried to keep in touch after that, sending me a present in the mail and various emails. Last night he dreamt of me, apparently (what is this, the great Facebook redemption?).

Poor guy...

The second one was the one I described earlier. It doesn't matter if you have sex with them or not, once in their bed you have crossed a line of no return.

If you are cute, young and trusting enough, a rich man will come and rescue you from a life of drugs and drudgery (and your too-tight, tired wardrobe).
In exchange for a life in the lap of luxury, you will have to put up with his long hours, sleazy friends and love of Italian opera; you will have to forego your favourite TV programme when he wants sex, and if you don't want to end up alone and penniless, you'll have to let him win every argument.

In reality, the older guy who says can help your career is probably a bald wannabe, the knight in shining Armani a spoilt alcoholic who gives you genital warts, and the long-term friend who wants to "run away with you and marry you" is still in love with his ex.

You will probably meet someone you think you can't have
He will be an amazing dancer
You will feel flattered he even wants to spend time with you
You will try to be available to his needs
He won't get on with your dad
You never know if he'll decide to spend time with you, or his ex
He will look like Patrick Swayze
You will lose your innocence
He will give you one last thrill, then leave you behind.

I could name names now, but I won't.

He ended up marrying for money, and is divorced now. An arrogant lawyer who carries a knife for self-protection (or maybe it's a gun now), has had clothes tailored since the age of 19 and whose favourite shop is Cartier. He has homes in all the posh streets, he probably still smells good and drinks champagne for breakfast.
He was an amazing dancer.

Our one and only night together started when I had an argument with my mum, and she kicked me out (or at least that's how I chose to interpret it). I took the chance to take the last train into town and run straight to the small room he was renting (oh, so grown up!).
I threw stones at his window until his landlord heard me and let me in.
Dirty Dance boy allowed me to sleep on his floor, and I tried to get some rest.
I don't know if he had never heard of "gentlemen", but I was surprised that he didn't let me have his bed, but at some point during the night he decided to allow me to creep in beside him.
He was stirring next to me in the narrow single bed, and as it was cold we huddled close together.

"What do you think of a little sex?" he asked me in a heavy whisper.
I didn't know what to say.
He kissed me. I was over the moon and my body responded.
I mistook that for needing to wee, so I tiptoed to the toilet at the end of the communal hallway.
"Shit, what if I smell?", I worried after I had finished, and proceeded to wipe myself with wet toilet roll.
I returned to the bed, and we continued exploring each other's bodies.

By that stage, I had been in love with him for about a year or so. I had left him little notes and presents, and yearned to dance with him every weekend. Usually he would ask me, but not always for the close-dancing round at the end, when the slow music played (those songs still evoke memories...).
I would go home glowingly happy, or wracked with jealousy and confusion.
Dancing the Viennese waltz with him was a head-spin and I clung to his strong shoulders whilst he made sure we didn't bump into any other dancers.

Now I was in bed beside him, wearing just my knickers and his T-shirt. His boxer shorts showed an impressive bulge, and his fingers began stroking between my legs.
I was a virgin and surprised at the surge of excitement and wetness, and I ran to the loo again.
When he went down on me he kept spitting out little bits of loo roll and I was really embarrassed. (Now I have learned to use a flannel or towel to wash, or not to care about the "taste", knowing it will be masked by my natural, fresh juices).

I didn't really touch him, too unsure of what I meant to be doing, but I kissed him with all my love and passion.
Suddenly, he was lying on top of me and I noticed that his dick was poking out of his pants.
I don't know why, but I panicked, thinking that somehow his fingers may have transferred pre-cum sperm into my vagina, and I shared that concern with him... He also didn't know what to say or do. In retrospect, he seemed extremely inexperienced. When I asked him if he'd slept with someone before, he told me he wasn't sure, "maybe at some party or something"- and he was also unsure if I could have gotten pregnant by him touching himself, touching me.

The sun came up, I think we slept a bit but the small bed was just too uncomfortable and I had to try and go home. Before mobiles, there was no way my mum could have known where I was.

He opened his tiny fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne.

We drank a glass each for breakfast, accompanied by some pickled peppers which was all he had to eat, then jumped into his little red convertible and drove to a gynaecologist. Why the guy gave me a prescription for the morning-after pill, seeing as I was still a virgin, I will never know.
I rang my mum to tell her I was coming home, and on the way he and I picked up the pill from a pharmacy. "Are there any side-effects?" he asked the pharmacist. "Well, you should have thought of that before" was his rude reply.
What a cheek! What if the condom had failed- the pharmacist was being really unprofessional treating us like that.

The next day at school, I had to run outside the classroom to be sick. He came over to me at break time and showed some concern, but he never did want to be with me.
A little while later he started going out with a girl in my sister's year, who was five years younger than him.
I was 17 then and felt really old.

And the moral of the story?
I like champagne breakfasts (but not pickled peppers)
I try to get guys to like me by having sex (or nearly-sex) with them
I never feel good enough
I know how to get the morning-after pill
I love it if a guy can really dance
I can be extremely persistant, even though all the signs tell me he doesn't love me.

Why is it that I STILL feel sore after my holiday adventures?

Or is Canesten not what it used to be?

I meant to go to the pharmacy for some advice this lunchtime, but various shoe shops and late-summer sales proved far too tempting.

There are few things more irritating than an itchy pussy, and I am seriously wondering how one can get tested for latex allergy.

Now that would be a pisser! I wonder if GPs supply latex-free condoms?

He could tell by the way I pulled back from his kiss after a while, and my my umm-ing and ah-ing (early night, early flight, we just met etc) that I wasn't going to be a sure thing.

"I can drop you back anytime", he reassured me, "just say the word". "I will", I told him, "but not quite yet".
Never mind that I had planned to stay until midnight at the latest, and now it was 1am.

He was out of the pool now and I could see the white material of his boxer shorts cling to his impressive erection.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood by the pool, smoking and looking like a Greek God.

We talked about relationships, the difference between male and female attitudes, and about love. "If you are older than sixteen you can't fall in love properly anymore", I told him, "You need a certain degree of naivety for that, but you are far too cynical once you are past that age". "Why?", he asked me. "Can't we always fall in love the same way we do as teenagers?" A lovely thought, I agree, but unrealistic. Or is it? From his lips, uttered with conviction and warmth it didn't sound like "just a phrase".
"There is a with a church where you can get married", he told me .
Cue visions of me in white silk and a gaggle of tanned, happy kids who learn to swim in warm water clear as glass.

"Yeah, right", I smiled and planned some research on Google Earth.

I couldn't resist the temptation of his brown skin against the white towel, and the sensation in my bikini bottoms, so I pulled him down towards me and gave him a wet kiss on the lips.

He held open a towel for me and I climbed out of the pool to let him dry me, whilst the dog jumped excitedly around us.

I took my glass back inside and sat next to the widescreen TV which was tuned to the Discovery Channel.

Doc2 came and sat on my lap astride me. Not the most erotic thing for a man to do, I must admit, but it made me laugh and was strangely sexy when he started kissing me.
"A lap-dancing doctor", I chuckled, "I like that", and kissed him back.

His lips wandered down towards my chest, and his finger started teasing my nipple through the wet bikini material. "Don't you get enough tits at the office?" I asked him. "I like to see you get excited", he replied hoarsely, and started to pull my top down.

Now, I am not exactly flat on top, but until I turned 25 I sort of waited and expected for my boobs to grow into the size I thought I should have inherited, but without result. They are perky and firm, and I have gotten used to them, but compared to the rest of me (i.e. my butt) they are disappointingly small.
And now they were being revealed by a breast surgeon! Talk about performance anxiety.

Then I tried to calm myself down by considering that my humble breasts must look a damn sight more attractive to a professional than a pair of cancerous mammaries, a transsexual's flat, hairy chest or someone whose breasts cause them serious discomfort or psychological problems, so I relaxed.

His tongue found my nipple and he stroked and carressed me as I still didn't quite know what to make of it and wondered where it would all end, but my pussy responded with a new film of wetness as he peeled the towel from around my body and coerced me to the over-sized bed in the alcove. I don't even remember him removing my top, but then again he must be an expert in bra clasps!

His towel had dropped to the floor and I could feel his hard-on urging against my leg, a warm hunk of excited flesh covered in wet, white cotton. He pushed me onto my back on the bed, and I felt I would never get enough of his kisses. The taste of cigarettes turned into a turn-on for me since the first night with the Bastard, but Doc2 was a far better kisser and I wanted him on top of me, inside me, eating and fucking me...

He pushed himself against me, his shorts discarded in a wet heap somewhere, and the only thing stopping his penis from penetrating my willing pussy was the bikini bottom, which was being stretched inside me and begging to be pulled aside.
I was nearly ready to give myself to him there and then, when he got up to get some concoms. He returned and pulled my bikini down, teasing my legs apart and lowered his head into my lap whilst he turned around so his knees were by my ears.

Ok, boys, I am not a fan of the 69 as there are few things less attractive than a perineum in close-up, especially if topped by a slightly skinny bottom (chocolate starfish anyone?), but his impressive cock was just begging to be sucked.

I felt his tongue in my pussy, pounding my clit with a steady rhythm, and started licking the tip of his cock.
Then I slid him all the way into my throat, noticing how long and thick he was. Surprising really, such a nice large tool on a guy skinny enough to sit on my lap... but a nice surprise nonetheless!

He turned me around again and holding me tight, he slid himself into me, slowly, to the hilt. His size made me gasp, feeling a bit sore still from the prolonged session with Dr x on the beach I was nonetheless wet and horny enough to want it really badly, and accommodated Doc2 easily after a few thrusts.

I pulled him into me fully, grasping his buttocks and sucking his neck whilst he kissed my breasts, which had passed his expert judgement with flying colours.

He urged me to play with myself, not that I needed much encouragement, so I came quickly, then he came nearly immediately, and I shivered and came, and clenched around him again as he pumped the condom full of hot sperm.

"Sixty seconds", he had told me earlier, "then I usually just have to get up and open the window or something. If I don't feel like doing that, getting away from the bed, I know I really like her. I can't sleep close to someone, it irritates me being all cuddled up so I have a big bed. Some women don't get that." I agreed. I like my own space in bed, too, and told him about the study I read about: The biggest factor which makes it impossible for some people to get a proper rest is their partner. He was amazed to hear there had been a study about it, and we seemed to understand eachother.

He stayed on top of me for a bit. Not that I counted the seconds, but it felt nice and I didn't want him to get up straightaway.
He rolled off me and reached for me, placing my head on his chest whilst he lazily stroked my back. My hand rested on his flat, tanned stomach and we caught our breath for a bit.

"I could fuck you all night", I told him. "Why don't you then?" he smiled back.

His neighbours, who we'd been aware had been listening in from the open door to the garden, resumed chatting and laughing.

"Oh how embarrassing", I told him, "they heard everything...". "I don't care", he said with a cheeky grin.
He got up to remove the condom, and to get his cigarettes.

For someone who usually leaves a seat in the park if someone nearby lights up, I showed amazing tolerance as he smoked two fags in quick succession, his legs resting on mine.

Somehow, a little while later, we began playing again. He stroked my pussy, whilst I trailed my fingers and tongue over his dick, he grabbed another condom and I turned around to receive him doggy-style. I did feel a bit sore this time, but I was gagging for it and he fucked me hard. "Baby", he called me as he pulled my hair and pounded away, whilst my hands played with my clit and his balls.

His thumb sneaked cheekily into my butt hole, and this nearly pushed me over the edge. I am not a fan of the concept of anal sex, but a well-placed finger can convince even me that girls must have some sort of nerve endings in their back passage!

He came before I had a chance to (it was just soo nice, and I didn't want to come too soon... so I missed out), but it felt great nonetheless and I groaned as he moaned and shot his load inside me once more.

We collapsed on the bed. More cuddling, cigarettes, and laughing about the neighbours, and his frantic dog outside the door, then the conversation turned to Greek drama and philosophy.

"It's 4am", I told him suddenly, after a glance at my watch.

His smoke curled upwards and out the open French doors, I sat naked and wrapped in a sheet whilst our legs touched, and neither of us wanted the night to end.

As I had to leave for the airport in four hours' time and he needed to be close to the hospital, we left together.
I regretted not being able to sleep at the house, but I needed to get my stuff and some rest, so he dropped me near my hotel with a lingering kiss and an invitation to Mykonos.

September, I hope you will yield cheap flights...

On my last night in Athens, Doc2 took me for cocktails at a gorgeous beach bar, followed by dinner on the roof terrace of a central hotel from where you could watch the remains of the sunset, the lit-up Acropolis and see all the way to the ocean.

I ordered the lobster risotto and a glass of Rossini, and the conversation flowed. We enjoyed a generous portion of salad, and after the fantastic, melt-in-the-mouth lobster which reminded me of the Caribbean last year, we barely found space in our bloated tummies for the yummy sorbet which ended up melting in the evening heat. Or was it the progressively more flirty atmosphere between us? Who knows...

Funnily enough, I didn't think I'd fancy Doc2 in the least. He is shorter than I would have liked, somewhat skinny (although very cute in his pants...more about that later), with thinning hair and dark eyes, and he smokes...
But nonetheless, he was a genuine, nice, normal, intelligent, polite and generous person; he smelt nice (if you could ignore the Marlboro), had an honest, sweet smile and paid me nice compliments. Also he was seriously interesting to talk to, asked all the right questions, listened intently and gave good advice.
I tried to return the favour when he told me about his sister's new boyfriend. All she does is complain about him, and then moan about him being biased against the guy...

He specialises in breast surgery, another very relevant topic of conversation. My aunt died of breast cancer a day before my 28th birthday, and a friend's mum has also just been diagnosed so it was interesting to hear his expert opinion on the big C, vain girls and transsexuals (who get operated on the NHS).

After we finished our excellent meal with some M...(forgot the name, all Greek to me!), a healthy alcoholic digestif, he drove me back to my hotel. Upon my request, he put the top down on his convertible since this late at night it was possible to survive without air con for a bit.

With mad hair and a big smile I arrived back in Plaka, tired but a bit disappointed at having to go to bed at a reasonable time.

I wandered around the shops for a bit, when my phone beeped. "If you're not tired, would you like to join me at my parents' place for a night swim?"
I struggled with myself for a bit. After all, I had an early flight to catch and a full-on day the next day... On the other hand, I wasn't THAT tired, and it was about 34 degrees still and I soo fancied one last swim... also I was curious about his house... and had had such a nice time chatting to him...

I said yes, got us some frappé lattes for the drive up to the suburbs, and he came and picked me up from the same place he'd dropped me off before.

A brief while later, the convertible wound its way into a leafy street, beep beep went the gates, we parked the car and got out. Lots of cute, fluffy kittens everywhere (he loves animals), and the dog was barking. Home!

We went into the garden and he cracked open a bottle of Baron Rothchild Chardonnay, poured us each a glass with some ice in it, and he proceeded to search for his swimming trunks whilst I chased the dog around the pool.

No luck, so whilst I hopped in wearing a sparkly bikini, he joined me shortly afterwards in just his white pants. Which immediately went completely see-through obviously, but I tried not to look...

It was so much fun talking to him and just chilling in the refreshing pool water with a tanned, attentive man who just sacrificed a £40 bottle of wine and owned the cutest dog in Athens!

I asked him what the most bizarre thing was he'd ever seen in hospital. A wicked grin spread across his handsome face. "This guy came in", he began, "in a pin-striped suit. A very respectable, city type guy in his forties. He told me he wasn't gay, but that two of his girlfriends had come round the previous night with some coke. They had also left a huge, double-ended dildo behind... in his arse!"
I couldn't believe it and burst out laughing. I'd always assumed these stories were just urban legends, but he reassured me they were not. He held his hands out just about a foot apart to show me just how long that dildo had been. "The nurses were laughing", he continued, "and took pictures with it..."

"We get this all the time", he went on: "Fish, a shower head, cucumbers, all sorts." Hahaha! And I thought women were inventive... I told him about the time I got home to find my shower leaking all over the place until my flatmate admitted that she had taken the head off to pleasure herself. Well, at least she hadn't got it stuck where the sun don't shine...

Suddenly, Doc2 swam closer to me, pulled me towards him in the water and gave me one of the nicest kisses ever.
Even the taste of tobacco didn't turn me off, on the contrary, the smell evoked memories of the Bastard and what fun sex we used to have. I got wet immediately.
Bad idea, I thought, because
1) I wanted an early night
2) I didn't want him to think I am a slut
3) I didn't want to feel cheap in the event he never called me again afterwards
4) I thought I could stick to my principles and wait to sleep with someone until I knew they love me.

Again, my pussy ruled my head, and when I saw him standing by the pool like a Greek statue wrapped in just his towel, and I remembered his delicious dick against my thigh in the water, I just had to have him.

As a certified attention-junkie, I am great at attracting all sorts of interest in me and my activities, but when that attention is not so welcome, I really don't know how to deflect it.

I love my friends, and meeting new people- but ever so often, there is someone whose energy just doesn't seem quite right.

The person in question has shown a bit too much interest in the URL of my blog and all its intricacies. It didn't help that they inadvertently happened to be part of the humble "celebration" following my recent interview, without knowing too much detail.
That detail they then set about trying to find out.

In front of a member of my family (who knows some info about the nature of my musings, but not all) and said person's married lover (who I had only met twice, and hence didn't deem a relevant person to share details of my love life with).

My replies were suitably brief and given with a somewhat tense facial expression, which that person took as a personal affront.
They then sent me a rather peeved-sounding text and tried to reassure me of their open-mindedness, no doubt in order to pry more information from me.

Stressful!

I try to be a supportive, positive and reliable friend, but if you have the feeling someone's negative energy and demands on your time just drag you down, it's hard to know what to do.

Asking questions out of interest is usually a good thing, but if your curiosity is met by vagueness, I suppose everyone knows to stop probing?

I include new friends in my plans and like to introduce people to eachother, but on the other hand should they then try to take over your circle of friends after meeting them once or twice? Is it paranoid to wonder why they don't make their own friends?

It's not that person's fault that my boss caught me chatting to them in a pub garden after I had taken the morning off sick, but I wonder if I am putting in more than I am getting out of that friendship. It is hard to explain, but it is mostly a "heavy energy" thing...

I can't believe that on my recent, fabulous island-hopping trip I didn't just manage to pull one surgeon, I pulled two.
Not that it matters what they do for a living, obviously, but it made me chuckle!

The circumstances again go to show how random life really is, as one of them I would never normally have met at all (since neither of us were where we thought we'd be) and the other one was a friend of a guy I actually fancied.

Or maybe I am just the biggest slut, who knows!?

I met Dr X on a night out in one of the cheesiest clubs known to man: why is it that South European DJs can't just play a whole song!? Instead, the DJ played about 4 bars of a popular, dancy summer song and as soon as you'd got into the groove he'd change it for another song without mix or warning.

Anyway- in the club, distracting my attention from the boozy Aussies I had come with, was a gorgeous, tall Dutch guy who involved me in conversation and bought me drink after drink.
His dancing wasn't that great I must say, but I had high hopes for the sensation of his lips on mine.
After more chatting, dancing and drinking we eventually left the club and he walked me back to my yacht.

I had noticed that for someone who seemed that interested in me, he kept a rather curious physical distance, and even when I took his arm due to my feet being in pain after all that dancing, he didn't take this as an opportunity to get more cozy.

Once on the boat, the others were just off for more partying along the marina, and I invited Dutch boy to sit down next to me on the deck so we could watch for shooting stars. "Would you like a drink?", I asked him as I tilted my head back to get a better look at the sky.

He stayed standing.
"I have a girlfriend", he suddenly, awkwardly, told me.

"Oh", I replied, pretending not to mind. Why would he tell me this, now? It didn't affect my offer of a drink or a seat on the boat, but he declined anyway and scuttled off.

Man, was I annoyed! What a pussy tease!
He took my number, just in case, but I didn't think I'd need it.

In the morning, the others were surprised to find that I had gone un-shagged the previous night. As if I would have "done it" in the place where everyone slept anyway, but I was still peeved I didn't even get a snog out of him- girlfriend or not!

The next night, I got a text from him. In a different port, on an island even more beautiful than the last one, I was on a bit of a break from the group who wanted to go to bed early, so I arranged to meet up with him and his crew again.

We sat and had cocktails in an amazing cliff-top bar, and I chatted away to his friends, careful to keep my distance from the "taken" man. One of his mates was still keen for us to get it together and told me that Dutch boy had only had a girlfriend for a week, but he corrected that to four years...

So I placed my attentions elsewhere: on a guy named M who works in music publishing, and Dr X, a surgeon in Amsterdam who used to want to become a fireman.

Soon, the boys were ready to move on to yet another cheesy club, but I had other plans. After all, I regularly haunt all the best nightspots in London, but where can I go to see shooting stars over a clear, peaceful ocean!? Here, on holiday... so I intended to make the most of it and told the boys I would go down to the cliffs to watch the sky.

Dutch Boy, M and their short friend trotted off down the hill, whilst Dr X hung back. "Would you like some company?", he asked me.

It was too dark to check if he was really my type or not (I suspected not), but I appreciated his sweet offer and he followed me down the cliff path to the platform where we had swum and snorkelled earlier.

I don't remember who suggested swimming, I think not me as I had just painstakingly washed my hair- but who cared, I was happily drunk on ice-blended cocktails, happy to see about 3 shooting stars before we even entered the water, and before I knew it I had pulled my dress over my head and jumped into the dark water head-first.

"Is it safe?", Dr X asked from above, "I have operated on a lot of people who broke their necks jumping into the water...".
"Of course it is, silly!" I shouted up at him, "I came here earlier and you can see the bottom, it's about 6m deep here".
And he jumped in after me.

We swam into a cave, where our movements lit up a million tiny pieces of phosperous algae, giving our limbs in the water a sparkly, green glow.

It was magical.
I floated on my back and saw another five or so shooting stars, running out of wishes as I watched them zoom across the sky in quick succession.

Dr X floated near me, and suddenly we found ourselves in the loveliest, cosiest position possible for two people floating in the ocean:
His legs were under me, so his feet were near my armpits and I could take hold of them, whilst my legs floated above him and he held my feet next to his shoulders.
It felt so secure and relaxing, I could have gone to sleep like this.
The heat emanating from his body which cupped mine in the water made me feel safe, warm and happy, and he began stroking my feet which were still a bit sore from the dancing the previous night.

I enjoyed the floating, and his carressing of my legs and feet, but I didn't reciprocate very much, as I didn't know where I'd want all this to lead.

Above me were a million, billion stars in a sky darker than you ever see it in London, and I was having my feet massaged by an unknown Dutch doctor whilst three cocktails cursed through my veins...

I felt a bit cold after a while, and climbed back onto the cliff, my white undies shining in the darkness.
Dr X followed close behind and hugged me to him, nuzzling my neck. Then he turned me around and kissed me. Salt water dripped off our faces and bodies, and his kiss was urgent, lapping and probing like a dog on heat.

I didn't particularly like his kissing, but it did make me horny and I tried to steer his tongue in a way I prefer to be kissed.
His hands started roaming my body, and before I knew it he had undone my bra and was sucking my nipples.
I could feel his erection through his wet underpants against my leg, and his hand stroked down towards my knickers. I gasped in anticipation of what was to come, and his hand entered my pants from the side. His finger found my wetness and he breathed in hard when he felt the warmth from my pussy against the cold, wet material of my knickers.
He stripped them off me and they fell onto the cliff, next to my bra and his own pants which had also come off.

I was beginning to dry, but the wind was making me chilly- also I worried that the teenagers on the cliff above us could see down and make out our naked bodies against the ocean, so I pulled my dress on over my head again.

Dr X came up behind me and pushed me against the cliff- I braced myself with one hand whilst I used the other to play with my clit, and his urgent erection pressed hard into me from behind. He reached under me to try and push himself inside me, but I stopped him.
Being a doctor and all, wouldn't you think he'd know better than try to fuck strange women on cliffs without protection?

I ran over to my handbag into which I had thoughtfully deposited two condoms earlier that evening, and pretended to search around in my wallet.
"What luck", I smiled as I held the silver packet up to him, and he suited up.

Again, I faced the cliff whilst he positioned himself behind me, pushed up my dress and his cock inside me. He felt good, and I immediately smiled, and panted, and pushed against him as he fucked all the tension and frustrations out of me.

Somehow, the condom came off but I provided a second one, and he placed me on my back and lowered himself inside me once more. We tried a few different positions on the stairs and the rocks, but standing up proved far more comfortable than lying down, which was grazing his knees and my back a bit.

I came, and he did soon after. It was over quickly, as it was just too horny!

We lay back on the stairs leading up to the path, and laughed about how naughty we had been. Soon, he began stroking me again. His hand wandered under my dress to find my breasts and pussy, and he marvelled at my wetness. His neck tasted salty and my hair was still dripping, but I got turned on again when I felt how hard he was. I stroked his glistening cock and took him in my mouth, which he enjoyed enormously. He seemed to think like I was some sort of blowjob queen, judging by his comments and noises...

He went down on me too, and loved the way I was shaved and soft.
Somehow he was inside me again. I sat astride him and just had to have him, so when he pushed his cock up to meet my pussy lips, I didn't resist and lowered myself onto him.
Although I had chided him not long before about wanting to forego protection ("You're a doctor, what are you thinking...? Do you want to get a call in nine months' time?" etc), now I just didn't care.

My irrational desire to be pregnant played a part for sure, the romance of the setting, the lust just built up inside me and I pushed his dick in and out of me until he turned me around, ass in the air, and fucked me from behind again.
I came, and stopped him.

I was now feeling a bit sore and didn't want to risk him coming inside me (although he assured me that he wouldn't), feeling stupid and annoyed with myself as I planned my next visit for a check-up... after all, you never know. If he did that with me, he might have done it before with someone else than the long-term girlfriend... and who knows where they have been.

Isn't it strange that for all people's sophistication, intelligence and health awareness, simple horniness manages to over-ride all precaution and our unspoken animalistic desire to procreate takes over and dispenses with all rubber-based caution in an instant!?

We walked back to my boat together. Him to join his friends, me to get some well-earned rest.
His kisses now annoyed me, and he didn't ask for my number, instead I suggested he ask Dutch Boy for it and get in touch when he next visits his cousin who lives there.

A bit of an anticlimax, but it did leave a smile on my face. And now I have to have a quick play with myself before I explode!

As I basked in the sunshine after work in my bikini yesterday, my eye snagged on a man's crotch close by. He was grabbing it.

First, I thought he was just resting his hand on his crown jewels so to speak; "what an ape-like, nasty macho pose, does he think he's alone in his bedroom?", I thought and tried to concentrate on my book.
Then it became more obvious what he was doing, or maybe trying not to do.
There were two Turkish girls in their late teens next to me, and this hairy, chubby guy with the crotch-grabbing obsession kept checking them out, then looking down at his crotch, before "subtly" re-adjusting himself.

It became harder to take my eyes off it, as he became harder (or was it just my imagination?). He gave it one more tug, then got up and stared at the swimming pool, then sat back down again and repeated checking out his willy's private life.
He went so far as to lift his waistband, and look at it.

I was disgusted, and considered getting up to complain. "There is a man touching himself over there", I would say to the lifeguard, and watch as he was escorted from the premises.
Instead, I kept watching him. Was what he was doing truly indecent? Was it intentionally exhibitionist, or just casually careless?

And- I got turned on. The outline of his stiffening cock in the sun, his occasional stroking or grabbing of it, and his sweaty, swarthy body began to send tingles into my moistening pussy.
I could make out its size and the head, and the balls below quite clearly, and it seemed to be growing.
I don't know why I had such a strong physical response.

Intellectually, I was disgusted and should have been outraged, but instead I found myself wishing for an alternative universe where I could beckon him over with a flick of my eyelashes and a flash of a nipple, and have him come over to me, hot from the sun, pushing me onto my knees, pull down my bikini, and enter me swiftly, followed by hard, merciless strokes as people around us watched him give me a good seeing-to.
He'd come with a groan (I'd be glad I wouldn't be able to see his face), drip the last drops of his cum onto my bare buttocks as he pulls out of me, give his dick a quick squeeze and tug it back into his shorts. Without a backward glance, he'd return to his sun-drenched corner, whilst I'd lie back and then go for a refreshing swim.

Like monkeys in the zoo.
Is this ever going to happen? Would people really do this? DID they do it, back in prehistoric times?
Why did the outline of a stranger's cock give me the female equivalent of a stiffy, apropos of nothing?
If I had spoken even one word to him, my whole turned-on-ness would have collapsed like a house of cards. He was SO NOT my type. It was just his cheeky, bold fucking dick that did it.

Fuck, I am turned on now I am typing this.
I am irritatingly sexually charged at the moment, to the point that I have one-night stands in my dreams:
My boss' (imaginary) older son,
then, last night, some guy I just met at a convention,
the sex is graphic, sweaty and random, and I wake up desperate for a morning boner in bed next to me. Fat chance!