Sienna's Lovers

... concentrate on work.
I have expenses to file, holiday forms to update and other paperwork to catch up with, and there is a ton of filing to do.

I won't
- log onto facebook
- register for Twitter
- catch up with The Apprentice
- check personal emails
- book flights for the summer
- help in BBB's house hunting quest
- write my blog in working hours.

...oops...

I never thought it would be easy.
But I didn't expect it to be quite THIS hard! And I am not just talking about his crotch or anything crude like that, but I found it intensely difficult to chuck him off my sofa and out of my door before the last tube...

Today, I got a very sweet but terribly confused email.
"I had a bad conscience and couldn't sleep", he told me, thinking that I was angry at him or something for suggesting he get a tube in the morning.

I know, of course, that there are tubes at all sorts of hours of the morning which would enable him to go to work, or go home first and then to work, whatever. BUT. I. AM. NOT. LETTING. HIM. SPEND. THE. NIGHT!!

And I told him: "What do you mean by that", let him finish his tea and walked him to the door.
"I didn't mean THAT", his email tried to justify today, "but I'd really like to hold and kiss you all night".

Well if I were a frigid nun aged 80 that might potentially work, but with those feelings, hormones and all this electricity coursing through my body there is no chance I wouldn't just hold him a little bit tighter, let him a little bit closer, open my legs just a little bit and since I also don't own any pyjamas with a built-in chastity belt what would follow is pretty obvious.

so I try to take comfort in my bible. Not the one with the cross on the front, no, the one entitled "Not Tonight Mr Right" by Kate Taylor. That book rocks! I am glad I took it to the park yesterday lunchtime for some much-needed guidance.

The questions you need to answer before sleeping with him for the first time include: "Have you known him for 6 months?" (No, about a week!)
"Have you met his friends a few times" (No, never, although my friends really like him), "Does your work receptionist recognise his voice?" (I doubt they'd even know mine!) and: "Do you have a key to his house?" (Nope, he still lives with buddies in darkest Acton!).

Despite knowing it's 'No' to the above answers, I ignored a further piece of advice given on page 42: "No hang-out, DVD dates for you yet, missy" - by letting him invite himself over to mine on Easter Monday evening for a film we hadn't yet seen and some salad he proposed to prepare.

I love a man with initiative and it was his idea, so I couldn't resist, also my mum had told me to have an early night to discourage my still raging cold from taking up permanent residence in my body, so... what could I do... I said Yes.

Of course, I couldn't really concentrate on the film AT ALL, being distracted by his lips on my neck, his fingers in my hair and his palms on my stomach, but I stopped him from exploring anything more erogenous. Yep, I can be proud! I am a re-born virgin!

It brought back memories of innocent make-out sessions which don't climax in the exchange of hot bodily fluids, and yet that's all I wanted to do.
While I kept pushing his hand away from my bra, inside my head kept screaming: "do me with your hot rod, now!"
He has the sort of eyes I can look into without blinking, and it feels like a surge of energy fills me up the longer I do this. Soppy, but true.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" I asked when he kept gazing into my eyes while trailing his fingers up and down my arm, and up my shirt. "No, um..." he replied - clearly not on a par with me where movie quotes are concerned. "The answer is: 'would you like me to seduce you'", I smiled, "Mrs Robinson to Benjamin in 'The Graduate'..." Didn't ring a bell.

Before it was time for him to leave (my call, of course), I said: "Shame you're not five years older". The DVD had stopped and we sat like well-behaved adults again, his arm firmly around my shoulders while he nuzzled my hair. He looked at me: "Why? You know, my sister's husband is 40 and she is 31!". "Are you suggesting I look for someone in the forty-something age bracket?" I asked. "No, not what I meant at all! I mean, they have an age gap... and my grandma, she's five years older than my grandad..." of course, that was the ace from his sleeve. I didn't know what to say to that, so I shut up and kissed him some more.
Should I believe it means something that the people he mentioned are family members - who are married!?

I am not sure I am really made for this celibacy malarkey.
After all, did I get a call from Jesus?
Am I a nun, a priest, a saint?

No, I'm a flesh-and-blood woman and the excitement flooding out of my body at the tiniest thought or the slightest touch of the blue-blooded boy is proof of that.

Despite putting myself back on the pill and keeping my head in check by reminding myself just how wrong things went the last time I let someone into my heart and bed, I cannot help feeling the way I feel about him.

The addictive whoosh of a rollercoaster hurtling down at full speed is replicated in my stomach each time I am close to him, and it is freaking me out!

On Easter Sunday things suddenly began to feel "different". Being out with another couple didn't help matters, probably, and their approval of him was palpable and became more important to me the more the day went on.

During a pub lunch one of my friends even commented (emboldened by booze, no doubt): "You two look so cute together, so right...!". He and I could only chuckle at that, embarrassed like two teenagers with a match-making aunt.

He has a very understated presence about him which is quietly reassuring, he's not brash, nor awkward.

On our way home we decided spontaneously to go to the cinema, not wanting the evening to end. I can't even say we talked much, flicked through the papers on the train with my knee between his, and had the occasional laugh over stories of mad jobs we'd both had.

We shared a quick pizza before the film and I couldn't help smiling every time I caught sight of his eyes, and his dimple.

The film was great, much better than the reviews had led me to expect ("The Boat that rocked"), but the auditorium was freezing. With my nose getting stuffier and stuffier by the second I had trouble breathing in a ladylike fashion, trumpeting instead into a tissue every so often. Nice!

Not that it put him off me, judging by the fact his arm was spilling over the arm rest into my lap I cottoned on that he saw this as an opportunity to be close to me, and not just to kill time with a new friend... I am not joking, his arm was on the other side of the drink in the middle arm rest - my side!
It was nice to feel his warmth and breathe his scent so close to me, as I was getting serious chills from the overzealous air con.

"Are you still cold?" he asked me when I fumbled for my trench coat halfway through the film. "Would you like my jacket? It won't crease like yours". How insanely sweet of him! I only have a £17.50 H&M coat while he offered me his posh sailing jacket, but I was fine without the extra layer.
Instead, he put his arm around me and pulled me close. I felt like a teenager!
It brought back memories of me at 16,17 being taken to the cinema by the boy I'd fallen for on the dance floor of my prom, and how he'd shyly begun to stroke my hand... only for me to find out later that this didn't mean anything as he "also puts his arm around his sister"... weird.

Anyway, moving back to last Sunday, I was in seventh heaven. Maybe it's my chastity-heightened senses or something like that, or being in the presence of someone I am beginning to like - a great deal- for no apparent reason whatsoever, but I got insanely turned on.

Squirming in my seat, I was aware that he was also shifting around, and I considered the possibility he might have an erection...

He pressed his cheek and mouth into the side of my head, kissing my hair and forehead with a little peck. I tried to concentrate on the film. He took both my hands in his and began stroking my palms and fingers, I stroked back but only so as not to distract us from the screen...

He didn't kiss me.
Instead, waiting at the bus stop, he made the spontaneous decision to drop me to my door step, or maybe I made it for him by telling him the tube near my house was a more convenient line for him... or some other such bollocks.

So he climbed onto the bus behind me, and walked me to my front door.

We hugged goodbye after I'd made it clear I wouldn't be inviting him up (the cold had taken a serious hold of me by now and my thumping headache was joined by nausea, so I really felt too awful to play hostess).
And then he kissed me!

Shit, I think I am falling for the blue-blooded boy.
With the 29 year old being on the other side of the globe chasing Easter bunnies with his extended family, I have been spending a lot of time with BBB who turned out to be, shockingly, only 27. Hm... Wish he were 5 years older!

How do I tell him I may get carried away into kissing him, yet I won't share his bed or bodily fluids until he is ready to give me babies!?

I think I will just keep quiet and enjoy his understated attention.

He is a gent in the true sense, as in offering to carry my bag (may have to put that one to the test with a pink one!), letting me step through doors first and summoning waiters with a subtle turn of his wrist below the table.

He also tips generously, in cash, and didn't mind me flirting with the boy who made our Porn Star Martinis.

He's probably a bit quiet for my liking, but that also reminds me of Nice Ex, as some of his other qualities do: He was born in the same year (I'm guessing), has a very attractive smile and eyes that light up when I make him laugh, he smells nice and dresses well, he walks on the outside of the kerb and has a good sense of humour. He is innocent in an endearing way, one that comes with a £600k budget to blow on a pad in Chelsea as an alternative to renting. He must be mad, I told him to look elsewhere in London to get more square footage for his pound!

He told me that he and his business partner aim to own a jet in a few years, and I laughed. "Haven't you heard of the three F's?" I asked him, sipping my third Porn Star Martini. "The what?" he replied over the music. "I thought the motto was - 'If it flies, floats or fornicates, rent it'" I enlightened him. Apparently they'd done their maths though and he also doesn't seem the sort to perpetually "rent" his women. At least I hope not!

I am really underchallenged at work right now and decided to take the risk for a bit more blogging, although hormonal-office-horror woman is just back from her meeting and may be staring at my screen if I'm not careful.

So the other weekend I accompanied my friend to an event in a comedy venue, although the theme wasn't meant to be funny... it was a fetish fair followed by a "party".

I arrived fresh off my park date with the blue-blooded boy, dressed in pink silks and a black mac.

Only my shoes were vaguely fetish-y, I mean I didn't completely want to stick out like an overdressed thumb.

I arrived to find the venue look deserted- it was a lock-in and I had to phone my friend to come downstairs to the back door and let me in.

Once inside, there were various contraptions with people tied to them whilst being spanked, caressed or blindfolded and tickled with knives. Slightly more kinky than the glass of wine I had in the pub prior to my arrival! The stark lighting did nothing for my arousal and the whole atmosphere was a bit more London Bridge station than London Dungeon.

My friend's wannabe lover, an exterminator with a rope fetish was busy tying up a braless French girl with oodles of underarm hair to his suspension frame, and a guy with a face mask slapped and kneaded a large lady's bare boobs who was tied to a cross. She giggled and seemed to like it.
A fat bloke received a good paddling stretched across a bench, then a girl with big lacy panties took his place, arse in the air.

The most disturbing sight was perhaps a naked lady walking around with a Zimmer frame!

My friend introduced me to a guy called Paul who looked like an accountant (incl shirt, slacks and large glasses over kind blue eyes), and we got chatting over glasses of wine and some crisps. I was actually hungry, but the venue did nothing to inspire my appetite and the selection on the menue was somewhat limited.

It was my first day back on the "scene" in about 10 years, and although I felt a bit out of place I began to enjoy myself the more I talked to people. Everyone is nice, open-minded and friendly, but they did tend to question my motives for being there.

Since Sally is researching her own book coming with her was my main excuse, but I have to admit that I am curious about the whole BDSM scene and haven't had any experiences to really put me off it for good. While I cannot imagine being in a "lifestyle" relationship (at least not with someone submissive or overly dominant), I am turned on by some aspects of it.
After all, I need something to occupy my mind at a time I want to keep my legs firmly closed!

So I got talking to a guy who trains human pets and ponies.

Hilarious! Remembering how much I always enjoyed "being a horse" as a child, I got more and more drawn in by the conversation and found myself getting curious about checking out his "stables" for myself.
"Trainer Darren" told me about a couple who had come to see him wanting to play ponies, who ended up pulling him around outside in a buggy, wearing bridles and horse hair tails.
"Next time they come to visit, she will be a pussy cat and he will be a puppy", he told me, "and then I will let them fight". I loved the idea, what a laugh! I mean it's not necessarily sexual, just a respite from everyday, mundane life in houses, clothes and offices.

He also has another guy who does his cleaning: A big, burly special forces chap who likes to dress up as a French Maid in full rubber gear. Frilly knickers included. He pays him to clean his house!
Now that is a great niche for tough times, offering to pay people to clean their homes - dressed in fetish gear - I mean who could refuse! Years ago I had a potential naked slave cleaner, but the thought of my flatmates objecting put me off contracting him. Now, however the situation is a bit different in that I have my own place and could schedule the cleaning around my lodger's working hours. She could hardly complain, if the place is clean and it won't cost us anything!?

At the end of the evening, "Paul" drove us home. The comfort of being delivered to my doorstep when it was late and I was a bit tipsy overruled the unease that came from being offered a lift by a guy who was a self-confessed perv. Aren't we all?

I thought I need something to balance out the last, negative post.

Of course, this is a diary and when I am happy I don't feel the need to ramble about it on the internet, so things can be a bit one-sided. I discovered this when editing past posts for the book, and my editor questioned just WHY I liked Tall Boy so much?
So then I had to try and remember all the good things about him, experiences with him that had left me feeling warm and fuzzy, and not annoyed and abandoned.

Same in daily life, I am usually quite happy but only really get the urge to write if I'm not.

Here a few things I am thankful for this week:

- a fabulous Tuesday night with friends and music
- meeting a sexy stranger (friend of a work colleague)
- sitting in the park with my book and sushi on my way home yesterday
- not taking the bike to work today (it's raining!)
- being invited to two dinner parties in one week
- having lunch bought for me by an internet friend I'd so far not got around to meeting
- discovering we share 2 languages
- being hotly pursued by a member of the aristocracy (or well, pursued a little bit)
- finding a hot picture of the sexy stranger on one of my networks
- having a looong weekend to look forward to
- being asked to be a member of a club (woo hoo!)
- not really caring whether I hear from the man-currently-abroad or not
- looking forward to a break on a Greek island with the sexy Doctor
- eating lots of free chocolate eggs at work
- finally getting over that blasted cold
- being chaste... and proud!

I think my chastity mission has been greatly helped by
a) lack of opportunity
Hm, yeah, I am just not that interested in dating/flirting right now...

b) moderating my alcohol intake
Antibiotics... cycling... being sensible... Giving half my wine to a friend to drink... going home on the last tube all helps

c) going back on the Pill.
Having a raging libido to rival Casanova's wouldn't really be fair on me and my determination to keep anyone with questionable motives from getting into my pants, so keeping the fertility hormones in check is the best thing to do. It also stops me from turning into a spotty, moody, hairy monster, thus greatly improving my chances with the opposite sex!

- feeling underchallenged at work...
- the fact that I STILL cannot help but think of that bastard when I try to masturbate...
- not getting enough sleep (again)
- paranoia about publishing date getting closer and not knowing what comes next
- The hole in my dress from disgusting moths
- Wanting to be close to someone but feeling too cynical to allow myself to believe that could be possible within the next few months...
- Loving all men, hating all men...
- that my date on Sunday was SO YOUNG (and not even a date)!
- that I haven't heard from the 29 year old who is abroad for 3 weeks... not even a text
- feeling proound and paranoid, proud and paranoid about the book being on facebook...
- that I can think of a million clothes to buy but my wardrobe's not big enough and I cannot face sorting it out
- that I have no plans for Easter...