Sunday, 25 February 2007

Love saves the day

Mantjiesfontein hotel bedroom by Wildebeast1

It's been a rough few weeks chez J's girlfriend & reluctant boyfriend.

At first there was the almost-breakup, then I was sick all of last week (the week *before* the release of Final Fantasy XII, oh cruel world!!!).

And because I was feeling tired and vulnerable, I couldn't help but fall into a second run-in with my loved one, who admitted to my relentless nagging that no, he doesn't feel ready to get a joint mortgage after all (before Christmas there were encouraging noises).

There was more crying and me saying I was fed up with everything, which of course led to the standard J clinging to me and saying everything is going to be fine. Have your cake and eat it...

At any rate, I decided post-tears that what we needed was some romance, to relax and spend my precious day off together, alone somewhere.

We settled on London, and I booked a hotel the next day (very nice, posh hotel as J of course woudn't hear of bill sharing) and on Friday evening we were on our way.

On the way, we had some lovely food on Edgware Road in little Beirut; my God how I miss living in central London sometimes.

We bought some magazines and a paper, and spent the rest of the evening naked in bed, reading to each other and him giving me foot rubs etc.

Due to his antidepressants there wasn't much in the way of sex, but it was an absolutely lovely evening. The hotel was really nice, homely and luxurious at the same time.

We spent the Saturday walking in Kensington Gardens between showers, nipping in and out of shops (buying nothing) and went out to eat and to the cinema, like a real couple.

I know that when I say "real" I mean "new". It's so easy for romance to slip between your fingers when you have no time, or energy, to just be, when everything has to be tied up to career, money, plans.

But both J and I really love this kind of thing, to take time out. He told me that although he might feel worse again back at work, I'd made him feel so much better by going away with him.

And these things, the fact that it's so good when it's good, is what makes me hang on in there. I've always been a better mistress than girlfriend; when things are special occasion and romantic I'm at my best. I like to wear dresses, to walk around swanky hotel rooms in the buff. When I have to nag to get my way or make actual plans, I easily get impatient when things don't work out to time.

So yes, things haven't been resolved overnight. But we're still together.

Now if you'll excuse me while I ignore my boyfriend and turn to the PlayStation for the next 180+ hours...

Bonus Technorati tag: ::

Sunday, 18 February 2007

The bi-monthly near-breakup

It's the best TV show. No ifs and buts about it... And ASH is hot. Don't give me that British Nescafe crap
I Love Buffy. No, really. You wouldn't think it... well, yes, you probably would since I'm pretty much a self-confessed geek.

This song describes spot on exactly how I feel about J. No, not the "wish I could play the father" part, as I don't in any way want to play J's parent (it would be especially sick considering how badly I get on with his mum).

No, I mean the part where you so desperately wish you could help someone feel better, but really you know deep inside that you're just in their way; you have a sneaking suspicion they might be better off without you.

The bust-up came on 15 Feb, after a range of minor hiccups on 14 and the fact that we've barely seen each other since Christmas due to our work hours. Ironic, I know, given that we actually both work in the same building and live in the same house.

The bust-up was the same as always:

  1. I say "I don't feel our relationship is going very well." He agrees
  2. I ask for how much longer I have to put my life on hold (house, kids etc.). He says he doesn't know.
  3. I ask if I should just leave, and he says he thought we agreed that we wouldn't decide until after X event (differs as the deadline obviously keeps shifting).
  4. I ask why, when he evidently doesn't find me attractive anymore (he says he's not very interested in sex at the moment; this often preceeds the bust-up) and he seems distant and not interested in talking to me. He says he's trying, and that it's all his fault.
  5. I say that it can't be all his fault and that there must be something I can do. He says I don't mean that and we both know I'm a perfectly nice girlfriend to have.
  6. I push him on explaining how he feels. He shuts down (sometimes cries).
  7. I start crying. He immediately feels awful and tells me how much he wants us to stay together.
  8. We make a plan to improve things; usually to spend more quality time together, have more sex, go to bed earlier and do more stuff.
  9. Row over.

It's strenuous. And possibly pointless, since we keep doing it (we only properly broke up once, for about five minutes). But maybe it serves a function.

Today I woke with a horribly sore throat; J brought me a warm drink in bed and offered to go into work in my place (which I graciously declined). He came to bed to give me a cuddle, sporting a raging hard-on (which my throat was too sore to take advantage of; I know, the PAIN!! The WASTE!!).

And he kept talking about how nice it was outside today (which obviously I didn't see since I was in bed the whole time), so maybe the anti-depressants are kicking in.

Maybe there is hope.

If not, there's always the next row in a couple of months time.

Bonus Technorati tag:

Monday, 12 February 2007


By jimmytofu

What I need, is a lifesaver. Although according to my counsellor, I should be my own lifesaver.

I mean, am I really meant to stand on my own? I checked at the age of 19 that I was capable of that (by moving abroad, learning a new language from scratch and generally spending all my time alone for the best part of six months) and since then I haven't bothered trying.

We are sociable animals, and I don't see why I should have to stand on my own.

Except I kind of do. I realise fully that the reason I'm always so restless is that I have no peace within myself. And, of course, that I haven't had a day off for over two weeks, which would probably make a Buddhist monk lose their inner calm. But anyway.

I have thought and thought about this over the last week; I have tried to take moments out to be aware of myself, and to listen to myself. It's been hard to stop my mind from racing. Often when I'm overworked I go into a sort of hypomania, miraculously surviving on 5 hrs sleep per night.

Metal Babble asked about passion. I discussed this too with my counsellor.

I've never felt passionate in life, apart from about men (and boy, have I loved some wonderful/awful people with every fibre in my body).

Why this is I don't know. I've always been envious of people like J, who can spend all day in front of the TV watching rugby1, or people who can tell you the name of every obscure Iranian politician because they care, or simply people who *really* love knitting (I like knitting but I prefer to watch TV at the same time).

Maybe it's a lack of confidence; better to have not loved and not lost? But if that was the case surely I'd also apply that to my love life, and I most certainly have not.

I have always dreamed about becoming a writer, but I've never actually felt passionate enough about something to sustain my interest to write about it for long. I write excellent sketches but I would struggle to write a well-formed short-story.

Or maybe what I could have been passionate about was stamped out in early life. I could have been a typical girly girl I think; I loved horses and ballet, or rather the idea of it. I wasn't able to pursue either as my parents didn't have any money. I'm not bitter about it. But sometimes I wonder.

And I think that Metal Babble is right; it's passion that keeps us going, passion is a life saver and a compass all in one. I feel passionate about my boyfriend, and about my friends. And about writing. So maybe I should do a dance class, or a creative writing course with the Open University.

When I have a day off, that is.

But then, of course, I'd be violating my counsellor's advice to "do nothing".

It's all very tricky at the moment.

Bonus Technorati tag:

1Although he did take time out to shag me between the two games on Saturday; and I have to say I've not experienced him that horny since the early days of our relationship. Despite his football team losing! I'm a bit worried that it was all the watching of men apparently trying to dry hump each other on a pitch that had turned him on..?! But never mind, the sex was great so I'm not gonna complain, am I!

Saturday, 10 February 2007

Music and lyrics

I really seem to be in the philosophical corner these days; what's with that??! At any rate, Metal Babble suggested the follwing exercise when I was complaining about being ordered to find myself:

Maybe I just need some music to go with my lyrics
"Try to picture your life without everything that you consider relevant at this point in your life - What do you see...? what can you live with our without?"

Right. So, at the moment what seems relevant for me is to find a new full-time job for when I leave my present one (which keeps getting put off because I'm apparently just that invaluable, but that's a whole different story).

And then there's J. I really need to sort stuff out with him. But there is no incentive to do so since everything is going along just nicely, OK so he doesn't love me, but he took me to see Music and Lyrics today, which surely must be a sign that he's willing to sacrifice his sanity for my pleasure for 90 min.

If I wasn't looking for a job, and it wasn't for J... I'd be the same person. But I'd move home to be closer to my family and other friends, no doubt about it.

I don't know what keeps me from moving home.. I see, through a glass, darkly, that I want to become a psychologist for a few reasons I don't like thinking about.

I keep telling myself it's because I want to make sure I have an interesting job when I get home. Which is part of it. But I also like the thought of adding "Dr" to my name (I'd be the first in my family ever to do so), and the money, the prestige, the security.

I've always pretended not to be interested in any of those things, and on a personal level I do truly think that recognition and attention is more important to me than money. But money and status is no bad thing either, I guess.

Part of me wants to be able to show "people", whoever they are, that I arrived, that I could make it. I realise that many people around the country would be more than happy to step into the job that I have now, but for some reason it's not good enough for me. I am also well and truly bored, as I keep saying to people, but that's only a part of it.

None of this explains, though, why I don't ever spend any time "doing nothing" by myself, as suggested by my counsellor (sitting in the park looking at nature apparently counts as "doing something", MB! I know, odd). I guess I feel slightly ashamed of the reasons for pursuing the stuff I pursue, and therefore it's better to pursue it actively and at all times so I don't have to examine the reasons why.

Now how profound is that for a Friday night blog post. I'll discuss it with my counsellor and report right back to you...

Bonus Technorati tag:

Friday, 9 February 2007

Now you see me... :: Part one

I was visiting my friend A in London. It was one of those ridiculously hot days, where nobody knows what to do with themselves in the city, far away from beaches and cooler countryside; where people pass out on the tube and the dogs of the homeless pant on the street corners.

See view by johnyblaze
Two weeks ago, I had dumped my long-term boyfriend. I hadn't really loved him anyway, but breaking up always means upheaval. A was sympathetic. "Nothing gets you over the previous one like the next one," she said, and talked me into staying with her for a week. She also knew that I wasn't very good at going without my daily shag, and that I might end up falling into my ex's bed if we were too close to each other as I hit sex withdrawal.

It turned out to have been a good move. My tiny flat would have been a killer in the heat, but A, who had made some financially sound career moves in her life, now lived in a top floor mansion flat overlooking Hyde Park.

The morning after I had struggled with my suitcase to her doorstep (where it was immediately taken over by a rather snotty doorman who clearly thought I was out of place in the establishment), I woke with a blasting headache. My room was already suffocatingly hot. I opened the window, leaving the curtains closed, and still half asleep, I grabbed for my little black bikini top and a mini skirt in my suitcase, dying to get outside.

Part of losing a boyfriend also means losing other stuff. I'd lost at least five pounds in just two weeks, and had also lost all my body hair save for a tiny landing strip. I'm sure the beautician must have known I was a newly single person, as I had asked for just about every treatment in her book. The weight loss had paid off as well, as the roundness of my bum looked fantastically bouncy and my stomach looked toned and tanned.

I threw the french doors open in the lounge, and to my relief, I could feel a cool breeze from the park stroking my body. I grabbed a glass of ice water (A of course has an American-style fridge with an ice cube maker) and positioned myself on one of the chairs on the tiny balcony outside.

Above me, the sun was almost directly overhead, and despite a little parasol in the corner, the wood was shockingly hot as I sat down on it. I leaned back and felt the warm seat press against my bum. I could hear the cars down on the street, but not see them, the treetops looking almost like an ocean in front of me.

As I rubbed suntan lotion on my smooth legs, I tried to ignore how much I was longing for someone to do it for me. I hadn't been touched by a guy for over two weeks, which was pretty much a personal record in the last decade. How was it that all my fuckfriends had gotten married all of a sudden? I thought about my last encounter with one of them, M, five years ago; his delicious, smooth cock and washboard midriff. I didn't even know where he was anymore; what a shame.

I looked across to all the other balconies; there was nobody there. The sad thing about having a fat flat in London is that more likely than not you'll be working so much to afford it that you will hardly ever spend any time in it. But good for me.

As I worked the suntan lotion up my thighs, I felt myself moisten at the touch. I love wearing no underwear. I managed to avoid touching myself, and worked across my belly instead. As I felt my hand brush against my bikini'ed breasts, however, I couldn't resist slipping a hand inside the tiny black piece of fabric covering the left one. My nipple, despite the heat, was already hardening, a process speeded up by my slippery fingers.

I closed my eyes and thought of M again, and almost without noticing, my other hand was moving towards my swelling crotch. I slipped it inside my bikini bottoms, and let out a little moan as I touched the lips. I couldn't believe how wet I was already.

Bringing the second hand down to stroke my clit, hard like an uncooked pea between the soft folds of flesh, I also put a finger in my mouth, remembering how M's cock used to taste when I sucked him after he had been inside me.

I wanted more than just my hand; my pussy was screaming to be filled. It was hard to stop stroking myself, but I halted and got up from the chair to get my vibrator from the suitcase.


Bonus Technorati tags: ::

Now you see me... :: Part two

Back to Part one

I kept rubbing my wet crack as I went inside to get the vibrator, another recent purchase. It was a gift from my girlfriends to keep me company since splitting up with my boyfriend, as the old one reminded me too much of him and had to be binned.

Despite the colour, it was shaped like a sizeable cock, smooth and veiny, and from being in my hot room it was almost as warm as the real thing. I hurried back outside and repositioned me on the chair, one leg resting on the table.

It was then I saw him. Two balconies further over, a guy had appeared since I went inside to get my "friend". He was wearing speedos, and was leaning back on his chair on top of a towel, sunglasses on and reading the paper, a cold pint sitting on the table next to him. Damn. I was so horny my pussy was about to explode, and here was someone ruining my plan. It was way too hot to go inside again, too. What to do?

I positioned myself sideways on the chair, and put my hand inconspicuously in my lap, my middle finger frantically pressing on my clit through my now soaking wet panties. Dropping the vibrator to the floor behind me as discreetly as i could, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Even with so little stimulation, I could feel a climax building, and desperately wanted to push the lovely hot vibrator to my longing cunt. I bit my lip to avoid moaning, rubbing my clit hard and fast.

Suddenly, there was a rustle. I jumped, and immediately stopped rubbing. Had he seen what I was doing? I looked over. No. He had fallen asleep! His head was leaning back towards the wall, his arm hanging limp by his side. What I'd heard was the paper falling, it was now fluttering in pieces to the street below. I noticed now that the paper was gone that he was not at all bad-looking. He was so tanned he couldn't possibly be British, and toned too, a towel draped over the second balcony chair indicated that he may have been swimming somewhere.

What luck! With lighting speed, I grabbed the vibrator and turned it on. My pussy juices covered it as I pulled my panties to the side and rubbed it on my longing clit, closing my eyes again. I realised that having the man over there, even though he was asleep, was turning me on even more. Part of me wanted him to se me, legs spread with the huge cock toy rubbing on my swollen, shaven pussy. I wanted to make him hard, to rub his own cock watching me.

I closed my eyes again, the vibrations made my pussy tight and hot, I could feel sweat trickle down between my breasts, as I felt the orgasm building again.

Pushing the vibrator hard to my clit, the spasms began building in my crotch, washing across my body in waves. Unable to hold back a moan, I thrust the vibrating cock inside my incredibly tight hole, bucking against it with each wave. It felt incredible. I spread my legs wide open, pussy juice gushing out of me as I fucked it frantically, its hardness filling me up all the way.

As the orgasm waned, I pulled the vibrator out, resting it on my spasming clit a little longer, before almost instantly falling asleep.


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Now you see me... :: Part three

Part one
Part two
When I woke, my body still limp from the orgasm and my headache from the morning no better, I didn't at first know where I was. As I opened my eyes and felt sunglasses on my face, I remembered the guy from across the way. I remembered him because there he was, standing up on his balcony. It took me a little longer to realise that he was about to give me a show in return.

He was facing me now, his shapely, strong legs quite far apart. Thanks to the glass walls on the balconies I could see his hand working the front of his speedos, slowly but firmly. To my amazement I felt myself moisten again despite the earthshattering turn I'd just had with my vibrator.

I realised that I had to pretend I was still asleep. But yet I wanted to turn him on and tease him some more. I shifted slightly on the chair, and my theory proved true. He immediately stopped rubbing what I could now see was a sizeable bulge. He looked disappointed as he pretended for a moment to check something out on the street below.

I moved again, pulling my legs apart so that my skirt slid up. He could see straight into the pussy I'd just worked so hard. I wondered if he could see the renewed wetness glistening in the sunlight. He waited for a minute, then turned his head to see that I was still "asleep". I could see his hand gripping the bannister harder as he saw my wanton wetness.

Immediately he started rubbing himself again, harder now. I was quietly begging for him to pull his pants down to give me a full view of his hardness. I could tell from his rhythm that he wasn't far off from being unable to resist anymore.

And my prayers were heard. He pulled the front of his speedos down to reveal an impressive specimen, dark with blood and the head soaked with precum as he pulled the foreskin all the way back, caressing the tip with his other hand. I could see him staring straight at my pussy as he wanked faster, faster, his chest heaving.

He bit his lip, mirroring my move I'd done earlier to keep myself quiet. He was about to shoot his lovely hot load right in my direction. It was such a turn-on. I couldn't help myself, I had to do something. I was just hoping he was too far gone to be able to stop once I joined in.

I brought a hand to my chest and pulled the bikini top to the side. He didn't even flinch. He wanted to see more. I pushed my nipple to my mouth, and just the feeling of my tongue on the areola almost made me cum again. I flicked my tongue around the rock hard nipple, and leaned down to pick up the vibrator again.

This time, I imagined that it was his hot cock that I could see being worked so expertly in his hand. As I spread my legs wider, I started fucking it again, rubbing my clit with the other hand.

He was gripping onto the balcony now, wanking as fast as he could, his mouth open. I could hear him groan. He was cumming, and I wanted to join him. I stared at his cock as thick, white threads of cum shot out towards me. I wanted to feel it on me, to taste it, and the torture of not being able to turned me on even more. As the vibrator hit my g-spot, I made no attempt to hold back, moaning loudly as another orgasm engulfed every nerve ending. I closed my eyes and pretended it was his beautiful cock in me.

When I opened my eyes again, he was still staring at me, cock in hand. But he was smiling now. I smiled back. I could tell A it really had been worth my while making the trip down to London.

***THE END***

Thursday, 8 February 2007

Finding myself

Singing in the rain by Mindfulness

Apparently I need to find myself. Or so at least my counsellor told me today.

And in a way I agree. I've never been a very still person. I've always liked to be chasing the rainbow, and when I get there, although I appreciate the achievement, I always spot something else, more elusive that I want instead.

This is probably partly why I've managed to stay for such a long time with J; the fact that he's completely emotionally unavailable (me: "I love you." J: "..."). In other words, he's always just out of reach, and I guess a part of me likes it that way.

"You seem to be searching a lot for external stimuli," my counsellor said. "What happens when you are just with you, doing nothing?"

At that very moment, I realised that I have no idea whatsoever about what she means by doing nothing.

I struggled with the concept of "being alone and doing nothing" for a while. It turned out that going for a jog or to the cinema or reading a book or meditating or staring out the window over a cup of tea does not count as "doing nothing".

I think what she meant, in the end, was something along the lines of mindfulness, ie. being mindful of yourself and your perception of the surroundings.

Which is weird. Because although I'm not completely mindful as often as I should be, I mean, who is, sometimes I have to concentrate on driving, dammit; I am certainly more mindful than many other people I know.

I always know if I'm happy or sad, hungry or full, warm or cold; I notice beautiful sunsets and caterpillars trying to cross the road.

Would being more mindful make me feel more at peace with the world? Or is it something else?

I openly admit that I really need recognition, I need to be needed. Not because I don't have faith in myself, but just... because.

I'll mull this over until I see her again next week. But I really think I have to ask what "doing nothing by yourself" really means.

Bonus Technorati tag: mindfulness

Wednesday, 7 February 2007

Familiarity breeds... familiarity

Lately, to my horror, I've noticed that my sex drive is going down. I don't know how this can be. Or rather, it's not that I'm not horny, it's more that I'd be contented with fantasies and my vibrator rather than J.

Love by Digitain3k0

I still find him attractive. But I guess I've just been conditioned into thinking that asking for sex means I won't get it, so my libido is steering me away from the disappointment.

And I know I'm attractive. I've the kind of boobs other women have breast implants to achieve (not crazy oversized US ones, I mean cute natural perky ones). I shave and wax... And he claims he finds me attractive. But it's plain to see I fail to turn him on. How can I fix this? How do I become alluring while we're still living together and seeing each other's toothbrushes and dirty laundry every morning?

J and I are nearing our second anniversary. Personally I can never remember what day it is, but I know it's near Valentine's day. Fortunately J is the kind of guy who never forgets an important date (yes, girls, there was a reason I chose to put up with no sex for three months...).

I've always had a high sex drive, ever since I discovered masturbating at 11, and probably even before then. In my previous relationships I've always had sex at least every second day, and mostly once a day.

With J, I'm lucky to get once a week.

OK, so maybe we're getting old. I won't be in my 20s for that much longer. However, that shouldn't be an excuse. J claims he just "has a lower sex drive", which of course I think is bullshit as I've never encountered a man with a low sex drive before, ever.

I know it's partly linked to his depression, but I actually think sex is good for him. It makes him relax, it makes me relax, and we always argue less when we shag more (see my old post about no sex making you cranky).

And we're very good together in bed, I think sometimes better than we are out of bed. Our bodies just fit together really well, I've no other way of explaining it. He's got the size of cock you want; fulfilling but not painfully so, and not too large to play with. His stomach fits into the curve of my spine when we spoon. His hand is just shy of the size of my boobs. And so on.

So what to do? Wait and see? I've never been very patient, you know... Tips received with thanks!

Bonus Technorati tag:

Tuesday, 6 February 2007

Tired now

I haven't seen J properly since yesterday. It feels weird.

Work has been crazy lately. They're even more understaffed than usual, and because I'm so nice (yes, dear readers, I really am), I can't say no when they ask me to do extra shifts.

I am clearly working way too much at the moment, all I want to do is go home, go to bed with J and snuggle for a whole day without sparing a thought for all the stuff I "should" be doing.

Last night I made him sleep in the guest bedroom. He's basically slept very poorly lately, and kept me awake all weekend. I *really* cannot function without my beauty sleep, and we agreed it was for the best as we keep waking each other.

It will be very odd when I change jobs and we're not in the same building anymore. Because I'm on an evening shift today, we only had a very short overlap, but usually we're in touch several times during the work day.

In the morning, when I wake and he's not there, I call to say good morning. In the evening, when I'm not there, he calls to say goodnight. And throughout the day we'll come by each other's desks bringing chocolates from the vending machine or to go for lunch together.

I realise this doesn't happen in the average relationship, but now, when I haven't really seen him properly for over 24 hours, I really miss him! Pathetic, really, isn't it... I'm clearly not cut out for long-distance relationships.

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