Following Juzzy's lead in coming up with a yearly review, I decided to count the number of my lovers this year and came up with 10.

TEN!? That is shockingly bad for a sex-blogger, isn't it? That's less than one a month... Unless I plan to rack up two more in the next 21 hours.

Here the in-depth review for the seriously interested:

Sexual partners in January: 2(NYE Boy and Kensington Boy)
In February: 1(KB )
March: 1 (KB )
April: 1 (Tall Boy)
May: 1 (Tall Boy)
June: 2 (Tall Boy and Phat Boy)
July: 2 (Tall Boy and Outrageous)
August: 2 (Dr X, Doc 2)
Sept: 2 (Channel Man, Fencing Boy)
Oct: 1 (Fencing Boy)
Nov: 2 (Tall Boy, Chelsea Boy)
Dec: 0

What struck me in speed-reading the last 12 months' entries for suspicious names, is the amount of "possibles" there were.
Many a time have I found myself in situations which could have developed into something, and possibly would have done a year or so ago, but didn't- mostly due to my new-found caution and the knowledge that it would be a pointless encounter and I'd regret it later.
I haven't regretted a single person I DIDN't sleep with, although I have (in retrospect) most of those I did.

NYE Boy was pointless because my mum (who I stayed with) worried about my whereabouts and he had a girlfriend. It was a lovely shag, but ultimately meaningless and he was so drunk or careless that he only got a condom because I absolutely insisted.

Sleeping with KB was pointless, because he ended up breaking my heart, and the affair wasted my time. Not that we didn't have some fantastic sex and that I didn't feel very close to and extremely comfortable with him, but we could just as easily just have stayed friends and I wouldn't have been so disappointed. (Preg tests: 2)

Tall Boy was lovely, but ultimately I also ended up regretting it, because the guy doesn't love me. Great shag, shame it's not for life...

Phat Boy: a drunken mistake. I was horny and too tired to fight him off, his body disgusts me and he is an over-affectionate guy who fancies me far too much for his own good, with a tiny, unreliable dick. An extremely horny encounter, but I still feel a bit ashamed about it. (Preg test)

Outragous Boy wangled his way into my flat and went down on me for 2 hours, so I was keen to shag him and consummate the encounter properly, but his thin dick didn't exactly satisfy me and neither of us came from the penetration I seem to remember. It dragged on far too long, I was tired and kept having to fight him off, then I kicked him out when it was feasible he'd be able to get a train. A follow-up date never materialised...

Dr X was the ugly friend of the guy I actually fancied on holiday (who turned me down because he had a girlfriend), but it was dark and we were horny... It could have been a very romantic night, but his slackness where condoms were concerned bothered me, he lives abroad and we had nothing to say to each other. A classic one-night stand.

Doc 2 was sexy and interesting, but a bit short and skinny for my taste- he smoked and used his phone throughout dinner, but fucking him was the perfect climax to a great and slightly sexually frustrating holiday. We occasionally keep in touch and I am looking forward to seeing him again sometime, romantically or otherwise. Actually I feel that the sex somehow tainted our potential friendship, which is a shame...

Channel Man totally manipulated me into having sex with him, entering me rather surprisingly in a public hotel jacuzzi, and carrying on upstairs in his room which turned the sheets into a bit of a bloodbath because I was on the last few days of my period. I was pissed off because he didn't use a condom the first time, and the following discussion was rather tedious. Still, we had a fun night out together which ended rather more abruptly than he'd expected when I walked out being unable to further deal with his drunken "jokes".

Fencing Boy was also fun whilst the affair lasted, however our ultimately very different expectations (or his inability to define his) left both of us disappointed, hurt or whatever. Still no closure, still baffled and angry at him, but I enjoyed his dick inside me...
(Morning After-Pill, Preg. test)

Chelsea Boy got drunk at mine, and so did I- I went to bed to find him amongst my sheets, and he seduced and stroked me into a rather straight-forward sexual encounter. We fell asleep satisfied and woke as friends, it felt a bit like ticking a box: we knew we fancied each other and it wouldn't have a future, but it was another fun thing we could share together. May be repeated at some point in the future. Unplanned, but not unwelcome.

Altogether, another rather disappointing year on the love front. Sex was ok I suppose...

It's late as fuck, and I don't plan to sleep all day tomorrow but screw it, I need to write this post in response to Abby Lee's rape experience which churned my belly from my navel to my hip bones.

http://girlwithaonetrackmind.blogspot.com/

She talks about how she was raped at the age of 17, after going back to a guy's flat for a smoke.

It made me think how many times I or people I know have been in similar situations, some which turned out ok, and some which didn't.

Many people who responded to this post of Abby's talk about the confusion they experienced in situations where they suddenly found themselves at the mercy of someone's manipulation tactics, if not all-out violence, and what a difficult thing this is to defend yourself against when you are young, inexperienced and unassertive- as we all were at one point or another.

We have all been taught to be polite, learned from experience not to wake sleeping dogs, got drunk enough to take risks and argued with people stronger than us only to be made to regret it.

I don't claim to have been raped myself, this seems a word much too strong for any experiences I have had personally, but again this is an issue many rape victims express also- that they weren't sure what to call "it".

I have, however, experienced episodes of manipulations both verbal and physical, which I feel is something I will have in common with most people (especially females) on this planet.

This list is probably in no particular order, but I've decided to start with a lesser degree of manipulation to explain how hard it can be to draw the line sometimes- and arriving at a point of no return can be sooner than expected...

2006: Mr Red followed me home one night after a date as friends (he'd told me at this point he wasn't interested in a relationship with me). We had a few drinks and ended up kissing goodbye at a Central London tube station, before I got my train north. He missed his last train south and suddenly called me just as I was unlocking my front door, telling me he'd got on the train following mine.
I felt uncomfortable at this point, not sure what he was doing there uninvited, and a bit crept out. I told him he'd been silly for following me, because now he'd have to get the nightbus and I didn't want to invite him in. "I need the loo", he told me in a peeved voice, "and a glass of water- can't I even come in for that?" Basically, he was making ME feel bad for HIS stupid choice.
I consented to letting him into my flat.
Before anyone jumps to conclusions, NOTHING happened. We had an extremely terse ten minutes or so sitting in my brightly-lit kitchen with a glass of water, whispering in order not to disturb my sleeping flatmate, and he left and got the nightbus, reaching his home approximately 2 hours later. I didn't feel bad about that. Everyone can read the time.
The point is, it COULD have.
BUT- should this influence my future decisions about inviting a man into my flat for access to the bathroom and a glass of water?
He got the point that I didn't intend to let him stay and left.

HOWEVER- if I had been younger and less experienced, I would have taken pity on him. I would have let him stay in my room (where else? The bath?), possibly in my bed. He might have touched me, turned me on/forced himself on me- and we would have had sex. Against my consent. By manipulation.

1996: A group of my younger sister's friends had been to a house party. One girl got very drunk and ended up going outside with one of the boys, a stranger. He raped her. She was a virgin, and so inexperienced that it surprised her that he repeatedly entered and thrust into her, she used to think people who have sex just hold each other close, motionless with the man inside the woman.
I was the one they told, because I could drive. I took her to a doctor's, and with the girl sitting in silence, my sister explained to the gynaecologist that her friend had been sexually abused. We still didn't call it "rape" because her memory was so hazy from being so drunk. The doctor didn't discover semen, but internal tears and other signs of forced entry, and he also gave her a blood test.
I think they later saw this boy again at another party and he didn't appear to feel guilty at all. They didn't report him.

2007: A guy in a club bought about 5 bottles of champagne for my friends and I, but I think I ended up drinking most of it. I decided to leave and he came with me, saying he'd put me in a taxi outside. He jumped in with me and gave the driver instructions to go to his flat.
Unintentionally, and despite my protestations to the cab driver I found myself deposited at his flat, for yet more champagne. I tried to be sick but couldn't, then decided to just bide my time until another cab came to pick me up.
The guy poured me an alcoholic drink although I'd asked for water. He showed me his bedroom although I had no desire to see it. He took me to his flat despite me asking him to drop me at mine. He complained I wouldn't kiss him properly, then tried to get my dress off but couldn't- I think he was basically drunk as hell too, and whilst he was obviously trying hard to manipulate me, he wasn't experienced enough to do it properly, and thankfully unwilling to use force. At least more force than it took for him to push his hands inside the arm holes of my dress and twist my nipples until they hurt.
I grabbed my coat and bag to wait by the door, feeling disoriented and worried. He was a lot taller than me, kept telling me the cab was on its way, to sit and relax. That he would "never touch me"- although he clearly already had- and insisted I called him by a made-up name (I had noted his real one from his credit card).

Again: NOTHING happened. The cab came and took me home, albeit being driven by a very leery driver (I usually never take minicabs).
BUT IT COULD HAVE, very easily. I was clearly in the guy's flat, dressed to kill- and could have been undressed and killed so very easily. The point is, why shouldn't I be free to go to a guy's place, sit on the sofa until 3am and drink water and champagne? Maybe I'd kiss him, or maybe we'd just chat (although we'd pretty much run out of conversation by then). Why shouldn't a girl feel able to sleep at a guy's house, in the spare bedroom, without a worry that he'd come in and do something to her? Of course, it would be better not to be in that situation.

We live and learn.
We get to know ourselves (how many kisses does it take for me to get turned on past the point of no return? - how many drinks for me to prefer a place to sleep over braving the nightbus? - how likely is it that I can fight him off if I have to?) and others (what are the chances that he'll respect my decision that I don't want to go to his/sleep in his bed/take my clothes off/share his duvet/let him touch, kiss or fuck me?)- but until we do, there is a LOT to learn.

I can't possibly point out all the dodgy situations I have ever been in. Like the night I locked myself into Rugby Boy's spare bedroom and nearly had a nervous breakdown, feeling freaked out to the max (I blogged about this)....The first time I slept with one of my exes, having gone back to his hotel room for a drink and ended up with his limp dick inside of me, and a six-month relationship I didn't ever intend to have.... The time I played "doctors" with a boy with foster siblings, I barely recall what actually happened but another school friend told me something about her own experience, which triggered hazy memories of lying across a toilet seat, naked from the waist down, with him prodding at me.... The evening I found myself stranded at a bodybuilder's house right across town from me, because he'd drunk too much for driving me home- his excuse being that his diet required him to cook, although there is plenty of food available in Covent Garden (I left at first light when he was asleep, again NOTHING happened).... The guy who slept first with my friend, then me a few weeks later, having told us a bunch of lies about his job to gain our interest, who refused to wear condoms and emerged in the tabs after a high-profile break-up a couple of years ago....My mum in my room crying the night before my little sibling's birthday, because my dad had hit her and tried to force her (of course there were smiling faces around the birthday table)....

Finding my first boyfriend on top of me, his fingers red from my blood, after I had gone to sleep, thinking somehow this was ok, hearing about that whole blue balls bollocks, having a headache and having to do it anyway because he saw me so rarely, all this kind of crap people do and say when they are young and inexperienced, eager to please, happy to lose their virginity, no it wasn't a rape but I suppose it's quite close to the mark if only we're not scared of the consequences of arguments. Sometimes being able to please someone appears a much safer option than leaving yourself open to the frightening possibility of really pissing him off, especially if they are in a position of power or physical superiority.

Women being manipulated into doing something against their will or better judgement, men becoming manipulators with or without realising what they are doing occurs daily, yet should this stop us from assuming that a "drink" means a drink, and "no" means no?

How many times do people lie about where they live, what their true intentions are, or that they won't take no for an answer in their pre-planned expectations of the night's events? Abby and the other respondents to her shocking post are only the tip of the iceberg...

It is astounding what the power of hindsight can do. Whilst at the time we may have been thinking: "but I...
...was drunk"
...love him"
...am married to him"
...turned him on"
...owed it to him"
...was in his flat"
..."asked for it"
...was scared"
...didn't want to wake anyone"
...felt guilty"
...don't want to make him angry"
...didn't want to cause a fuss" etc to rationalise what happened in order to avoid admitting to ourselves that we have been a victim, later on we often realise what advice we may give now to someone else in that same situation, which usually doesn't leave much doubt as to the role of the manipulator.

-Ask that old codger who propositioned you in the summer for a "loan".
-Steal drunk people's wallets.
-Return all Christmas presents bought in the last 3 months for a refund and knit everyone a scarf.

Having dismissed the first three options as being a bit naff, I
-paid in a cheque I received in error, for a sum 50% plus nearly £200 larger than expected: Ker-ching!
-rented out my flat for 4 days: Bling Bling!
-only drink free alcoholic drinks: Cheers!
-just don't worry. Wahey!

I took a walk across the market square today, with not much time to spare for browsing and shopping before meeting up with some friends.

As I paused to look at some shoes (what else!? ) I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Hello", a male voice said. I thought it must be someone I know who recognised me in the street, but it was a stranger.
"I just noticed you", he continued, "and was just wondering if I could buy you a cup of coffee..."

I was flabberghasted. I assessed him and his open, smiling face for any obvious display of nuttiness, but he seemed normal and quite nice. Warm eyes, nice teeth, dimples, normal hair and clothes, no obvious stench of alcohol or prescription medication, about my height and approximately 38 years old. Lovely! I smiled through my surprise and told him that I didn't have much time as I was about to meet someone, but asked him if that was a habit of his to just chat up people in the street?
He told me no, he didn't usually do that.
"That's very brave of you", I told him, thinking what if I was a total bitch? Then again, he probably didn't have much to lose...
"You're not from around here", he remarked a bit regretfully after noticing that my dialect didn't match his own. "No", I admitted. "I mean, I grew up here but I now live in London".
That seemed to startle him a bit, but he didn't accuse me of lying (which has happened to me before) and we chatted for a few minutes about my reasons for moving there, and about his job ("manufacturing additives for animal feed, like sweeteners for pigs..."- "I've heard of that", I replied, "that's why it's not a good idea to eat too many artificial sweeteners as they make you more hungry...") Ah well.

He seemed nice and normal enough for me to take his number (another novelty- he doesn't have a mobile so I tried to keep my second one hidden in my bag). Who knows, I may get bored just hanging out with family and the three friends I still have here!

Also I truly admired his bravery, I suppose the worst that could happen would be a really terrible cup of coffee...

In a fit of feeling confessional, confrontational and wanting to clear the air as well as my head, I sent a late-night text to Tall Boy:

"I think you don't realise just how much you mean to me. I've been pulling back because it upsets me being close to you, knowing you don't love me".

There we are, the L word again.

For a man like Tall Boy, probably only slightly less frightening than the C word- commitment.

Just what was I hoping to gain?
Firstly, I know men (actually, make that humans in general) can't mind-read. He has no way of knowing how I feel and what I think unless I tell him.
Secondly, my mumbled words of eternal love in his bed could have been misunderstood by him, forgotten in the haze of sleep, alcohol and post-coital confusion or simply ignored under the assumption that I was drunk, confused or felt obliged to justify my obvious passion for him by employing that old chestnut as an excuse to get so utterly carried away.
And thirdly, I needed to hear his side of the story.

He has been giving me mixed messages from the first minute I clapped eyes on him, and I needed clarity.
You can't look at, flirt with and touch someone like he has me, if you feel total indifference for that person.
You can't seduce, ravish and possess someone and be unable not to hold their hand in public, if you don't feel some kind of passion for them.
You can't tell them with sincerity, repeatedly and loudly that you love their face, have fancied them for a year and want them to meet your parents unless you want her in your life.

On the other hand, if you want to be with her exclusively, you would attempt to put in the time, to be reliable, genuinely caring and consistant, you wouldn't see other people and you'd be jealous if she did.

After my text (which I regretted the moment it sent), it took him a day and a half to call me.
Still, call he did and I was grateful for his integrity.
I greeted him as my usual cheerful self, and after a couple of minutes' small talk and banter, he cut to the chase.
"I am calling about that text you sent me, to clear the air", he stated, with a confidence I admired.
"Were you drunk?" -"No, I wasn't", I confessed. "I just needed to let you know how I feel because you can't read my mind. You told me you thought I'd been busy since the summer, but I was just trying to hold back and protect myself from getting hurt from getting too close".

He knows the way things are isn't enough for me. I'd told him before that we're bad at being "just friends"- invariably, I reminded him, he ends up holding my hand and kissing me, or my head ends up resting on his chest in the park.
Every night we get drunk together ends with his cock swelling inside me as his semen pumps into me with a passion I have never experienced before, and when I see his face in the morning I want to cry for all the mornings I don't see the sparkle in his eyes.

"This isn't the kind of relationship I want", I told him.
"Well, I can't offer anything else", he replied, "I want to have fun and get pissed with my mates".
"I know", I said, "and there's no reason why you can't do that for another ten years or so. It is different for me, for women in general, I want to be with someone who is there for me, who I can settle down and have a family with and I feel it's not fair of me to expect things from you as I would of a boyfriend. Things aren't like that with us, so I can't expect that you get me a card for my birthday, or see me exclusively, or spend the occasional weekend with me in London. I miss these things", I continued, "the things you get in a relationship in the first three months of falling in love, where you just want to be with that person even if it's just eating pizza on the sofa. And I know it will happed for you, with the right person you would want to be around them, but it hurts me that that's not me... it hurts me that you are seeing other people".
"Yes", he replied, "but, Sienna, so are you!" For the first time I thought I could detect something like jealousy or mild disapproval in his voice.
"Of course", I agreed, "but the difference is that I am jealous and you're not".

"I am sorry", he said, noticing how my voice had filled with involuntary tears I tried to laugh away, "maybe we should just be friends then. I'd like that". I sniffed, not sure what to say. It was good to get things off my chest but it had all gone tits up for me.
"Like your house, I think you have potential", I said, "but in order to be in a relationship you really need to sort yourself out, I can see that. I don't know if I can be your friend..."
"Well, the other alternative is not to see each other at all", he continued, "but that would be a shame..."

I really didn't want to hear this, but what is the alternative? At least he is honest, he's not bullshitting me, he isn't leading me on, all that is keeping me in this game is the vain hope that he will change his mind and fall for me, and, of course, lust, lust, lust.

I feel I am back on familiar ground. Everyone I have ever wanted has made me feel exactly the same.
First Love Boy, First Kiss Boy, as well as a few others are tales of people I wanted but couldn't have, so I had to settle for what I could get: the odd flare of passion with "Mr-Out-of-my-league" (of course, if it's offered to them on a plate...), or the odd relationship with "Mr-out-of-his-league" (of course, they are much more giving).

As I see it, I have only two options in the type of relationship I may eventually have to settle for:
1) Mr Out of My League (if I can get him)- a distant, not-to be trusted, charming and gorgeous guy I desire and love with all my heart - who will betray me or leave me, or
2) Mr Out Of His League (if he can convince me) - an over-affectionate, insecure and average-looking guy who worships me, who I will learn to love and rely on, and who will probably forgive or overlook my occasional indiscretions.

I sent a text to BBP this morning, inviting him to a Christmas do. Why not, I hadn't seen him for about two years and was curious what he was up to and whether he was still as gorgeous as ever.

He was on the phone within two minutes.

I was happy he rang and it was great to hear his cute Mancunian accent, but the communication was as bad as ever.

"Where have you been?" he asked me, "You never called me".

"Well", I responded with a smile, and a mixture of annoyance and patience, "neither did you".

"I thought you had disappeared", he continued. Unlikely, I thought, seeing as I sponsored part of his marathon last year and he never got in touch to thank me.

"I'm not around on the weekend", he told me, "but working in London during the week".

"Want to come out tonight?", I asked him, excited at the prospect of seeing him and feeling slightly guilty that he sounded so pleased I had got in touch (with an undertone of accusation, which I chose to ignore).

He wouldn't commit to coming right there and then, wondering if it would be ok to turn up on his own (what does he need an entourage for!? I remembered them as really obnoxious coke heads from the last time), so I assumed he would just call me after finishing his evening job.

For obvious reasons I was caught up at home until late, and got a call from him around 11:30pm.
"Are you at the club?", I asked him.
"No, are you?" he replied over the din in the background.
"Not yet", I admitted, "my friend has cancelled and I wasn't sure you were coming".
Then the guilt tripping started again: "So, you thought I was coming but you haven't even left yet"
"No", I disagreed, "I thought you'd ring me once you're finished to tell me you are on your way, I am not going on my own and my friend has pulled out too".
"You never", he shot back, "when did I say that? I thought you'd be there already"- "Give me fifteen minutes", I replied, getting exasperated. I mean how do you constantly defend yourself against a barrage of accusatory questions like that? (the conversation went on for a bit longer than described here).
"Are you sure it will be enough time? I mean if you set off now we'll have barely half an hour before your last train leaves", I said.
"First you want to see me, then you don't", he shot back.

It dawned on me that he is absolutely devoid of charm. Something I often take for granted based on the men I usually go for, that easy, smoothing confidence that comes with genuine charm and agreeable manners.

In any case I managed to smoothe the waves of discontent and convinced myself it would be a good idea to set off out into the cold again to see him and spend some time in his company with a glass of wine and some live music.

Of course I was there first and then he arrived, looking gorgeous. He had got rid of the dreads and was sporting a short afro instead, green eyes sparkling and appearing pleased to see me, yet still with that hurt undertone.

What could I do? I let him buy me a drink and attempted to charm him with smalltalk.
"I think I need to crash at yours", was pretty much the first thing he said, "my last train has gone, I just found out".
This I hadn't bargained for. I mean, shouldn't he know when his trains go? How was this my problem? I hadn't seen him in two years and didn't want to feel obliged to offer my sofa (or my bed).
He didn't feel like dancing, so just sat down, fiddling with his phone. "I need to call my mate to let him know", he said.
He seemed genuinely lost and hurt that I hadn't volunteered to let him stay at mine.

I really can't read him- was this just a pre-planned ploy to have convenient sex? Was he genuinely unprepared and unable to find a night bus that took him back to his car? Had he thought half an hour for a drink was a realistic time to travel halfways across town to see me!?

Again, I didn't know what to say to him because he seemed so on edge, so I told him to just relax for half an hour and enjoy the music, then we'd figure something out.
Or rather: give me half an hour to drink my wine and dance, and I will be horny enough to take you back and drunk enough to stop caring about what my flatmate might think.

This wasn't good enough for him. "I can't get home", he repeated, "do you know how far it is to drive to H?" "I do", I answered, "but shouldn't you have thought about that before?"

"Yeah, but I don't live in London no more, you said my tube was still running", he said in that guilt-tripping tone of his.
"I am sure there are night buses. Do you know how to get to Trafalgar Square from here?", I tried to reassure him, but he just looked at me like I was stupid and kissed his teeth.

He got up to make his call and seemed really on edge.

We ended up in the corridor outside the dancefloor, arguing like an old couple.
"I keep thinking you have planned this and feel manipulated", I admitted, thinking this would get him to see my point. He was insulted and let me know it.
I resisted the urge to ask him if he wanted ketchup with that huge chip on his shoulder.

In the end, when I felt he was about to storm off in a huff, I beat him to it- arm raised and slamming the door behind me, I stropped off and back into the club, leaving him to his own devices.

Back at our table, I burst into tears.
Half an hour in his company, and I was sobbing. This must be a record!

I remembered why I had stopped calling him in the first place, and the past two years seemed to have made his problems worse, whatever they may be.

"The taxi costs me sixty quid", he text me, "thanks a lot".

Again: HOW is this my problem?
...and yet WHY do I feel guilty!?

I rang Canadaboy last night after watching a programme about G-spot stimulating devices called the Magic Wand or something like that.

We spent about 45 minutes catching up, and we both confessed how much we miss each other.
I told him about the blog and the shitty time I was going through at the time I first met him (which contributed to our relationship never going "further"- at the beginning I just wanted to multiple-date without actually having sex with the boys in question- look where that led me: multiple lovers, this blog, further confusion...)

Finally I hit on the subject I meant to consult with him about before being distracted by the caring and sharing stuff:

"You know my friend V told me about her G-spot, and that she learned how to stimulate it so that now she is disappointed when she 'only' has a vaginal orgasm... she said she does the same with men, she uses their willies to hit on her G-spot in a way that means she doesn't have to touch her clit in order to come."

Canada: "She uses the man? How? What do you mean?"

Me: "Basically what I want to know is when you slept with her, what did she do differently?"

Canada (embarrassed because his brother is listening in on Skype): "Well, she just sort of gyrates..."

Looks like I will have to ask her for a demonstration after all.

Maybe my arm just isn't long enough, and my rabbit just doesn't do it for me.

The Pilot- at a foreign airport after a family funeral. He gave me a smile when I looked at diving magazines in the duty free and we chatted all the way to London. Thank God for budget airlines without pre-allocated seats!

Nice Ex - in a directing class. He had to take his top off and I couldn't take my eyes off his boyish chest, full lips and the trickle of hair from his belly button to the top of his jeans (This was before he grew any chest hair).

First Love Boy - at my prom, in a posh hotel's ballroom. He caught my eye and asked me to dance. I was 15 and feeling very grown up to be dancing with my teacher's son, who was nineteen and had his own flat and vintage convertible!

First Kiss Boy - before my birth. He knew me whilst I was still in my mum's tummy.

FIVE
"I would like the friendship you are offering, but without the physical thing if that's ok with you" via Facebook- after ignoring me all week.

"I want you as a friend but I don't do fb's and i don't waste my friends' time. so I hope it's enough for you" via SMS- after refusing to "label" our "thing" as even a "date".

"I know I said I wanted you as a friend, but I don't anymore. Please respect that." via email- after I asked him to confirm if he'd been tested for Chlamydia. He lied about it. Good riddance!

Fencing Boy, 2007

FOUR
He refused to pick me up from hospital after my operation: "Congestion charge" (not after 6:30pm, mate!), "too far to drive" (half an hour!? When I've had a general anaesthetic?), and "hospital phobia" (I am not dying, you know) being some of the reasons cited. No flowers/card for me either when he visited me at home the next day. Just a nice shag.
His friends were too arrogant to meet me, apparently, and he never got in touch from his work trip abroad (which I suddenly wasn't invited to, after all).
"You can let out my friend here, please"- to the taxi driver on his way to Heathrow. Friend? FRIEND!?
At least his dad was nice to me.
Cashmere, 2006

THREE
"I can't give you what you want"- meaning commitment and kids within the next 3 years. I had told him at the start that I thought he was too young for me- he was 27, I 29.

"I want to give you what you want but I can't. It's all futile i'm afraid. Waste of your time". The light in his eyes had gone out too, and when I went to see him late at night to talk it all over again he let me stay but kept to his side of the bed.
I felt devastated and so alone I almost regretted taking Levonelle...

Kensington Boy, 2007

TWO
After he'd pushed me towards the hot deep fat fryer, punched me in the stomach, kicked and choked me on various occasions, I knew I had to leave the night he pushed me to the floor and grazed my elbow, then sat on me with a menacing face holding my wrists over my head so hard they chafed on the carpet.
His right hand wandered under my top and I worried he was going to rape me.
"Nobody else will ever want you- you just lie there"... "You won't get anyone else"... "I didn't hit her, she walked into my hand".

I'd put up with his temper tantrums, late nights at the pub, buying me flowers to apologise, only to leave them on the floor, still in their wrapping. Him complaining about his washing drying all around the flat, and never doing the washing up after I cooked for him every night. Coming inside me when he knew I felt too young for kids and had come off the pill.
Sitting on me whilst I looked for flatshares in the Loot. Following me into the living room and staring at me in the dark when I decided to sleep on the sofa.

I left the next day whilst he was at work, borrowed a friend's car and stashed my stuff with another friend whilst I crashed on a third friend's sofa. Thankfully I wasn't homeless for long.

Then he began stalking me, singing songs in the streets of Covent Garden when I was on my way to work, calling my friend I was staying with, sending theatre tickets and other gifts through another friend he barely knew.

I changed jobs and was rid of him.

Ironically, I've since run into him twice in the street and we had fairly civil conversations. I drew the line when he tried to connect me on Bebo.
Violent Ex, 1996

ONE
"Would rather be with you than here" SMS from the Bastard to his ex, Christmas Eve 2004.

I woke up this morning
Now I understand
What it means to give your life
To just one man
Afraid of feeling nothing
No bees or butterflies
My head is full of voices
And my house is full of lies

[chorus]
This is home, home
And this is home, home
This is home

I found your standing there
When I was seventeen
Now I'm thirty-two
And I can't remember what I'd seen in you
I made a promise
Said it everyday
Now I'm reading romance novels
And I'm dreaming of yesterday

Chorus

I'd like to see the Riviera
And slowdance underneath the stars
I'd like to watch the sun come up
In a stranger's arms

Chorus

I'm going crazy
A little at a time
And everything I wanted
Is now driving me away
I woke this morning
To the sound of beating hearts
Mine is full of questions
And it's tearing yours apart...

SHERYL CROW- "Home"

At which point does romance become hard core porn, and vice versa?

I mean, what's not romantic about "I crave his hot sperm gushing into me!"?

Theoretically, things could be just dandy.
I could shag Tall Boy with a clear conscience whilst scouting around for someone who wants commitment, love and kids.
This would take the pressure and hornyness out of the dating process, and I would always be well-shagged, happy and not despearate. Patient, basically, whilst things develop.
I could wait for Navy Boy, Country Boy or whoever else to grow on me, become a friend, a confidante, a fiance.

Practically, this is impossible.
Feeling Tall Boy's lips on mine, his words breathing into my ear, his sperm pumping into me, I don't want anyone else. I cry not only because he enters me so deeply he nearly spears right through me, because I am tired or drunk or emotional after feeling his penis swell and release himself inside me, but because I have him and yet I cannot really possess him unless he lets me. And he doesn't let me.
I can grasp and cling and scratch my nails into his skin, my tears can streak his pillow and my juices stain his sheets, but he will never be any closer to me than a raindrop on the outside of a window.

He won't let me in, and I can't drag him.

I can pull him deeper into me by clutching his arse, which he loves, I can suck his tongue and drink his sperm, I can breathe his breath and lay on his heartbeat, I can taste his sweat and he can wipe my tears, but he won't want me and I can't have him.
In any case, if I could, I wouldn't want his crumbling house, his beer snores, his lazy dress sense, his lairy friends, his unreliability, his easy charm, his harem of girls.

Much as I try to separate my heart from my pussy, I don't succeed. One fills the other with blood and passion, the other feeds the first with love and attachment.

I made love to Chelsea Boy, as a friend, with affection and dedication. We both came, we fell asleep, we woke up, had a laugh, had breakfast and went back to being friends.
I kissed his friend the same night, it was horny, we were drunk, I cooked for him and he massaged my feet. He went out to meet friends, pull girls, I stayed in, tired, happy, cuddling up to Chelsea Boy, no worries at all.

Tall Boy goes, I try to let him, I pull back- he thinks I'm busy or whatever, we're out of touch for a while but he comes back around and I snap back into his arms like a rubber band.
No chance.
I read the writing on his wall, a girl calling him 'Darling', an old lover returning, the first girl refers to our night at the theatre and is seemingly oblivious who he went with, or that he propositioned me that night- twice.
Maybe she followed his booty call later, who knows.

It's the not knowing which sucks so badly.
Friends of mine have an open relationship, they know where they both stand. They talk and share, watch each other getting off with people, flirting, and they go home together. Or maybe with a third party to share.
Not fair on the singles, but very fair on each other- honest.

Again, Tall Boy's not around this weekend. At the age of 33, every weekend is like a stag party for him.
I could succumb to more genuine attention: I text Country Boy and the Sailor, deleted Yacht Boy from my history and had two calls from a black boy who I barely remember giving my number to, but who calls and calls the more I ignore him; I am pleased Navy Boy is keeping in touch and I should concentrate my energies elsewhere... but it seems like I am almost addicted to the pattern of rejection, like a fly headbutting a window again and again, a moth to the flame, to see the light and die a smelly death.