Wednesday, 20 December 2006

All in good time

Our bar is always dark. In the 80s it was full of yuppie-rejecting alternatives who talked about death and drunk cheap red wine straight from the bottle. In the 90s it went overground along with underground rock music, and our favourite band partied with us after hours.

Couple in an alley of the Gracia district
Originally uploaded by !subjective¡.
We stumbled in drunkenly, early one midweek evening, when we were the only people there and the place still smelt of yesterday's cigarettes and half-hearted citrus cleaning detergent.

And we went home together, spent the night silently on your rickety single bed in your tiny studio, and listened to records loudly to still the thoughts in our heads, your ashtray resting on my still flat belly.

But today, it's Friday and happy-hour, and although the bar is still quite empty, it will soon be spilling over with bright young things. I haven't seen you for two years. I am hoping you might come, that you will stand next to me in the dark like you used to and look through me with your black eyes.

And somewhere during the third beer you arrive. Somehow, I thought you would have changed more. Last time I saw you, your face was covered with a full beard; your girlfriend likes facial hair.

Now, although she is still by your side, the beard is gone. And your face looks younger, shockingly familiar. Your jaw is slightly wider, but the line of your lips tells me that inside your winter coat and washed-out jeans, your body is still the same, slim, elegant, full of surprises.

My blood rushes from my neck and into my head, out to the very end of my limbs, my hands feel hot and dry, I think I'm blushing. I didn't know I could still blush.

Suddenly, like a 15-year old I'm glad I made an effort to look beautiful, to blowdry my hair into soft waves and to do my dark red lipstick to perfection.

You say hi. You ascertain that I'm still J's girlfriend (I don't need to ask you as your 2nd half is very obviously attached to your left arm). You tell me how your son liked starting school this year (and that he looks nothing like you and very much like his mother).

We don't make it obvious. We talk to other people. But even as we do, I can feel your eyes on the small of my back, on my waist, that narrow point where my hips join my torso. You liked always to hold on to that part.

The bar is filling up. Our friends are all gathered ahead of Christmas, maybe the last one before we all start finally building our lives with homes and children. You were always a step ahead of everyone else, as if your old eyes were forcing your life to catch up with them prematurely.

We're squeezed into a corner, my drink in one hand and my handbag dangling off my naked arm. You say something about my job, it makes me laugh, you put your hand on my arm. Our eyes meet.

You have never left my life completely. I have purged you from my bed where for years you would be the first thing I saw behind my closed eyes in the morning. I have demoted you to a secret corner that I never discuss with anyone, not even J. But you were always there, asking when it would be time for us, me telling you that soon, soon.

Your girlfriend is busy talking to someone else. I slip away towards the toilet, and when I'm out of sight I go around the other side of the bar, making my way through the crowd to the exit. I don't look back.

Outside, I know the air is freezing cold, although strangely (for alchohol related reasons) I don't feel it. I wrap my black pashimina around my shoulders, my nipples immediately harden and I feel the winter draft stroke my nylon stockinged legs. I slip around the corner of the building, into the alley only lit by the fire exit sign of the bar.

You've managed to get there before me. As we kiss, the heat of your tongue makes hairs stand up on my neck. I wish we had time to spend the night together, talking about everything and nothing, waiting for the sun to come up.

But we don't have much time. Our left hands interlace, you push the back of mine against the brick walls and pull my leg up with your right; inside your black coat, you run your hand to the top of my stocking, it is strangely warm on my thigh. You squeeze it, and I push my hips out to meet what I know will be a rock hard bulge in your jeans.

You kiss my neck, and all the blood that went to my head earlier seems to rush to that very spot, it tingles, I feel dizzy. "You know..." you whisper in my ear. But I don't want any words. I remember so many from before, I can't deal with the burden of another sentence tomorrow morning. "Just kiss me, just kiss me." I don't know if it's you saying it, or me.

With my free hand I unbutton your jeans, I put my hand down the back where your buttocks are as firm as I remember them, I grab you, push you in towards me. You are quiet. You were always very quiet. Your cock pushes into my silk skirt, I hoist it up and put you against my naked skin. Your hand joins mine, I feel your cool fingers on my wet pussy, and I can't help it, I moan.

I steer you into me, covered with an artificial sheet of latex that never used to be there when we were younger, and more recless.

Our bodies still know how to move together, as you lift me up and I wrap my legs around you, my back scraping on the brick and concrete as you press towards me, the heat from your cock spreading in my body as I cling onto you.

Our bodies still fit together, so well that life had to work ridiculously hard to separate them and send them to separate ends of the globe.

And that's the last thing I think, before I am engulfed in your darkness, I can only feel your breath, and your hands, and your mouth, your hair brushing my mouth; you smell the same, taste the same, and somehow your hand is in there, caressing my clit as you move slowly, with determination, bringing us to the point from which there is always a return, to someone else.

I think I come, I hear someone groaning, it's you, how your voice still sounds quite unlike you when you climax, you say something but I don't want to hear it, I feel your hot cum running down the inside of my one leg. A part of me somewhere far off smells it, metallic, earthy. Later, I'll wipe it off with snow and wonder if I'm pregnant, my hands red and swollen from the cold.

There are no more words.

I don't feel like crying, like I did when I first saw you with her years ago and knew I had lost you, I just feel like taking your hand and running away from everything, being 17 again, starting over.

But something would happen; a picture of your son or of my boyfriend would slip out of our pockets and there is always a return from this, always a world pulling our bodies apart. Or we would just miss the train. We were never good at being on time, except when orgasming together.

When we're back inside, my friend notices my scraped hand and asks what happened. I'm not sure what I blame, I'm very drunk.

"You should grow your beard back," I hear your girlfriend saying. "I don't even know why you shaved it off. You look so much better with it."

"All in good time," you say.

And that's what I say as I kiss you goodbye and head for the taxi, for J who is sleeping peacefully at home waiting for me, as you help me put my coat on in the crowded bar and you lift my hair softly out of my coat.

"All in good time."

Monday, 18 December 2006

That's all I ask of you

An uncharacteristically uplifted post from me today; my best friend got engaged!

Ironically she called to tell me in midst of a routine "where the hell (if anywhere) is our relationship going" conversation between J and I.

I'm clearly in a "cheesy romance" sort of mood; when I'll get married J and I shall do this song instead of the first dance...
I shed a few tears as she told me, both because I'm so pleased for her and because the contrast between her situation and mine is so stark.

Her and I have been friends forever, and she's really like a sister to me (see, this whole thing has me pulling out all the clichee stops, but it's true!).

Her fiancee is a lovely guy; completely different from her usual "type" and it's clear that she's matured into actually wanting to settle with someone instead of trying to fix them (like I'm prone to).

The conversation between J and I ended with him agreeing we should look at how to finance a potential house buy. Who says peer pressure is always a bad thing!

Bonus Technorati tag:

Sunday, 17 December 2006

Don't speak

I think one of my best friends has been lost...

He's my number one on the list of "all the men I've never slept with", and extremely dear to me; we've been very close for most of my adult life.

I haven't felt like playing
this song since I was about 16, but
somehow it seems right today
Or at least we used to be.

I know that men are notoriously flaky, and I'm not a high maintenance female friend.

But he has started standing me up, he never emails me anymore, never calls.

JR and I used to live together, when I was still with my previous boyfriend. He's the only friend I have who has seen me through all my three live-in boyfriends to date, and I have to say that the notion that I'm losing him is almost as painful as any separation related to those other guys who'd actually seen me naked.

JR always knows what I'm thinking, always says the right thing; he was the first to know that I was dumping my previous boyfriend, he knew it at least three months before I knew it myself.

He helped me get my first proper job and helped me find my footing in London. When I lived abroad and away from him for a year, he came to visit me and we wrote intermittent but extremely long emails to each other until I got back.

I realise this is whingeing. But I'm not asking him to be my surrogate boyfriend. I'm just asking that he has time to meet me at Selfridges for sushi twice a year to make me feel... I don't know, understood.

I was there for him when he almost broke up with his now fiancee (the breakup lasted all of six hours), and I can see now that this is when the "breakup" between me and him started.

Maybe seeing me is too much of a reminder of all that is lacking in his relationship with his girlfriend. Sounds arrogant, but she and I really are complete opposites in every way, and I think he knows that he's chosen her with his head and longing for security rather than with his heart.

I rang him to see if he had time for lunch the other day; he cried off when I was in the restaurant already waiting for him. When I came home and told J, he just said he wasn't surprised. And I realise he's right. JR's life doesn't have a space for me anymore.

Right as I was getting together with J, I was planning to move back together with JR as he was going to dump his girlfriend with whom he was sharing at the time; I was between flats and it seemed like a good idea. I conselled him through the months leading to the planned breakup at Christmas; he was really upset and we were on the phone loads.

Then, of course, he ended up not breaking up with her at all. For reasons I've never really understood, I felt incredibly betrayed and upset. I knew in a way that he would slide away from me, that he'd chosen his girlfriend over me when I hadn't even realised there was a choice to be made.

The summer after, we went on several weekend trips together; I met his family for the first time and everything seemed fine.

But I see now that it wasn't. It's as if that summer was his long goodbye; since then he's been more and more distant. There was never an argument or a falling out, he's just drifting away.

A few months ago, he sent me a one-line email a few months ago saying he was engaged. I almost fell off my chair. Only a month prior to that he was still debating whether or not he wanted to stay with his girlfriend. But I was happy for him, and still am. He has made a choice and that's always better than living in emotional limbo.

As I'm sitting here writing, I am coming to wonder if he felt that I betrayed him when I got together with J. When we first got together, he never thought it would last, and maybe subconsciously thought that finally we'd both be alone, together, as it were. And then I stayed with J, and the chance passed.

JR is my soulmate and will probably always be. But I guess a girl just can't ever have everything she wishes for in life. I chose J, and my best friend has unchosen me. I'm really hoping it's worth it in the long run.

:: ::

Saturday, 16 December 2006

Next Christmas...

I openly admit it, I'm getting broody. I'm not even entirely sure why this is. I mean, clearly I'm nearing the big 3-0 and it's probably partly a biological thing, but even outside that...

Someday, I hope this is me
Originally uploaded by mestes76.
I was never a girly girl when I was little; I wanted to see the world and have an exciting job; the idea of having a nice house, a volvo and 2.1 kids with the working husband never really attracted me.

But all of a sudden, it's different. I've seen the world, I've had the exciting job, and there is something missing in my life.

And please don't say it's religion; despite being probably the crappiest Christian in the world, I am just a tad bit religious.

My best friend just visited; she bought a house last year with her boyfriend and is finally in a permanent job she likes. She's come off the pill and they plan to seriously start trying for a baby after Easter next year.

And I'm dead jealous.

It's not that I envy her in that way where I think I would deserve it more than she does, it's just that I wish I had the same.

Another quite interesting point; she has really strayed from what has always been her type in men (athletic and pretty, but flaky) to someone who is clearly better father material. Her present boyfriend is just miles ahead of any of her previous ones, despite not being quite as "exciting" as I'm sure some of them were.

I, on the other hand, have not matured enough to break out of my aforementioned cycle of needy/unavailable men.

But having said that, I think partly the reason I feel so strongly about settling is because of J, because I really believe I would have a hard time finding someone better. And I mean not just what he could be if he weren't depressed etc; I mean who he is.

Today we went to see his family to exchange Christmas presents (I love him, but not enough to want to sacrifice a holiday with my much less conflict-filled family), and it was actually really lovely. His mum, who dislikes everyone including me, wasn't there, and his brother, partner and children are really pleasant people.

They are at the moment debating whether they should invite the mum over for Christmas; they feel guilty not doing it but also don't really want her around. Tricky. Do you act like a dutiful child, and please the mother but ruin the holiday for your own kids? Tough call. And before you ask, there really is no way to please everyone in this instance.

And on top of this nice family evening there is of course my rather insecure job situation.

It just really made me wish I had something to hold on to, something fixed. As we were driving back, I said to J that my goal for next year is to celebrate Christmas with all of my family, and all of his, in a house of my own.

I know it's a long shot, but he squeezed my hand and said "I think that's a really good thing to aim for."

I have realised that I want to have children alongside my friends; to be able to go on theme park holidays together and to go for skiing trips that only last for 2.5 km because all the kids get tired and want to play in the snow instead. And I want to have kids before I'm too old to run after them and stay up all night worrying about them.

I want to be able to wake up in my own house, to plant perennial flowers in my own garden, to invite my parents to stay for as long as they please.

It's going to be a tough call if I have to choose between that and J.

Thursday, 14 December 2006

Am I really a fixer?

Notting Hill Tube
Originally uploaded by juliaclairejackson.
Err, yes.

My first live-in boyfriend was gay. Although even I was not hoping to fix his gayness (which was well established before we got together), I was hoping to fix all those other things that went with it; the crying in the night, his feelings of worthlessness. I made him come out to his mum. It was horrible at the time, but I think in the long run it was the right thing to do.

And at the end, when we were both with other men, I continued to counsel him about his new relationship (it turned out he was a bit of a fixer himself and found someone even more fucked up to be with).

At one point he told me that he probably wouldn't be alive if it weren't for me. He certainly wouldn't have graduated from university without me. All good nurturing of my "fixing fetish", of course.

The boyfriend after was completely fixed and loved me to bits, and guess what, I got so bored I dumped him after about three years, and even then I had been suffering in silence for about a third of our relationship.

J, as my faithful readers will know (and those who don't, a quick dip into the archive should prove my point) is completely emotionally unavailable.

So, yes, why do I stay with men who don't actually want me? It's a pattern that started early in life; my first and biggest love was a lovely boy but he clearly didn't want to be with me, not really. I kept telling myself that he eventually would come around to it, and I guess he did, but by then I was tied up with live-in boyfriend #2 and couldn't really jump ship. By the time I did, he'd found someone else (again).

With this first love, I think he didn't want me largely because I didn't want to save him. I was wiser when I was younger, see?

He came from an alcoholised family and had way too much responsibility put on his scrawny shoulders from very early on, and I think he just sorely wanted someone to fix him, put him together right. The biggest love of his life was a nurse, and otherwise he cycled through older women and others who were destined to try to fix him. Which of course didn't work.

So maybe after him I thought that if a man was to want me, I'd have to be willing to put in some hard work and "fix" him. Although with J, I don't want to "fix" him, I don't really want him to be different.

Sure, there are things that really irritate me about him, like he leaves marks on the dishes after doing them and wants the bedroom to be warm, not cold (bedrooms should be cold! How obvious is that!!).

But on the whole, I think he's a great guy. All I want is for him to love me (and give me beautiful multicultural children and a large house by the seaside). I want him to be happy, to be well. And I actually think that if I really thought he'd be happier without me, I would leave.

At the very beginning of our relationship when I was despairing because he "wasn't ready for a relationship right now" (an look, now we're living together; this girl does tend to get her way), I called Gay Ex.

"You might as well persevere," he said. "If you give up, you'll just meet another guy who's just the same."

"Why can't I just meet someone nice and normal," I whinged. Especially upsetting at the time since J seemed so normal and nice when we first met; I couldn't believe my luck, but clearly my unconscious fucked-up guy radar got the better of me still.

"Because then you'd be bored," Gay Ex said. I remind myself of that sometimes, because I think it's true.

Plus, third time lucky. I don't feel like ever having to get used to living with a new person again, it's too much work having to fit them into your life, your family, your circle of friends. I'd rather be single. Seriously.

And, obviously, I can fix him. I know I can.

Tuesday, 12 December 2006

The power of the music of the night

I was just reading Cosmo in the bathroom (not cause I'm ashamed of it, just cause it fits so well on top of the radiator) and it had this article of "nine men you need to date before you meet Mr Right" kind of thing.

Reading it, I realised I've actually gone through all nine. They included someone older, someone younger, a party guy, a stunner, a bachelor... all the usual.

Then, of course, there was "the wounded guy". Is there any way to turn "the wounded guy" into Mr Right? Or am I butting my head against the wall here?

J is clearly Wounded. In Cosmo (a source of authority, I'm sure you'll all agree), it says that you can never really make it with wounded man until he's ready to be saved. That he'll never be able to let anyone in close enough to have a relationship.

And sometimes with J I really wonder. I feel so distant from him, it's not like I don't know what's going on in my head, but it's a bit like he doesn't really care what I think or know, he's just preoccupied with helping himself.

I remember looking at my best male friend's relationship and thinking how odd it was that they never seemed to be quite relaxed around each other, and in a way I feel that J and I are the same way.

I'm always slightly on guard around him not to say anything to harm his sensitive feelings, and he's always on guard because... well, I'm not sure really. But he definitely is. And I realise a relationship can't function like that in the long run.

Liking a wounded guy is so juvenile. Clearly I have a type and I'm stuck in a rut; the men I've loved, not the ones I've dated, the ones I've really loved, have all been beautiful, immensely intelligent but ultimately emotionally unavailable. I don't know why I do it, it's as if I'm punishing myself.

Yet I can't give up, not on J. I love him and I don't want to have to be without him. I don't want to save him, I just want to make him want to save himself. I just don't know how.

Thursday, 7 December 2006

Spanking surprise

There is only one thing worse than being on a holiday with a bunch of couples. And that thing is when you're the only one there who's not in a couple.

about to get spanked
Originally uploaded by rkb1
We'd been staying in a rather nice hotel in London, very cheaply, as one of my friends, Nick, had gotten a new girlfriend whose father was very well off and clearly in some way related to the owners of the hotel chain.

Everyone had a double room, and possibly the only good thing about having left my boyfriend at home was that I could frolic around in the massive double bed (new sheets every day... oh yeah) all by myself, sleeping diagonally and not taking anyone else's quality of sleep into account.

Nick and the well-connected girlfriend, Poppy, were sleeping in the room next to mine. They've only been going out for about six months and I was expecting them to be at it like rabbits. However I hadn't heard a sound from next door the whole time during our stay there, which only went to strengthen my belief that he was crap in bed (hence me never having gone there myself).

As Friday night arrived, everyone else was going out for a meal and clubbing, and were begging me to come along. But here I drew the line. I take back what I said about couples holidays being the worst. I actually think being the only single person in a group out clubbing is possibly worse. I told them I was taking a moment with myself and the jacuzzi, and locked the door (on which Nick and my other most party-prone friend Annabel proceeded to knock for at least ten minutes, telling me what a great time I'd be missing).

I succeeded in almost falling asleep in the jacuzzi and when I woke, the water had gone rather cold. I had just put on my underwear (new and very sexy as a surprise for the deserting boyfriend) and was admiring myself in the mirror while blow-drying my hair when I thought I heard something in the bedroom.

I switched off the hair dryer and listened again, just in time to hear a door close. My heart jumped. I could swear I'd locked the front door, or it wouldn't have withstood Annabel and Nick for so long.

Like a scantily clad slut in a horror movie, clinging to my hairdryer like some kind of feeble weapon, I tried to call out "who's there", but the jacuzzi nap had made my voice completely husky, and it didn't carry.

A shadow fell on the bathroom floor. I screamed (yes, I admit, I watch too many horror flicks. Shoot me) and shut my eyes. When I opened them, I saw a bemused Poppy standing in the doorway.

"I didn't mean to recreate that scene from Psycho," she laughed.

I, on the other hand, was not amused. "You scared me shitless," I shouted. "I thought you'd all gone out by now!"

"I didn't feel like another night on the town," she said. I realised she was only wearing a rather girlish and simultaneously frumpy white night gown, and I briefly noted that as a potential reason for the lack of noise from next door.

"Well, you could have just knocked, you know," I said, still not wanting to make friends. We had hardly exchanged a word the whole time we'd been there, as she'd been too busy holding Nick's hand. I wasn't even sure if I really liked her. She had the kind of chestnut wavy hair that I'd always wanted, and the pale, soft shape I spent hours at the gym trying to avoid. And she was, obvoiusly, unbearably posh.

"I did knock," she said. "You just didn't hear me." She pointed to the hair dryer.

Just as I was wondering again how she'd gotten in, I spotted an open door on the opposite wall. She'd entered through the door between my room and theirs.

"Well, can I do anything for you?" I said curtly, and resumed brushing my hair.

"I think you should spank me with that hairbrush for scaring you so badly," she said in a cheekier tone than her outfit had prepared me for, while sticking her round bum towards me.

And for some reason, I did it. I felt just a little bit irritated with her, and as I swung the back of the wooden paddle brush towards the white cotton covering her arse, I put more power into it than I had intended. It hit her flesh with a wet slap, I could feel the impact reverberate in my hand.

"Do it again," she giggled. Oh, so you think it's funny, I thought. I hit her again, not trying to hold back this time. I felt her flesh move under the brush. I wasn't quite sure, but I thought I heard a small moan escape from her pink lips. I felt the blood rush to my head. What if I'd really hurt her?

Without looking at me she left the bathroom, but instead of going to her own room like I'd anticipated, she crawled onto the white sheets on my bed on all four and put her arse in the air. "Please, punish me. I've been a bad girl," she said, barely audibly.

I drew my breath, and wanted to tell her I couldn't, that I was sorry. But before I could, she lifted her arm and punched the bed. "Please, spank me," she repeated. "I need to be... Please..." The last please was no more than a whisper.

I walked over to the bed and kneeled next to it. I felt a strange rush of blood to my crotch at the sight of her round behind straining against the white nightgown. I could see the outline of underwear underneath and caught myself wondering what colour they were.

As I lifted the brush to spank her again, I put a hand on her bum. I'd of course touched women's bottoms before, but this was different. It was already hot from the previous impacts, and to my surprise, I felt my cunt twitch slightly. I was getting off on this.

To stop myself from thinking about it, I started spanking her, again and again hitting her flesh. There was no doubt about it, she liked it. The little moan I had heard in the bathroom escaped from her mouth each time she felt the brush on her bum. I teased her with the spanking, taking irregular breaks and making her beg to be punished more.

My new black silk panties were becoming increasingly wet. I wanted to see more of Poppy, to feel more of her. I lifted the gown up to expose a perfectly pale arse, reddened by the spanking and encased in bright red and pink lacy underwear, dividing each bum cheek in half. So I guess the white cotton dress was a bit of a dupe...

While I kept hitting her naked skin with my right hand, I slid my left hand up the inside of her right thigh. Her skin was unbelievably smooth; hairless and hot. "Oh god, oh I'm such a bad girl," she groaned. My hand hadn't even reached what I anticipated would be an extremely willing cunt when I felt moisture; the whole crotch area of her panties was dark with her sticky juices.

"I'm going to punish you even more, Poppy," I said. "I don't think spanking you is enough." "Yes, I deserve it, I deserve it," she whimpered. I pulled her underwear to the side, to reveal that she'd clearly had a full wax when we went to a spa the day before. Her cunt was swollen and dark red, bathed in juices and her clit was like a rock hard marble waiting to be caressed. But I wasn't going to let her off so easy.

While I kept the hair brush at work, I stuck my two first fingers straight into her tight cave. I could feel her pulsate around them each time I came down on her, and to my surprise I felt my nipples strain against my bra, my cunt crying out for attention.

Poppy reached back with her hands and pulled her wet underwear further to the side, pulling her bum cheeks apart. Her pink, wrinkled arsehole was almost exactly the same colour as her lips. "I'm a slut," she said. "The hairbrush. I'm an arse slut." I stopped spanking her. The idea of entering her behind turned me on even more.

I leaned forward and licked her arsehole, she smelt sweet and I could taste her salty cunt even there, prodding her star with my tongue while I kept working her vagina with my hand. Her arse was so tight I had no idea if it could accommodate anything. But I wanted to penetrate her, badly.

I pushed the round, warm wooden end of my hair brush against her arsehole. She pushed sharply towards it, and to my amazement took it all inside her as far as it would go. She let out a gutteral sound, and I started fucking her with my hand and the brush, I could feel myself getting more and more worked up. I wanted to cum, I wanted us both to cum. I wanted to...

Just as I thought I couldn't take any more, she moved forward, out of reach from me. I whimpered as her hot cunt left my hand. She turned around on her back. "Take me," she said simply. "Please. Do whatever you want with me."

I tore her night gown off, and her volupuous breasts, her nipples completely stiff inside their pink areaolae, pointed upwards and to the side as she spread her legs. Slowly, I lowered myself over her, her soft belly stroking my aching nipples. I took one of hers on my mouth and bit down quite hard, I wanted to fill my mouth with her lovely breasts, but most of all I wanted the fire in my cunt stoked.

I hoisted myself up further, till my crotch was level with her head. "Please sit on my face," she said. And so I did. Her hot, long tongue started caressing my wet crack, she put it flat against the whole area from my clit to my damp cave and wiggled her head, moaning loudly.

I rubbed on her lips and tongue, licking my own nipples, in what was possibly the most sensational feeling I've ever had. I felt her arm move next to my thigh. "Don't you dare touch yourself," I moaned. She instantly stopped, but was so hot now she couldn't lie still. In lieu of her hand, she tried rubbing her thighs together to feed her hunger.

I was going to cum, and she knew it. I felt her long tongue enter my cunt, flicking in and out, reaching for my g-spot, and came violently, golden juices flushing all across her face, grabbing on to her head and pushing it to my cunt harder, faster.

Then I rolled off her and pulled her on top of me, putting my hand on her cunt and my leg pushing it into her harder. Her firm, slippery clit was swathed in its swollen cunt lips, and my whole hand and thigh was instantly covered in her wetness. She started gyrating and I finally kissed her, her lips salty with my own juices, her brown hair sticking to her face with cum and sweat. She was an amazing kisser, and I felt her hands on my bum, her nails digging into me as she rode my hand in a frenzy.

I was going to cum again, but I wanted to wait for her. Fortunately I didn't have to wait for long, as I suddenly felt a gush of wetness on my hand while her whole body went hard against mine, and I thrust my tongue deep into her mouth to stop our screams as I came again, all over her silky thigh.

As soon as she'd stopped cumming I pushed her off me and went down to return her earlier oral favour, she begged me to stop, saying she couldn't take it anymore, but the flavour of her juices was too good, I didn't want to stop. Rubbing myself frantically we came almost simultaneously again. I felt the room white out, a red haze lowering over my eyes.

When I came to, Poppy was sitting on the bed, holding a cold cloth to my forehead. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so bad." I could tell she really meant it this time. "It's my fault," I said in a moment of genuine female guilt sharing. "I shouldn't have... spanked you." As it all came back to me, I was shocked at myself. "I don't normally..." we both said at the same time.

"I think I'm a freak," Poppy said quietly. "I get off on it, really badly, I can't stop myself."

"But there's nothing wrong with it," I said.

"Nick thinks there is," she whispered. "He won't... And it's the only way I can..." She stopped. Suddenly I started understanding the lack of noise from next door a little better.

"I enjoy it with him. I mean, he has a huge... bank account." She winked at me. "But I just can't..." she cast her still flushed look down towards her crotch. "...Cum." I said. She nodded.

And there and then I knew I'd have to have a word with Nick. With most of the details brushed out, obviously. And, Christmas is only a few weeks away, and they're definitely getting a leather paddle for a present. Or at least a nice hair brush...

Bonus Technorati tag:

Monday, 20 November 2006

Placebo effect?

Originally uploaded by gsmattingly.
...although frankly, I don't care at this stage. Thanks to all of you who were supportive earlier, it helps

After a few weeks of what I'd describe of absolute "anxious depression in live-in partner" type antics, J finally seems to be feeling a little better.

Oddly, this kind of thing doesn't appear to be in any way a catalys for change. J's state of mind is rather cyclical; last time he was this bad was probably shortly after we met. He was a complete wreck and didn't eat anything for about two months. And even though it's tiring, I'm not sure if in the end it would give me the push to leave if that's what I wanted to do.

At any rate, better now. He suddenly remembered that his ex-therapist (who genrerally did cognitive-analytical work which doesn't seem to have helped much in the long term despite providing relief at the time) had recommended valerian as a sleep aid.

So we went to Boots to get some, and lo and behold, last night provided the first night of unbroken sleep I've had by his side for at least a few months.

Without having read very much about valerian, I suspect it all might be a placebo effect, but hey, who cares as long as we're both sleeping better.

At times I've slept in the guest bed not to be awoken, and on those days when I've had 7 hrs unbroken sleep, I really recognise bits of my old self in the daytime. I'm optimistic, extroverted, I care enough to wax my legs and armpits and see the good in everyone. And I take J's depression less seriously.

It could of course just be a happy blip, as obviously his state of mind is in constant flux, but I'm hoping we've hit rock bottom and bounced back with a vengeance.

Friday, 17 November 2006


ground leaves
Originally uploaded by *evil beth*.

I can't believe it. I actually issued an ultimatum to J today; either he sorts himself out or I'll leave.

I've realised that at the moment I'm working full time plus doing about 15 hours a week extra ahead of my "career change", and I could really do without having to be the pseudo-therapist of my boyfriend at the same time.

J is like an alcoholic. He clings to his negative and obsessive thinking in the same way a drunk will cling to a bottle of listerine. His obsessions are the only thing that are true, that matter; everything else is unsure and he doesn't trust it.

Today he woke me at 0600 (on my day off!!!) to ask me what he needs to do re. the job he started a week ago; the obsession for the three last months has been that he'll be unable to do it.

It's the first time this has happened. He sometimes wakes me accidentally because he can't sleep, but he's never purposefully woken me before.

Of course he's looking for reassurance; that's what obsessives do. But through my sleep-deprivation (I've had early starts all week and was really needing to catch up), it dawned on me that it wasn't him talking. It was his obsession.

Yet he won't give it up. Many times, yes, sometimes in situations like this when he's obviously beyond contact, but also in other cases, when he's calm, I've talked to him about the fact that I don't think he'll get better until he admits that his obsessions are a foe, not a friend, and that he'll have to give them up.

Underlying it all is of course his fundamental lack of self-confidence, but it's hard to get at that without addressing the "symptoms" first, as the cycle has to be broken somewhere and it's hard to just "inject" someone with confidence.

After about 30 min of semi-arguing, I decided to go and watch a DVD to calm down. He got ready for work and came downstairs to chat some more.

I told him what I'd decided. Unless he faces up to his denial and admits that he has to let go of the unhelpful thoughts, and that they are in fact making him worse rather than improving the situation; unless he admits that the obsessing, rather than his base ability to do his job, is the problem, I'm leaving.

If he wants to run himself into the ground, I can't watch it. I need stability, I'm taking a big leap in my life in a few months and I can't do with any dead weight when doing it.

I love him, and it hurt when I said it, and maybe I won't go through with it. I'm hoping I won't have to. But at this stage, I don't know what else to do. I guess sometimes love just ain't enough.

Tuesday, 14 November 2006

Break my heart, why don't you

Why is it that dumping someone is so painful? Can I just calm you all straight away by saying that the masochist in me finds it more pain-inducing to stay with J than to leave, so for the time being that's what I'm doing.

But anyway.

Breaking someone's heart is awful. I don't know what it is about it. Maybe I'm just a softie. Apart from this one guy who straight up stalked me after I'd slept with him, I've always had problems rejecting people outright.

When I say rejecting, I don't mean denying them sex; I mean actually telling them I don't like them. That way. Or sometimes not at all.

I talked to my former depressed flatmate (formerly flatmate, she still sounded quite depressed) yesterday. She was telling me all about her ex-lover who told her he didn't want a relationship after a few intense weeks of togetherness (they both worked on a cruise ship; it's like a co-ed boarding school), then dumped her and went out with a girl she'd hitherto thought of as her friend a few weeks later.

Now obviously any good friend would loudly exclaim what an arsehole this guy obviously is.

But for some reason I don't see him as evil; he is merely a coward and has taken advantage of her obvious affection.

It is difficult to reject someone, especially if they're reasonably attractive and throwing themselves at you like uncovered meat to the cats (Australian preacher's description of Western-style dressed women).

It's even more difficult if you actually like them. Just not like *that*.

So all I actually ended up thinking (but fortunately managed to keep myself from saying) was that how the hell can anyone be so naive after the age of 20.

"I don't understand why he doesn't want to be with me," she was moaning. "We got on really well."

I hate to quite pop-psych literature, but honestly, woman, "he's just not that into you".

Basically I just felt sorry for the guy, who's probably been dropping all kinds of inept boy-hints before the fact. My flatmate, although a lovely girl, is completely impervious to hints. Guy doesn't want to spend the night / meet her friends / make any plans for next weekend? He must just be "tired".

So what do I do? I really want to tell her, but am worried that even saying this gently will just come across mean. I'm just getting tired of watching her run herself into the ground time and time again. He probably wasn't worth her affection anyway, but that's hardly the point here.

Be a commitment phobe all you want, but at least have the decency to say it. It's like ripping off a plaster; best done in one go rather than over weeks of painful peeling and pondering.

Monday, 30 October 2006

Whaddaya know...

In a comments discussion on my previous post about depression (causes and fixes -still open to suggestions here...) my dear blogging veteran friend WDKY got me onto the following thought: Is our relentless search for "truth" about ourselves actually undermining rather than contributing to our happiness?

When we were in Brighton the inadequacy
was "lack of Best Man abilities"
Originally uploaded by unkle_sam.

Or is it just that knowing the truth also has to come with some kind of "couldn't care less"-ness?

It is a strange yet proven fact that depressives have a more accurate image of how other people perceive them than do normals (see ancient Psychology Today article on the topic here).

It appears that it's not good for us to know exactly how smart/stupid or liked/resented we are.

Obviously depression also comes from wanting 10/10 people to love you when actually 1 maybe will and at least 7 could not give a fuck. And from wanting to perform every single task 100% perfect (impossible even for a self-confessed superwoman like me).

To cope with life one has to focus one's efforts and not be bothered that there are limitations (for instance I focus on giving good blowjobs and being in a good mood at work; I don't care so much about putting on make-up every morning).

I am not saying that to be happy one has to swan around in complete self-unawareness, but I guess the awareness has to be coupled with a certain degree of couldn't give a fuck. Why is this? What psychological or evolutionary advantage does the apparent survival tool of optimism serve (J would of course describe it as unrealistic-ness)?

Is it because only the curios, chance-taking cavemen survived when they were forced to adapt to changing environments and coming and going ice ages?

Whereas the pessimistic "it won't go down well anyway, so I might as well not migrate south and stay where I am" cavemen froze to death in their comfortable cave, 7 out of 10 optimistic cavemen (and women) froze to death uncomfortably on their way south.

But three of them made it.

And I guess most of us descend from those three.

I guess it also serves a sociological function to be optimistic of own abilities and to what extent one is liked by other people.

If everyone went around focussing on the fact that, on average, we have only a 1 or 2 in 10 chance of being liked by others, walking into rooms of strangers and speaking in front of crowds might seem more daunting and we wouldn't do it, which would make existing as a society nigh on impossible.

Maybe that's also why we're so fascinated by celebrities; we get the impression that at least 8 out of 10 people adore them, and even the two that don't at least give them the privelege of being actively hated rather than largely ignored. So we like them because they help us ignore the truth that most people sadly don't like us.

But the fact of the matter is that 2/10 is enough for all of us. I surround myself with a group of close friends, my loving family, my (possibly) loving J. That's enough for me. I don't need every single one of my collagues to think I'm clever; I know how clever I am and I'm clever enough for me. Etc. Not only do we not achieve having a positive image in the eyes of everyone else, we practically speaking don't need it.

But maybe it's good not to focus too much on that.

J is on his way home for a lovely baked potato with home-made ratatouille (made by himself, I'm hoping); I hope in time being liked by me and his friends and family will be adequate for him, and the fact that there are things he could have done that he didn't may not matter so acutely anymore.

Sunday, 29 October 2006

Dragging me down

Originally uploaded by nozzman.
J has been depressed to a greater or lesser extent for about half his life now. That's a pretty harsh predicament. I can see how that would make anyone feel hopeless.

For the past couple of days, J and I have had little therapy sessions at our dining table after supper (I don't really say 'supper'; I just put that in for the sake of variety in the sentence, honest!).

He was feeling despondent a few days ago after yet another fruitless visit to his therapist; I really don't think she's doing too hot of a job.

I am by no means expecting her to do wonders, and of course he needs to put in some work himself, but he really does, and it doesn't seem to be helping anyway.

We had a chat about the concept of depression; what causes it and how it feeds itself.

After talking about cycles of negative thinking and unhelpful responses to situations etc, I have arrived at the conclusion that he really is terrified of giving up his negative thoughts.

I think it's kind of like an alcoholic; watching their life fall apart around them, yet refusing to give up the drink, because the drink is the only secure and safe element in a crumbling existence.

How do you tell someone, nay, convince them (J insists he must be convinced) that the way they're thinking is in fact wrong and making them feel bad?

How do you convince someone that their incredibly low self-worth does not correspond to reality?

The fact of the matter is that depressed people have a more accurate view of themselves and how people see them, than do healthy people.

So how can I tell J to let go of the overly realistic thoughts and become mildly delusional instead (i.e. a 'positive thinker')?

We also discussed his completely unrealistic expectations of life and himself; his black and white thinking leads him to think he's "a complete failure" because he is in a less challenging position jobwise than his friends, all of whom are of course graduates from a very top university and thus completely unrepresentative of the general population.

When we discuss these things, he always says: "I'm not being negative. I'm just being realistic." And in a way that's true. Despite being completely fine, he has perhaps to some extent underachieved in life; a common consequence of depression. But rather than feeling like a complete failure, he has to force himself to count his blessings.

I don't want you to think that J is some kind of self-pitying moaning wreck, because he's not. I just don't know how to convince him to take some things on fate and give himself a break.

Saturday, 28 October 2006

Being bold

I came across this in a Blogexplosion blog but forgot to copy the address for the link... However if you see this, Nicole, leave a comment and I'll link back to you!

***Update*** Thanks to kind commenter Bun-Girl for leaving me the link for Nicole!

Originally uploaded by thinkDraw

I usually don't do this kind of thing, but this list was just so compelling that I couldn't resist.

Basically, bold the bits you've done and pass it on... Turns out I've achieved more than I thought, but maybe that's because this is an American list, so speaking a foreign language is actually seen as an achievement...

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said “I love you” and meant it
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. Seen the Northern Lights

15. Gone to a huge sports game
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby’s diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger - No, but I've been asked out by one... Does that count?
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can

32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Had two hard drives for your computer
40. Visited all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was drunk
42. Had/Have amazing friends
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
44. Watched whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe
47. Taken a road-trip
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them
54. Visited Japan
55. Milked a cow
56. Alphabetized your cds
57. Pretended to be a superhero
58. Sung karaoke
59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Played touch football

61. Gone scuba diving
62. Kissed in the rain
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater
66. Visited the Great Wall of China
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken - I find it's mostly chipped away bit by bit these days...
69. Toured ancient sites
70. Taken a martial arts class
71. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie
74. Crashed a party
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo
81. Rafted the snake river
82. Been on television news programs as an “expert”
83. Gotten flowers for no reason
84. Performed on stage
85. Been to Las Vegas
86. Recorded music
87. Eaten shark
88. Kissed on the first date - Isn't that what makes it a 'date'??
89. Gone to Thailand
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one/both of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently
95. Performed in a Rocky Horror Picture Show
96. Raised children
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
98. Passed out cold
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
- OK, so I drove. Tough luck.
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived
105. Wrote articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds - Money, not weight.
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Touched a stingray
110. Broken someone’s heart
111. Helped an animal give birth
112. Won money on a TV game show
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a facial part pierced other than your ears
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
118. Ridden a horse
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi
128. Had your picture in the newspaper
129. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Touched a cockroach
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes
134. Read “The Iliad”
135. Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. Built your own PC from parts
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair
146. Dyed your hair
147. Been a DJ
148. Shaved your head
149. Caused a car accident
150. Saved someone’s life

Friday, 27 October 2006

One down...

I came back from my holiday to find an email from my possibly best male friend JR (he tops the "All the men I've never slept with" list and is as such extremely dear to me).

Originally uploaded by sato sugar.
It contained only six words: "So I am engaged to [insert middle-class English girls name here]".

The horror. I know he doesn't love her. He just turned 27 and she is his first live-in girlfriend. I don't know how this can be. Did she propose to him, or he to her? Have they set a date yet? Is this the point of no return? Can I be a bridesmaid (I know at least the answer to that last question; a resounding NO! as the bride detests me)?

Or am I just being jealous and small-minded, wanting him all to myself?

I don't know.

But for some reason that email reads more like a cry for help than a cause for celebration.

I love JR dearly. We haven't seen each other very much lately, both busy in new jobs and me with J. But for some reason his email hit me like a hammer.

Maybe it's because he's the first man that I've loved who's chosen to get married to someone else.

Maybe it makes me feel anxious because J doesn't want to get married to me and I've subconsciously seen JR as a fallback position (one can never have too many fallback positions).

Or maybe there really is something wrong; I'm really worried there is something wrong, that he doesn't want to but has somehow been talked into it. Two years ago he broke up with her (for a pathetic 6 hours, but still) and as recently as two months ago he was still debating whether he actually wanted to stay with her at all.

They have been together for ages now; almost five years, and I can see that it was make it or break it time, especially for her as she's a little older and is probably thinking babies etc.

But most of all I think it is my fear of closed doors which makes me feel so intensely uneasy.

The only place in which I like closed doors is in my living room to keep it warm.

Having to choose in a way which means the closure of other options really freaks me out.

And I really need to overcome that, put down some roots, close some doors and stop thinking about what I could possibly have if only things were different.

I had hoped that this obsession would stop once I was happily living with someone I love (which I do), but it hasn't; every day I fight the urge to up and leave and look for something which might not be better, but which seems more interesting because I haven't tried it yet.

JR, I vow here in my blog to be happy for you, and, if [insert middle-class English girls name here] allows it, to be at your wedding and shed a happy tear as you walk down the isle. Because if my heart is still breaking by that point, you would be able to tell.

Still. I want you to know that when you get divorced at 47 and haven't spoken to me in decades, I will still be here so we can get drunk on cheap red wine and talk about how wonderful our lives will be when we grow up.

Wednesday, 18 October 2006

J vs Childhood Sweetheart

I just came home from an infrequent meeting with my childhood sweetheart (we spent about 6 stormy months together at the age of 15 and have remained friends ever since). He's as cute as ever and single; I'm genuinely worried about his happiness at the moment.

His girlfriend left him about three years ago, and since then he's broken his golden rule of never having a one-night-stand and generally been extremely unhappy.

I'm feeling really homesick, and I know that I could get back together with him, move back home and have everything I've ever wanted (apart from maybe a fulfilling career; although his father is an academic and has promised to help me get started should I want to pursue that path).

It really drives a stake through my heart to see him so unhappy; I love him deeply and although chances are he'd drive me up the wall after two weeks of living together, I decided to do a comparison. Conclusion to follow in a separate post, so watch this space... And you'll have to scroll or click here for the test itself; for some reason Blogger has put in a lot of space here!

Childhood Sweetheart vs J







Gorgeous, yet cute. Has good head of hair. Has lost weight lately, which is a plus. The 2nd best looking guy I've ever been with, I think. Only minus slightly less tall than some might like.


Ruggedly handsome. Minus for balding. Has put on weight lately, which is also a minus, but big plus for being physically active. Extremely attractive legs.


They are both sultry-looking and dark (as opposed to most of my other partners, strangely). Best feature of each is eyes and kissable lips; worst feature of each probably nose. This is eerie.


We've known each other for 15+ years. He reads my mind which is handy. Doesn't talk much but when he does, it's always worth listening to. Extremely shy with other people; doesn't like strangers.


He sometimes doesn't understand me, and gets touchy when depressed. Talks about himself for hours on end. When we do have conversations, though, he's great and I'm always learning something.


Probably the department in which CB and I are the best match.

Common ground

We both like PlayStation. He is not interested in football or sports in the slightest; great. Loves watching videos and going to the cinema. Has good taste in music and same penchant for guitar rock as me. However great drawback is that he is unlikely to ever humour any of my interests, and he hates horror films so no Buffy. Never ever finishes books he starts. Not big on travelling. We both like cuddles.


Doesn't like PlayStation or any other video games for that matter. Is obsessed with football and sports; future holidays likely to be scheduled around main sports events. Will never be able to go on a fairground ride as he panics just at the thought. Exclusively likes classical music, Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson which is a bit crap. Likes films and importantly is willing to put up with crap B-horror flicks just to please me. Makes an effort to do stuff he knows I like so huge kudos for that. Likes Buffy. Attempts to read.


Bottom line; CB and I have more in common, but J is more willing to work on things. Def. the weakest point of me and CB.

Values and political views

Left-leaning, but a bit capitalist.


Left leaning.


Perhaps tragically this is the department in which J and I are best matched.


Has a tendency to not show up for stuff without telling anyone, or being appallingly late (we are talking hours here) without giving notice. Not very big on formalities or manners. Eats quietly though.


The perfect gentleman in every way, only drawback would be if being too much of a gentleman was an issue. Minor subtraction for being late for stuff (usually about 45 min), though he always calls to apologise, and for making lots of noise while eating.


Again, I find it worrying that their bad points are somewhat similar.


I've never had sex with him (!!). From what I've heard from exes, he's not that interested in sex and prefers cuddles. He kisses like a god, though.


Not really that into sex, but when he gets going, he's amazing. In the top 3 I've ever had, and kisses really well. Smells and tastes nice and is willing to be my sex poodle.


J's minus two are for lack of frequency, which I actually think could be down to his depression. A bit unfair of CB, but hey, not being able to trick me into bed yet; it must mean something.


Has the golden touch. Owns several retail outlets and a lovely partment. Good amount of savings stashed away. However quite stingy in everyday life and unlikely to splurge on expensive meals out except for special occasions.


Will never be loaded, but is extremely organised. Knows where every penny goes and has quite a bit of savings plus inheritance worth taking into account. Frugal yet generous.


CB is enterprising, but J is quite simply the best man I've ever met when it comes to managing money.


Great. They wish I was their daughter and actually like me better than I like him. If we were to get together, they would hand over their recently-refurbished lovely house in a posh area and love me like their own. Yet would stay out of my way and let me do whatever I wanted with my life.


Awful. There is only one, but she hates me, pretty much, and thinks I'm not good enough for her precious. Would also interfere with everything from house buying to child rearing. She's recently made a slight effort and has offered to help us buy a house (which J refuses), so bonus points for that.


This is I think one of my main reasons for liking CB. His parents really are amazing and he gets on with them incredibly well. In-laws don't make or break it in a relationship, but they can certainly give it a firm push in either direction. J's greatest drawback.

Does he love me?

Yes, to bits... but possibly not exactly like that. I'm among his longest-standing friends and he respects me deeply, and there is still a bit of spark there, if only we'd let it be. Would be willing to share his life and fortune with me and be the father of our gorgeous children after a dream wedding to happen asap.


He says no, but if nothing else I think he's in love with me still. There is a definite spark. Reluctant to commit.


Well, here's the rub. Looks like I've matured into wanting to settle for safe rather than crazy "do anything for you" in-loveness.


Both boys score a 10/10 for domesticatedness (J is a better cook but CB is better at general housework, romantic-ness (penchant for deep stares, cuddles, hand-holding, surprises and big presents), personal grooming and hygiene (CB takes the longest to get ready out of any guy I know except my gay ex, and J is a religious morning showerer), religion (neither cares what I think or am), the amount of pain they've caused me in the past and taxi driver abilities (both would pick me up/drop me off anywhere at any given time).




They are both the same... What can I say. It's eerie. And honestly there was no tweaking of sums to make them match up. Or maybe I counted wrong (I'm not very good at counting. Should J get a brownie point for amazing mental aritmethic?)? So should a girl follow her heart and stay put, or follow her head and come home..?/td>

Friday, 13 October 2006


I mean the film. It's probably the most depressing piece of celluloid I've watched since "5x2" (that is "cinq fois deux" or something to you and me).

"If you believe in love at first sight, you never stop looking"
Something tells me that the director took the most painful breakups of his life (although let's face it, they're all painful) and amalgamated them into a film, only softened by the unrealistically good looks of the protagonists.

It was an interesting film too though; posing not very profound but quite poignant questions about what love is. What is the difference between falling in love, in lust or actually loving someone? Is there a difference?

It was kind of like Nick Hornby doing a Woody Allen; it was Manhattan, but a couple of decades on and with better dialogue.

There were a lot of good lines which could have been funny if they weren't so tragic. Things we all think of saying but mostly manage not to. "Why do you love her more than me?" "Because she doesn't need me." Or "He tasted like you, but sweeter." That kind of thing.

I was quite shaken and had to cry a little on J's shoulder before going to sleep.

Somehow I feel stuck between being The Girl in the film (who can just say "I don't love you anymore. Goodbye." and that's it - how nice it used to be to think that this is how love works) and being The Woman (who can be sensible and guilt tripped into making a decision she ultimately doesn't go back on).

I think I feel especially fragile because I broke up with my previous boyfriend around this time of year; or that is, I broke up with him a million times over in my head between October and New Year.

The words didn't make it out of my mouth until January.

I just remember that horrible Christmas; on about Boxing Day even his self-absorbed person realised that something was awfully wrong between us; he cried and I lied (saying I loved him; what else could I do, it was Chrismas!!). And the whole time I couldn't wait to get away from him and for there to be no "us" anymore.

And now I'm worried, deeply worried in that way that haunts your dreams so you wake up with grinding teeth and a headache, that J feels the same way.

He says he doesn't, but then again that's what I said.

Funny how other people lying to me doesn't seem to affect my trust in humanity, whereas me lying to someone clearly does.

At least he doesn't see the need to say that he loves me.

When I ask him if he wants us to stay together, he just hugs me tight and says "All I know is that I want to be happier".

Well, so do I.

But I also want to be closer.

Bonus Technorati tag:

Friday, 6 October 2006

But not like that

I realise I've renamed my blog "an eye for an eye", but I don't really hope to aspire to that principle in a biblical sense.

Iraq, for instance, is really depressing me today.

I think at least 15 US soldiers have died in the last 96 hours. A Danish soldier just died as well from injuries sustained yesterday.

That used to be a Hummer a few seconds ago
It's not the fact that they're "coalition" soldiers that makes their deaths particularly harrowing.

What makes me really shudder is thinking of all the relatively innocent civilians' deaths which are marked by those official military death tolls.

I really have to ask, what do the insurgents want? OK so obviously they want the US "occupation" to leave, but what then?

They have either not comprehended the enormousity of the task that rebuilding Iraq will be, or they don't care.

As attention gradually is diverted from killing US soldiers (which they do remarkably well) to killing each other, Iraq is descending into something which can't really be called civil war, as I'm sure most of the residents really just want to have peace so they can actually make some money from the oil wealth that lies at the root of all of this.

I look at the way the "resistance" run their groups, the way they post boasting "Top 100 Humvee bombings" videos online like immature Myspace kids bragging about getting laid last weekend.

Do they really think that this is what it takes to run a country? I never hear anyone from Ansar Al-Sunnah interviewed on Al-Jazeerah talking about their grand stategy for economy, education, health or anything else that would be central to rebuilding Iraq once the "occupation" is gone and all the "takfiris" eradicated.

I realise that I can't even begin to understand the frustration that some Sunnis in Iraq feel at the country going to the dogs after the fall of Saddam, but they really don't seem to have much of a better idea of how to run the country than the clueless US administration or their corrupt government.

All I can say is that wasting time, lives and resources on launching endless mortar attacks on "the enemy" hardly seems like a very constructive way forward. It is even debatable to what extent Iraq is actually "occupied".

I just re-watched the documentar "Murderball" about the US wheelchair rugby team, and although it is a strong story about the team taking on their arch-rivals Canada, what really sticks in my mind is a scene where they visit a rehab camp for Iraq veterans.

And the "veterans" are all kids. Really, kids. They all look like they're under 20, they are so young.

I'm sure this demographic is also applicable to the Iraq militants, who obviously also get maimed and killed left, right and centre.

The older, more experienced fighters either sit in a bunker directing operations safely away from the action, or are maybe better at avoiding getting injured when out in the field.

Is this the freedom that both Iraqis and the US is fighting for, the right of their young to lose their limbs to their fight of choice?

I wish I could say for sure that there is a better and more sensible way, but all I can say is that for the sake of all the young people of both nations, I really hope there is.

Thursday, 5 October 2006

Light at the end of tunnel

I think I've reached a small turning point.

To a great extent helped by J.

We went to bed tonight for a quickie, but at the end neither of us felt very horny (for him this of course completely normal, but I think you'll agree that it says something quite particular about my late state of mind) and we ended up having an extended cuddle session instead.

Light at the end of tunnel by holla back.

J was telling me about his plans once he starts work after his promotion comes into effect (yes, of course he's got a promotion, he's very clever, you know), saying he plans to stay in his new job for at least 18 months.

I felt very selfish and self-pitying but couldn't keep myself from saying "well, at least you have a plan in one field of your life."

I think it's the whole not knowing where I'll be working or if I'll be a lonely spinster at 30 that really gets to me.

"I know," he said.

"But I want you to know that I will also be staying with you for at least 18 months."

It helped a little.

Maybe it's an age thing, but more and more lately I've been obsessively conscious of how we only have one life. And it's very short.

When I was younger, I didn't really think about it.

I didn't explicitly think that I'd get the chance to have a 30-year long meaningful relationship (including travelling the world, a mortgage and children) with every man I've ever loved at some point, but nor was I explicitly aware that this would be physically impossible.

It really bothers me now; for some reason, the reason probably being my current frame of mind, I just feel an acute sense of loss, that I'll never be with all these wonderful people that I met at the wrong time or the wrong place.

It's not that I'm not happy where I am (OK, I know I'm miserable at the moment, but I do really love J), it's just that... I guess when my heart broke on each of those occasions, what got me through it was thinking that maybe, someday, we'd be able to be together the way we were meant to before circumstances pulled us apart.

Maybe I've followed my head too much and not my heart enough in letting my studies and carreer come between me and those I loved.

I don't mean that this happened to me in relationships where I simply didn't love the other person; I know the difference. It happened when I deeply loved someone that I just couldn't be with right there and then for whatever reason.

And, of course, relationships that are never tested out properly never lose that elusive box-freshness that disappears as soon as you share a fridge with someone for more than six months in a row.

I think I'm experiencing some late 20s growing pains at the moment. It really is very painful. I had a really easy teens, and apparently I'm being punished with a vengeance for not moping a decade ago.

But I'm getting on really well with J. I love him. We could build a wonderful life together, and if I wasn't feeling so down, I wouldn't be hearing all those voices of people I guess I unwittingly thought I'd have the chance to wake up next to at least one more time in my life.

There seems to be light at the end of the tunnel. And yes, I am really hoping it's not a coming train...

Tuesday, 3 October 2006

Same old, same old

Maybe we all only ever get to be in one relationship, ever.

All my relationships have been similar; I love them, they don't love me, after two years I get tired of this or worn out by their problems and I feel I have to leave.

I swear they stare at you
And then I do.

And I think I'm getting to that stage now.

Everything feels heavy today.

It has gotten progressively worse.

This morning, I went for a very lovely country walk with a friend; she's one of these great people who unlike most of the English population is not afraid to get soaked in the rain.

There is something deeply soothing about wading through mud, although there is something deeply disconcerted about being followed by a herd of bullocks for no apparent reason (as we were at one point).

Afterwards, when J came home, we walked to the grocery store and he bought me a whole apple pie despite my vow to slim down a bit (he thinks I don't need to) and then he made an absolutely gorgeous lamb chili which I argued actually tasted like a curry.

And that's when I collapsed. While he was cooking dinner, I gave in to the vague headache I'd felt all day and fell asleep on the sofa.

When I woke, the headache had got worse. And since then I've just felt really depressed. Or when I say 'just', that's actually a lie. I've also been incredibly restless and irritable.

I don't know what it is.

Oh of course I do; of course I know that I'm tired of his lack of commitment, of how all his energy is soaked into the black hole of his depression and low self-esteem.

I'm tired of asking that myriad of question to which the answer is always "I don't know", followed by a lip curl and a shrug.

But I swore to myself two years ago that this would not happen, that this time it wouldn't be it.

And I pray every day that my love for J and his affection for me, which he does express a hundred times a day in his own inadequate way, will be enough to see me through.

But sometimes, like today, I just don't know where I'll take the strength from.

Friday, 29 September 2006

The heart never forgets

She's back!

I'd like to say "with a vengeance", but really I'm just plain ol' back.

But with curtains.
Not much of interest has happened for the last six weeks or so. I'm homesick. I want to move home. J doesn't (and who can blame him).

Sometimes, when things are hard, I dream of just taking all my savings, moving home and slumming it on my parents' floor for a week and then buying a house from the first and best real estate agent I can find (possibly my ex-boyfriend).

Or maybe just moving in with my ex-boyfriend. He's got a really nice flat with a stunning view of the ocean.

A while ago I had a dream. I was standing in a room, it looked like the room I had as a child, but there was no furniture at all in it, just floaty white curtains billowing in the breeze from the open window.

And someone came up behind me, I immediately knew it was the first man I ever loved, and I knew that we had gone through considerable effort to be in that room, alone, together.

I can't remember what he said, I can only remember the weight of his body pushing mine against the window still, that it felt exactly like it used to feel, despite the fact that in waking, I can't even clearly remember what his face looked like.

In my dream every detail of his face was obvious and soft in the evening light, he looked young, but so did I.

He clasped my waist and ran his fingers down the inside of my lower arm. "That's how you like it, isn't it?" he said. "I haven't forgotten."

And neither, it seems, have I.

It has been over a year now since I saw him in real life, and probably almost a decade since we were naked together. Yet I remembered every detail of his body.

We didn't kiss, or make love, because we both have different lives now, and even in my dream we seemed to know that; there was just this painful, bursting pressure in my chest as he lay on my creamy pale carpet and looked up at me.

I can't remember how the dream ended.

The last time I spoke to him properly, face to face, one to one, he was very drunk and I was still with my ex-boyfriend (not the real estate agent).

Will we ever be together, he said. And I said yes. I meant it. I just didn't know how.

Now, mortages and children later, I still hope I wasn't lying.

It is funny, I seem to be able to love men completely separately; the only space in which my love for this man and my love for J intersect is in the part which would feel so guilty if I was ever to fall into temptation that I probably never will.

I think I dreamed of him because when I feel down, that's what I want to go back to. Lying on a bed with an open window to the summer sky, stroking his pale inner arm and really believing that time never runs out.

Saturday, 19 August 2006


For no particular reason at all I've decided to lay this blog to rest. Possibly forever, or maybe just for a little while.

I've lost my blogging mojo for the moment, and see no point in forcing myself to write if I don't feel like it..

To my lovely blogging friends; be well, and I might well be lurking in your comments section from time to time. You have cheered me up no end on those days that were longer than I wanted them to be.

Be back before you know it.

Tuesday, 15 August 2006

Living with depressives

Note; not depression, but depressives... Although B can often lead to A.

I had a chat to my only married friend this morning; she's a very intelligent, very lovely girl who is married to a man who has been severely clinically depressed for the past 18 months.

She says she feels used up.

Bonus Technorati tag:

Wednesday, 9 August 2006

On the topic of slags

I could be called a slag. There, I've said it.

At least as in "I've slept with several men who weren't my boyfriend and duly booted them out the door as soon as it was overwith."

Honey, I need help with the VCR...
I'm not saying I'm proud of it, but I'm certainly not ashamed of it either.

I have one friend who's only had sex with one man; they're now married (although they didn't wait until the wedding night; there was nothing religious about her decision to stick to the one). I don't hold that against her.

But sometimes I just get really pissed off with men's attitude to this. What

Last night, my wonderful neighbours invited me over for an on-the-spur barbecue.

The boy there is a chef, and little by little, as we were enjoying vodka coctails and marinated kangaroo (yes, really, and lovely it was too), his colleagues dropped in to parttake in the feast.

They were all foreign, as bar staff tends to be in England these days, except for one 18 year old English twat.

You could tell straight away that he was trying to hold his own and be 'cool' around people 10 years his senior; obviously he hadn't reached enlightenment and the conclusion that trying to be cool immediately makes you uncool.

He was talking about this girl that my neighbour is pursuing at the moment.

"I keep telling him," he said loudly, "she's a complete slut. She's been passed around like I don't know what."

I object to that on two grounds. What exactly is a slut? Someone who doesn't lie back and think of England, and actually enjoys sex enough to want to have it with several people (potentially at once)?

Secondly, 'been passed around'? No, bottles are 'passed around'. Women aren't, unless you're a human trafficker, group rapist or male chauvinist.

Hopefully, mr School Leaver Incredibly Dumb 18 year old fell only into the latter category.

I confronted him on this. "What exactly makes her a slut?" I said. "Would you call yourself a manwhore if you slept around?"

He was immediately flustered and said that of course he would. Then he said that she had slept with both him, his brother and my neighbour "and that was only the start of it."

"One time she had four boyfriends on the go at once," he said.

Which, I think you'll find, says more about men's immense stupidity than about her sexual morals.

And excuse me, sharing sex partners with your brother? I can't pinpoint it, but something is slightly wrong there. Especially when you boast about it.

I am thinking he only got laid with very few girls (he wasn't very handsome or, as you can probably tell, charming), and is a little upset that she didn't think him very special.

"Have you ever thought that she's probably picked up a few tricks along the way, which could be a good thing?" I asked.

Again, he was lost for an answer.

Now I'm not advocating wild promiscuity. I think it's important to be careful in these Chlamydia times.

But it pisses me off when men start going on about women being sluts, slags, whores and the like.

Afterall, it takes two to tango... And you never hear those same men say that about their male thug-friends.

It says something about their attitude to women in general, it indicates that they are immensely scared by female sexuality and very insecure about themselves as a man.

Maybe they all have small penises (which there's nothing wrong with unless you're generally crap in bed)? I don't know.

And without making any sweeping generalisations, there are a lot of men like that here in the UK, who are incredibly sexist and think that women should be kept barefoot and naked in the kitchen.

The culture insists on 'girls night out' and 'going to the pub with the boys'; I keep meeting people who have never had a close friend of the opposite sex.

Before getting married, men have "stag" dos and women "hen" nights. Stags => symbol of male virility and dominance; "hens" =>domesticated bird. I rest my case. It's sad, really. And worst of all, women don't seem to mind.

Maybe not being a ballet-dancing, cookie baking, non-tree climbing, pink-and-frills clad child playing with dolls has ruined me for life.

Or maybe I have the right to say, do and shag what and who I like without being judged for it more than my male counterparts.

I end with the story of my friend, who was crossing the road inside a supermarket car park.

She didn't see a car approaching, or rather the car didn't see her, he almost ran her over.

But instead of apologising, he leaned out the window (of his fat ultra-polluting BMW) and shouted "YOU FUCKING SLAG!!!" at the top of his voice.

Crossing the road makes you sexually promiscuous these days, it appears.

Be careful when you cross the road, girls; remember, without a good reputation, you'll never get married.

Bonus Technorati tag:

Peer Review Section