January 19, 2015 § 6 Comments
WARNING: content may make readers want to vomit profusely
The day is here, folks. It’s been a hell of a ride (pun absolutely intended) and extraordinary fun… but I have to admit I’m more excited for what’s coming.
It’s been a few weeks, and it’s almost impossible to sum up the absolute ecstasy that’s occurred. After Skyping like mad whilst separated, Klaus and I finally managed to see each other in London, technically our first date and fuck… if all first dates were like that I’d never settle down, ever. But I think the reason it was so perfect is because I know that is coming, and weirdly it doesn’t scare me (much…).
We couldn’t keep our hands off each other the entire day. I’m not usually one for PDA, though I’ve recently had the mind-blowing epiphany that that’s probably only when I wasn’t a part of it. Funnily enough it’s not so repulsive when you’re on the receiving end of the affection. And yes I do realise I’ve become the couple I hate. It’s just a shame I’m absolutely loving it (ffs).
I used to pride myself on not wanting to be in a relationship, on being independent and not needing to rely on men (all dem single ladies). But now I wonder if that was simply my fear of rejection. Yeah I don’t need no man, cos then it doesn’t matter whether or not they want me. It’s all very well asserting your independence, but the thing is I don’t feel like I’ve lost any. If anything, Klaus makes me a better person. In fact he definitely does. Making all sorts of emotional breakthroughs, me. I haven’t drunk since being back in Bristol. Maybe cos I’m drunk in loooooooove (Yeah it’s fine, I hate me too).
It’s incredibly annoying and absolutely fantastic. I’m so ridiculously happy. And Klaus, if you’re reading this, thank you. I don’t need to tell you how bloody great you are. Here’s to an exciting start to whatever the hell comes next. I don’t really care as long as you’re involved.
*I won’t say it’s gone forever, but for now there will be no more sexual exploits outside of Klaus. For that reason I can’t say when the next post will be, if there ever will be one. I’m eternally grateful to all my loyal and fantastic followers. I’ve loved having this blog and reading everyone else’s experiences has made me feel less alone. I’m so appreciative of all of you, especially those of you who’ve made it through this particularly sickening post. Y’all can always send me a message for anything. Sending all my randy love.
December 29, 2014 § Leave a comment
So having said we would take things slow, Klaus and I have spent the majority of our final week of the semester in his bed together.
It’s such perfection. Really intimate and romantic, like everything you want in a guy, in a relationship. Maybe I’m bigging it up too much, seeing things through rose tinted glasses, still in the honeymoon phase. That’s all probably true, but I don’t really care. He makes me so happy and I’m going to soak up every last little annoyingly wonderful moment of it. So fucking happy.
It almost feels wrong blogging about it. It’s weird.
I desperately hope this is the beginning of something. It really feels like it. But then part of me keeps worrying that I’m jumping in the deep end far too quickly. I’m usually so good at keeping my distance, being the one less involved. But I so don’t want to do that anymore.
Then there’s the question of Frank.
I’ve been avoiding it, but I knew it’d catch up to me at some point. I need to see him, and I really wanted to talk to him about everything in person. I always kind of assumed we’d have ‘one last time’, but that went out the window when Klaus told me that, although he didn’t want to put any pressure on us with exclusivity, it would upset him if I got with anybody else. That’s fair. And it made me realise that I don’t really want to.
So when Frank started sexting me I ignored it at first, but then he talked about seeing me, about coming all the way to London from Manchester just for me. I didn’t really want him to do that for me just to tell him I’m seeing someone and could no longer sleep with him. The easiest thing I could think to say was:
“yeah I’d love to see you, I actually need to talk to you about some stuff, but you don’t need to come all the way down from Manchester for it”
As subtle as I’d tried to be, I think he realised exactly what that meant, concluding our conversation curtly by explaining he’d let me know if he was in the area, but wouldn’t bother me with any more ‘booty calls’.
This made my heart sink a little. Frank was always more to me than a booty call, and although the sex was fantastic, it was never my sole reason for seeing him. I feel as though all our wonderful months together have been condensed down into this superficial thing, that I’m now responsible for rejecting. I know that I’m making the right decision, but he is still so important to me, and I hate to think that by my no longer sleeping with him I won’t really get to see him anymore. It seems such an anticlimactic conclusion to all these months. I need to talk to him properly, I’ve just no idea when that will be.
For the moment, Klaus is providing a perfect distraction, but I don’t want to throw all these memories away. All this emotion, all this drama, it’s so much effort. I liked it when I was fucking boys I didn’t like. Life was far simpler.
December 21, 2014 § 2 Comments
Last night was a society social at Klaus’ house. I’d promised myself I wouldnt drink because I’d already been wrecked 3 nights in a row (it’s Christmas, ok?), yet there I found myself, finishing my third bottle of red in two days. (It’s only recently come to my attention that I sound like the world’s biggest alcoholic in this blog, I assure you it’s under control. *cries into merlot*)
It’s been about a week since the cheating with Klaus incident occurred. He’d spoken to his girlfriend, who’d freaked out and they split. This brought me zero satisfaction whatsoever. I realise it’s about their relationship and not about me, but I can’t help but feel partly responsible for his unhappiness. I don’t know her at all, but I hate causing people pain in any form and no matter what my feelings for Klaus are I never wanted anyone to get hurt. I suppose there always exists some pain in love and relationships. Still doesn’t stop it from sucking balls.
He’d spoken to me a few days later, telling me about the break-up, that it was in no way my fault, and that he didn’t want to jump straight into another relationship, but be single for a while. He’d been with her over a year, his longest relationship by far, and I couldn’t agree with him more that now would be the time to be by yourself for a bit.
I dealt with the situation pretty badly. I’m normally fairly self-controlled, but I was literally obsessing over this guy. I couldn’t get anything done because he was just constantly on my mind. I’d replay our kisses over and over and nothing seemed to shake his image from my head. I knew I was being completely ridiculous, and my rational side kept telling me what an idiot I was being. Of course he bloody needs to be single, leave the poor boy alone.
This illogical inner demon tormented me to such extents, that the few times I had to see him again in a social context this week I freaked out, and (probably completely unsubtly) avoided him at all costs. I couldn’t fucking look at the guy. What the hell is wrong with me? I knew it would pass, but this was some intense shit. I’m not sure if it’s because I knew we liked each other but still couldn’t have him? Whatever the reasoning, there was some chemical imbalance shit going on, I can’t be dealing with this.
Of course it lessened, but he was still a pretty constant distraction, and last night was a party at his. I had to go. How could I not?
A few glasses of red in me and I felt much less uncomfortable in his presence. We were managing to behave completely normally around each other, with only the slightest sexual tension (but hey, what’s life without a little anticipation in the atmosphere?). Eventually our group socializing turned into a one on one discussion.
After a few of us had relocated to the bedroom, I became more and more impatient to get him by himself. We eventually found ourselves alone in the corridor together, where the desire was palpable.
“What?” he asked, smiling.
We drunkenly stumbled against the wall together, our kissing quickly becoming heated. The bedroom crowd all came out at that moment and giggled as they scurried past us. Slightly embarrassed, we took our passion to the now empty bedroom.
Ignoring the drunken ramblings from the other side of the locked door, it was actually a very fun night. I’ve never laughed so much in bed with anyone, a quality I wouldn’t usually associate with good sex, but I’ve never enjoyed drunken sex quite so much. It was a little awkward, but in a funny, totally comfortable way. I drunkenly fell off the bed within the first five minutes and it probably took another ten before either of us could stop laughing and start kissing again.
It’s different. But in a way I completely adore. I adore him. And it’s only been a few days. I have to keep catching myself because this is much easier for me, not having just come out of a lengthy and serious relationship, but it seems as though he feels the same way. Christmas is coming at a good time, I think, because it means we won’t be able to see each other for a good couple weeks and we can both think about things.
I don’t want to jump the gun, but things feel so good with him, so right.
I guess we will have to see after Christmas…
December 12, 2014 § 5 Comments
There’s a pretty solid theme running through these posts, I realise. I love sex, I really do (you’d never have guessed right? I know. Completely closed book, me), but you know what I love more? Love.
Cliché as it is, I’d take love over sex any day, as most gals probably would. For now, I’ve focussed on the sex part, because hey, I’m young, I’m in zero rush to settle down or find “the one” or any of that. But, when there is that occasional glimpse of a relationship that involves more feeling than fornication, it can be quite nice.
I met someone.
I usually don’t get “crushes”. There are guys I’m attracted to, guys I like as people, guys I enjoy having sex with, but very few guys I could see myself committing to. I don’t know if I’m scared of commitment (yes) or just quite picky (nice try), but the idea of a relationship with someone doesn’t come up very often for me.
I liked this guy from the moment I met him. We have so much in common, similar personalities, similar senses of humour, the real deal. He’s my age, but by far the most mature 20 year old I’ve ever met, he’s almost certainly more mature than Frank, and that dude’s 30. Or maybe my perception has just been skewed from living with 18 year olds for the last 3 months.
The only problem was… this guy had a girlfriend. I’m not sure if that made him more appealing to me (I did Facebook stalk her and damn, she’s a bloody 24 year old gorgeous Brazilian girl. Why God, why), but either way I pushed the thought aside, as he’s definitely not the sort of guy to fool around.
However, there was this bar crawl…
We found ourselves at the same pre-drinks, then at the same mega-club, and eventually dancing together. After some pretty heated moments on the dance floor we broke apart, I left to cool off. He has a girlfriend. Leave it.
I went and found the hottest guy I could in the smoking area and asked him to dance. He was so taken aback by my forwardness, he couldn’t stop telling me how this “never happens” as we danced, but I was getting nothing out of it. I made some rubbish excuse and went to find my friends. I was finally forgetting about Klaus, we’ll call him, when across the dance floor there he was. We caught eyes almost immediately and he came to join us. I wasn’t sure if it was me or him doing it, but we kept ending up next to each other, and his arms were soon around my waist once again. We were there for so long we didn’t realise our friends had left us, dancing alone again.
Our bodies grew closer, and it wasn’t long before our moves became more passionate and dancing lead to… kissing. It was one of those incredibly intense, alcohol-infused, I know we shouldn’t be doing this but I really fucking like him kind of moments. It seemed to last forever and I never wanted it to end. When it finally did we were both a little lost, just standing there on the dance floor embracing each other. He’s in a committed relationship. He loves her.
I took his hand and we went outside where we breathed some fresh air. The tone was pretty solemn. He was clearly facing some serious inner-conflict and I felt guilty as fuck.
He looked at me and asked if I was ok.
Me? You’re asking if I’m ok? (seriously, can I marry this man?)
We talked a little, and he confessed he didn’t really want to be in a relationship anymore, something that was highlighted when he realised he had feelings for someone else. I couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of delight. I honestly never thought this would happen.
Neither of us felt like dancing anymore. But there was such heightened emotion we couldn’t help but kiss again…and again.
Eventually we walked home. I didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. He just kept asking me if I was ok, and what I wanted. I wanted to shake him – this isn’t about me! Why are you so fucking selfless and lovely?!
As we reached our point of separation, we hugged for what felt like eternity, I didn’t ever want to let him go. The embrace became yet further kissing. I wished I could have stayed there forever, because I knew as soon as it ended it wouldn’t happen again. At least for some time.
Even if he did break up with his girlfriend, they were together for so long and it was such a serious relationship, there’s no way he’d be ready to be with me for a good couple of months. I wouldn’t want him to. After being in a relationship for that amount of time you need to be single and rediscover yourself again, the last thing I’d want to do is fuck with that.
Which only made our encounter the more bittersweet.
It’s so rare I meet a guy I think I could really be with. I only hope we can remain friends and then maybe one day, if he’s ready, we can give it a go. Although I can’t help but fell time-pressured, as next year is his year abroad, and the year after is mine. I realise I’m getting ahead of myself…but I can’t help it. What if…?
December 6, 2014 § 1 Comment
I’ve never had sex with a virgin. But apparently now I’ve dry humped one.
This weekend was the girl’s big night out, where we were headed to an allegedly gorgeous man’s house party in Bath. We arrived appropriately tispy (barely able to stand) and over an hour late. Best. Guests. Ever.
However that turned out not to matter, because this huge party turned out to have the total number of guests as you’d find men at a fifty shades of grey screening with no ulterior motives whatsoever. My friend who’d dragged me responded to this as any sane person was, by continuing to drown her sorrows in vodka soda lime and trailing behind the well-formed host. I was well on my way to joining her, when I got to talking to Ahmed. Ahmed was a very beautiful second year student, and I liked him immediately.
However, our conversation soon revealed that Ahmed was extremely religious, having been brought up by strict Muslim parents. He had never drunk alcohol, or even kissed a girl before.
Usually this is a red flag right? But how often do you meet a sober, chaste university student, who isn’t wearing a What Would Jesus Do satchel and the personality of a fish? Not often. I wouldn’t have known he was a religious-nut until we got onto the subject. Usually this puts me off, I don’t want to get involved in all these moral judgementy conversations, especially not with my lifestyle. But Ahmed was extremely interesting. Despite his background, he was very open to discussing my experiences and how they differed from him. I was getting a good vibe. So I went for it.
We’d spoken about my view on relationships a little, so he knew I wasn’t exactly looking to settle down. This reassured me that by kissing him he wasn’t really expecting anything from me, though the alcohol may have been partially responsible for that decision…
I wasn’t trying to pressure him, and told him repeatedly not to do anything he didn’t want to, or felt uncomfortable doing. Somehow that didn’t stop us from retreating to the bedroom, a much more appropriate setting than the constant stares of the three other people at the party. He was a surprisingly good kisser.
It was obviously quite intense for him, never having done anything before. A weird situation I wasn’t expecting to find myself in at university of all places, but I quite liked the feeling of being his first, despite only having just met him. A compliment if ever there was one.
We exchanged numbers and he headed home, still a little jittery from the experience, bless him. I’m not sure why I get off on being the more experienced person. I couldn’t do it long term (been there, got the T-shirt, burned it), but for a night of frivolity it’s pretty good fun.
In other news, black Friday sales = cheap vibrators, so I’m coming to terms with the lack of Frank’s length. Though, God do I miss it. This dirty little package better hurry the fuck up.
November 29, 2014 § 5 Comments
There’s another Frank. You may have guessed by this point that his name isn’t actually Frank, I’m being super sneaky and calling him by another name. I now realise that of all the names I could’ve picked it’s not the most beautiful choice, but it’s gone so far there’s really no turning back at this point. I digress.
The other Frank, Frank 2, is a boy I met during Freshers week (ah, Freshers, you wily hound. Can any of us ever escape those hazy, regretable memories?). We met in a club, made out numerous times, ended up at the same post-club flat party where he invited me back to his. I kindly declined and that was that. We continued to text for a while, but it was quite clear it wasn’t really going anywhere, so our conversations dissolved into the occasional ticket sale text from him (he’s a club promoter. Woo).
That was until…
So I miss Frank. The original, in all his delicious glory. And I need to deal with it somehow. It’s been maybe a month since I’ve had sex, which is a LONG TIME. I’ve done it before, but there’s always been distractions, and university is so full of horny, desperate men, it would make no sense whatsoever not to make use of the available stock.
Coming home still slightly tipsy from a night out, I fancied…some company. So I scrolled through the names of gents I knew in the vicinity, eventually deciding on Frank 2 (my age, French speaking, smart and charming – he’s definitely the best of a bad crop) asking if he was still awake and fancied “watching some tv”. Got to keep pretences up right? (yeah, I know, it’s more obvious than a sober fresher in a 9am lecture)
He of course accepted my offer (I probably should be more concerned at uni boys’ lack of concern for anything other than their penises, but we’ll leave that for another time when I’m not in a man-drought), and I sidled over to his flat. He’d barely reached for his laptop before we were on top of one another, though the mood was quickly killed when he admitted to his lack of contraceptives. Bloody hell. You’re a 19 year old in university, buy some bloody condoms.
So we opted for taking the party back to mine, where latex is abundant. I walked through the front door, and before Frank 2 was in sight my flatmate saw me and, knowing where I’d been, loudly exclaimed “So did you get laid?!”.
Frank 2 appears round the corner. “Err, this is Frank.”
Greeted with a look of sheer embarrassment and stammering on my flatmate’s part, I quickly steered Frank into my bedroom, where we soon forgot the awkward encounter.
Round 1 was disappointing. The build up had given me decent expectations (though I’ve yet to meet anyone even comparable to Frank the first), but he came within about two minutes.
Sigh. I get it. I’m astoundingly hot n all. But can you seriously not exercise an ounce of control for five fucking minutes?
I expressed my disappointment, but shrugged it off and went to sleep. It’s always fun having sex with people whom you don’t really care what they think. You can be as bitter as you like and they’ll just take it because they’re so desperate to stick their dick inside you. I wait for the day when someone can retort to my brilliant sass. Guys really aren’t as strong as they make themselves out to be, and this is an excellent way of testing that.
Round 2 was much better, thank God. Several orgasms were had, so I was finally satisfied. I was feeling extremely lazy in the morning, however, with my pounding hangover for company, so I let him do all the work, which I think he struggled with a little. It’s cute how hard teenage boys will try.
In the end, I now have a possible booty call during Frank’s absences, but for the time being I’m gonna stick with self-satisfying until he’s back. I need that guy in my bed and in my life, and amateurs just won’t cut it.
November 26, 2014 § Leave a comment
So here’s a first: Sex via Skype. Similar to phone sex but the dimensions are a little different… as they can see you. With phone sex you could be no makeup, in your pjs, pulling your ugliest orgasm face, but as long as you’re still moaning into the receiver it’s all fine and dandy. But when you’re on camera you have to look good too (damnit, bloody society).
It’s not entirely different to sex in that case, right? Except that you have nothing physical to work with, other than your partner’s aggressive wanking expression on the screen. See, usually you can just shut your eyes and ignore how weird guy’s faces are during sex, but fucking video chat goes and kills that little option.
It did feel kinda like being a porn star, which I guess is a fun fantasy in itself, although internet glitches = not sexy. The first time we had to finish on the phone due to technical issues, but the second time I was drunk, and feeling much more loving toward the camera. A little alcoholic lubrication and I’m the next Sasha Grey. Not gonna lie, it was pretty fun.
As with everything sex, when you get into it and think less about it, you have a much better time. So with the help with my good-friend vodka, I was reigning Frank’s computer screen with ease. It’s not at all hard to get guys off, is it? Just show them some genitalia and they’re half way there. Whereas, generally women need a little more than that. As much fun as I was having, it was much more about the thrill of being a pretend porn star, than seeing him touching his junk. I can get as much of that shit as I want on Omegle (although Frank’s particular brand of junk is quite a spectacle to behold, it must be said).
As an experience I’d certainly do it again, but the pleasure definitely came from his getting off, whereas his came from a more visual place. I realise this raises all sorts of societal issues and gender divides, but in the end it was just good fun to get naked over video chat.
November 16, 2014 § Leave a comment
Coming home late last week, I jumped onto the university bus heading back to the main accommodation. I was tired from an evening of work and quickly scanned the crowded bus for a free seat, eventually spotting one toward the front. Headphones in, music loud, staring at my phone screen, I was just keen to get home.
But then I noticed the guy next to me looking over my shoulder, starring at me and then at the phone in my hand. I ignored him at first, but he was doing it so unsubtly it reached a point where I had to acknowledge him.
“Alright?”, my tone weary and sarcastic.
“Yeah, I’m not bad thanks, how are you?”
“Been up to much?”
Ok, Mr Friendly was in the mood for conversation. Though I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic, I generally enjoy a good chat to a stranger – you never know what might come of it. So I unplugged my music and engaged with the discussion.
I politely enquired what he studied and where he was living, and as he told me I caught a glimpse of his face. I hadn’t really looked at him up until this point, but there was something oddly familiar about him.
As our exchange continued I suddenly realised what it was I hadn’t been able to place before. Shit.
It was Pierre. The French guy I’d slept with in Freshers week. I’d had a whole bloody conversation with the guy and completely hadn’t twigged who he was.
“Oh shit… we’ve met before haven’t we?”
“Err, yeah” he looked sheepishly down at the floor. This was not news to him, it seemed.
I apologised profusely for not recognising him, which he kindly dismissed, telling me not to worry as it was “quite a while ago” (last month to be exact…).
Our bus journey was nearly over at this point, but we managed to exchange a few more pleasant words before parting. I felt so awkward at not having recognised a guy who’d come on my face, that I ended our meeting rather abruptly. In hindsight, I wish I’d gotten his number. His accent was just as arousing a as I’d remembered, and despite the slightly porn-esque style of our previous encounter, the sex was pretty good from what I remember. It’s not often you have that sort of initial chemistry with someone (though copious amounts of alcohol tend to aid that possibility).
I’ll know next time to swallow my pride and ask the guy out. Though knowing my luck, I now won’t see him again until I’ve forgotten who he is.
October 26, 2014 § 10 Comments
Labels. God I love them. If I had a penny for every time someone had asked me, “so exactly what are you and Frank?” I’d have several whole British pounds (which as an impoverished student I necessitate with all my heart).
I always tell them, as honestly as possible. We’re close, we have sex, we enjoy spending time together, but we’re not exclusive and there’s no pressure to see each other regularly. To me, this is absolute perfection, but it confuses people because he’s not quite my “boyfriend” and he’s not quite my “fuck buddy”. It seems if there’s not a society-accepted coined term for it then it doesn’t exist. My flatmates seem to have listed ours under the “open relationship” category, which is fine by me, call it what you will.
For a time it confused me too. If I can’t explain it to people, maybe I need to re-evaluate what we are? But it works. This is the key thing that everyone seems to forget. If we’re happy – and god I am – then why does it matter whether we’re “friends with benefits” or whatever other expression you might like to apply.
However, as with all relationships, be they common forms or not, there exist issues; ups and downs. Right now he’s jetting off to Australia for 2 months. We assumed before coming back to England that our locations would keep us apart at least a little (it’s probably a 2/3 hour journey between us), but he’s come to see me 5 times in 4 weeks. It’s been fantastic, I am one satisfied lady – a quandary I pondered before I came: Who will satisfy me like Frank could? Other than Frenchy from Freshers week, I’ve had a pretty chaste first month as a newby (though I’m still topping the ‘tart chart’ of our flat). He’s truly kept me content in that department.
It’s also been great to have that familiar face on a regular basis. I adore my flatmates and the people here, but being new anywhere is hard sometimes, and it’s been incredible emotional support. I’m so grateful to him, even if it is just my sweet, sweet body he’s after.
The point was supposed to be no pressure, and that’s still true. But the regularity of his visits has made him a wonderfully orgasmic staple in my university life, one that’s about to be whisked away until Christmas. There’s no doubt we’ll see each other again in December, but that’s a long time to be lacking his considerable length in my University halls. I’ll have to seek out some other means of gratifying my needs…
September 27, 2014 § 5 Comments
So I’ve started a new chapter in my life. Welcome to university! And what better way to make a good impression in front hundreds of new people that you’ll have to endure for the next three years, than to get atrociously shitfaced and complete a series of ridiculous and possibly life-threatening tasks, all in the name of banter?
Freshers is renowned for being the one time of your university career, if not your life, where you can acceptably fill the black void in your soul with a constant stream of alcoholic beverages and meaningless sex, and my experience did not stray from the norm.
Having survived the week, albeit a little worse for wear, I can certainly recount some stories. A flatmate of mine got kicked out of the local Wetherspoons for fingering a girl on their sofa. So you have an idea of the general tone for the week.
My most exciting encounter was on Friday. My flatmates and I headed to a local club called Firestation, but I soon lost them when across the dance floor I locked eyes with the beautiful Pierre. Pierre has the most exquisite French accent, and it didn’t take much of his incredibly sexy grinding to convince me to accompany him home.
I was surprisingly pleased with the skill Pierre was gifted. His foreplay was impeccable, and he was just my type in the sack (even if a little on the smaller side, but hey, a girl can make do). That was, until…
Men. Never, I repeat, never, give a woman a facial unless she asks for it. Especially when you don’t know the girl that well. Just show some fucking respect, come on, now. I got it in my fucking eye, and that shit stings! I don’t want anybody’s fucking semen in my eye, especially some randomer from the club. Jesus.
I was out of there before his vision had come back into focus (unfortunately mine wouldn’t return until the following morning), and no, I didn’t get his number.
Pierre, you may be the sexiest French dancer I’ve ever encountered, but next time, come on your own fucking face.