“What is this new Devilry?” – The sweet agony of a UTI

Oh sweet Jesus Lovers. You think they’re just horror stories. You think it will never happen to you. You live without fear in complete ignorance.

Until it hits you.

Good God in heaven above! The exquisitely extreme pain of the untreated UTI! Am I right ladies? You have one naughty night (or in this case morning) and you’re left paying for it with your vocal chords as you choke back screams in the work toilets.

Bloody loving the unisex loo’s now… not.

Sorry boys, but those muffled groans emanating from stall two was me. Apologies all round.

But ladies, you know where I’m coming from, yes?

I’ll tell you how my nightmare that eventually landed me hunched over in the toilet wishing fervently for refrigerated toilet paper first started.

So I’ve been having a bit of fun with this dude Miguel from Tinder (where else) and last time we had sex it was just godawful. But after copious amounts of beer we were able to talk candidly about the experience and he assured me it was not his best work.

So me being the forgiving (and still incredibly single) girl that I am, I thought I’d give him another crack.

I held off for the night, as last time the booze was a big downfall for both of us. So although he was quite disappointed when I turned off the light with nothing more than a coy, “night night,” he was certainly a happy chappy when his offer of, “sooo, you wanna do something?” was taken up with a giggle and a yes.

So we had the sex, it was better, yay for me.

Miguel had things to do, people to see, the whole spiel, so he was off after a few post coital cuddles.

Here’s where I went so so wrong Lovers.

Normally like clockwork, every time anyone goes spelunking in the bat cave, I pee straight after they have resurfaced.

No snuggles, no kisses, get off me so I can rinse the mince.

This time though, this time, stupid me decided that the bed was just so comfy and I was just so sleepy that cleansing wee’s weren’t necessary.

Surely nothing would come from just one little sleep in?

Oh how wrong I was.

On Monday at work I noticed I had to run to the toilet quite a few times in the morning. I even walked to the public toilets on my break so that my workmates wouldn’t think I was pregnant or something.

At first I thought it was just the three coffee’s I had had in quick succession that had gotten the old bladder working overtime.

But then came the burning…


That was basically my experience every time I had to pee after 4pm. And that was a lot.

The worst part of it all was that I couldn’t go to a doctor because my stupid university has introduced this new rule of 100% attendance. Do they not know uni students?!

So anyways, with razor blades nestles betwixt my sweaty thighs, I hobbled to uni and attempted to sit through an incredibly serious counselling class.

While everyone was discussing deep issues and throwing around big words like ‘transference’ and ‘cognitive distortions,’ I was desperately trying not to piss my pants. Did I mention that UTI’s have this awesome double symptom? Not only do you get to hear your poor little panty hamster take on the voice of Gollum and shriek, “it burns us!’ every time you pee, you also have the insistent urge to pee all the goddam time!

And you know what every doctor’s advice is? Make sure you drink plenty of water! Honestly Lovers, every time I heard that advice my eyes would swell with tears and my flaps would shrivel with fear.

More water? There had to be a better way!

After my seemingly endless class finished, I elbowed my way past the security guard trying to close the doors at Chemist Warehouse, a mumbled cry of, “it’s an emergency” trailing in my wake.

I didn’t stop running until I slammed into the Prescriptions In desk. I looked up and groaned inwardly.

Of course, the one time I needed to disclose intimate details about my frigging urinary tract, there just happens to be an incredibly attractive chemist on call to help me.

Oh well, couldn’t get much worse I guess.

I launched into my story, inadvertently bending forward in my low cut dress so he got a good view of the twins.

Stop it Claire! Sex is what got you into this mess in the first place!

“I’m really hoping you can help me,” I panted breathlessly (breathless from the short run through the chemist, not sexy panting, trust me.)

He raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, reminding me to pick up tweezers while I was here. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m pretty sure I have a UTI,” I whispered. Sadly, although his eyebrows were perfect it turns out his ears must have been full of wax because he didn’t hear me the first two times I said it. Finally I threw caution to the wind and practically yelled at the poor guy, “I have a UTI!”

After he wiped my spit from his face he nodded knowingly and gave me a sympathetic smile.

Urgh, stop it man, you’re wasting your undeniable charm. Even Brad Pitt wouldn’t have a chance with me at this particular moment.

“Is there anything I can take until I get to the doctors?” I pleaded, looking deep into his sincere blue eyes.

“There’s nothing to cure a UTI unfortunately, just antibiotics.”

As he saw my face fall and my eyes start to fill with tears he quickly added, ”but we do have something which could stop the burning!”

I take it back, I would sleep with this beautifully besmocked man in a heartbeat if he opened his medicine cabinet for me.

Saucy chemist man led me to the aisle that everyone avoids, or if absolutely necessary scuttles past and swipes things off the shelves before anyone notices them. You know the one Lovers, filled with gastrostop, haemorrhoid cream and a myriad of constipation remedies. It’s the aisle you’re destined to run into ex-boyfriend’s, bosses, or just anyone you really don’t want to see at a chemist at 9pm.

I was pointed in the direction of some concoction called Ural (so original) and my chemist angel advised me to go for the cranberry flavour as that was ‘extra strong.” I resisted the urge to hug him and instead grabbed a box and raced to the counter. The sooner I got home and took this crap the sooner the madness could stop!

Here’s a note to all the pharmacists out there making new and exciting remedies. If there’s one thing I hate more than unimaginative names for medicine, it’s the phrase on the pack that reads, “a pleasantly flavoured effervescent drink.”

Pleasantly flavoured my ass! It was basically bicarb soda died pink in an effort to masquerade as ‘cranberry.’ If I was a cranberry I would be very offended at this point. If it’s going to taste like crap, just say it. Don’t lure me into a false sense of security with your ‘pleasantly flavoured’ shit! I would much prefer if on the box was written, “although difficult to consume due to it’s truly terrible taste, this product should help to alleviate those pesky UTI symptoms, such as the sensation of pissing glass.”

Now that’s a brand of Ural that I would buy!

So anyways I choked back the jizz juice (literally have tasted sprog that tasted better than this concoction) and waited for the magic to take effect.

It did not.

Not for the entire goddam night! I spent the night alternating between sending prayers to the UTI Gods above (they’re totally a thing you know) and reading Ural comment threads on pregnancy websites (because as it turns out our mother’s not only have to squeeze us out of their juice box, they then get punished for it by contracting UTI’s. Talk about unfair.)

Anyways long story short, twenty minutes or so of pleasure on a Sunday morning officially cost me a night’s sleep, a day at work, my pride (why, why did he have to be so attractive?) and quite a large chunk of my sanity.

Moral of the story? Always pee after sex! It’s not an old wives tale ladies! If that bastard wants to snuggle you make him wait!

I’ve had UTI’s before but boy oh boy nothing could compare to this monster! It might even be enough to put me off sex!

Lol, just kidding Lovers! See you next time.

Claire xx

Anti-Pickup line of the week: Don’t bother, I have a UTI.

(Always a guaranteed mood killer ladies. Try it out next time instead of the old headache maneuver.)


The Festival of Really Good Sex! – Finale

Hey hey Lovers!

I’m back! So it’s time to finally, finally finish the Festival of Really Good Sex! Then we can get onto a whole new year of shenanigans! And I really do mean shenanigans people, one of my first dates of the year was so bad it involved an injured dog! (And no Lovers, that is most certainly not a euphemism.)

So, before all that, where were we? Ah yes, I’d just discovered the shockingly scintillating world of electro-sex.

What an education!

After all that wild new information, I felt it was time to head back to familiar territory.

The Art of Fellatio!

Now Lovers, I consider myself to be quite the proficient snorkeler when it comes to giving Big Jim and the Twins a bath. However, as I always say, when it comes to sex you can never know enough! Therefore, when I saw the art of fellatio (or penilingus for the more feminist followers among us) on offer, I jumped at the chance to improve my snake charming skills.

As I walked into the room, I was delighted not only by the sight of men in the class, but also the enormous pile of rather oversized carrots resting conspicuously on a table in the corner.

Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I don’t just give away blow jobs willy nilly to any Tom, Dick or Harry (although funnily enough I have blown the love whistle of a Tom, a Richard and a Harry, so perhaps that’s not the best expression to use in this case!) No no, when it comes to yaffling the yogurt cannon, my boys need to earn it!

Now don’t get me wrong Lovers; I’m not as hard assed as I sound. When I say earn it, it usually just involves buying me some form of alcoholic beverage, so it’s not as if I’m making them drop and give me fifty for the privilege of booking a meeting with Mr One Eye.

So when I walked in and saw boys in the class I immediately said to myself, no freebies Claire, they gotta work it if they want to squirt it. I nodded to myself resolutely and settled myself down on a cushion, thrilled to see my foot fetish partner park herself next to me soon after.

Our teacher glided into the room and instantly she just oozed sex (in the good way, not the wet wipe alternative). Her name was Isla and she was studying to be a sexologist. I instantly leaned forward and set my ears to record. If this chick was studying the course that I had worked for more than three years to get into then I wanted to hear every word she had to say!

Blonde, buxom and just an all-round babe, Isla drew every man’s eyes instantly to her. Basically you couldn’t ask for a more appropriate teacher to educate us in the art of spit-shining the baseball bat. As she walked around the room handing out carrots to her eager students, we all fell under her saucy spell. It probably helped that she had to bend over a lot and her incredible boobs threatened to topple out of her shirt each time, but I think that was just an added bonus.

Carrots successfully distributed, she glided back to the front of the room, hips swaying provocatively as she went, seemingly unaware of the effect she was having on us mere mortals left clutching our carrots uselessly.

Turning around to face us with a smile as glorious as her ass, Isla produced a piece of paper that would become the mouth-to-junk resuscitation bible for many of us. Twenty three, that’s right Lovers, no less than twenty three techniques for a good face frosting were listed on that page. Isla handed them around and I watched as people eagerly scanned the page from top to bottom, thirsty for information on how to get to that cream filling they so craved.

Isla smirked, knowing with certainty that the room was hers for the taking. She had sucked us in with the sex appeal, and now she was about to blow us away with technique. Quite the appropriate description for such a class I must say.

We started simple with The Bob, the classic fellatio move; creating a vacuum by pursing your lips, then gliding up and down the shaft.

Simple, yes? Well sure, if I hadn’t been so eager to grab the first carrot I saw, which just happened to be quite the big boy. I considered whittling down my appendage by taking a few cheeky nibbles but decided that would be counter-productive. I was here to learn about how to please my man at any size, so I may as well just accept my girthy practice model and roll with it. Plus I probably would have given all the men surrounding me permanent nightmares if they saw me gnawing away on my member.

So I sucked it up (literally) and tried to adjust my little mouth around my well endowed veggie man. We moved on to a few more basics such as The Ice Cream Cone (licking the shaft like it’s the tastiest rainbow paddle-pop you’ve ever tasted, and uh-oh the temperature’s rising and that bad boy is melting!) and the Hand Extension, where your hand is an extension of your mouth (that one’s fairly self explanatory to be honest.) After some time working on perfecting the basics, Isla deemed us ready to progress to the harder moves.

I’ve always been a bit of an uncoordinated dipstick, and as it turns out my mouth and tongue are just as useless at performing complicated moves! I tried and tried to master Roll Out the Red Carpet, where you push the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth, then allow your tongue to ‘unravel’ as the lucky love rod enters your mouth, but sadly…no luck.

My tongue was more of a flop out rather than a roll and I ended up just getting a lot of spit on well…everything. This was quite confronting when we had to do all twenty three moves staring into the eyes of the person opposite. You ever tried giving head to a root vegetable while staring straight into a girls eyes who you have just finished foot spanking?

Tricky. Very tricky.

The spit issue didn’t help much as I was constantly drooling all over my carrot and anything else in close range while I tried to compete in the tongue Olympics some of the moves required.

Luckily for me, Isla gave us a great piece of advice mere moments before I was ready to snap my slobbery carrot in half and give up.

“Sex is messy,” she said, her voice like velvet on freshly shaved legs. “Sex is dirty and smelly and gross. The sooner you accept that. The sooner you will be able to really enjoy it.”

And she is so right Lovers. Every time I have shitty sex I start to think about all the gross stuff. All the squelchy sounds and weird smells and just the general ick of what we’re doing. I’m fortunate in the fact that I only start focusing on these things after I have realised the dude who’s flailing about on top of me is just useless, rather than at the outset of my naked trysts. When I’m having a good time, a queef is an opportunity to giggle; the squish of lube on skin is sensual rather than slimy, and the slap slap slap of balls on my ass is an ecstatic rhythm to time my orgasm to.

It’s all about perception.

With that in mind I stared down my carrot, determination glowing in my eyes as I took in that orange skin and rough texture. Watch out boy, I thought to myself, you’re in for a wild ride.

With renewed vigour, we continued to work through the twenty-three moves, from The Corn; nibbling the sides of the wang as if you’re eating corn, to the Self Induced Turkey Slap (if I have to explain that one Lovers you’re probably reading the wrong type of blog.)

One move that got me a little conflicted (ooh feelings, dum dum dum!) Was the Self Induced Gagging. Isla raved about the move, noting that she committed so fully to it that occasionally she came quite close to a bit of method acting, having to swallow down a touch of the old vom as it snuck up on her.

I know this move is very popular in the porn world and hey sometimes we all feel like channelling Madison Ivy or Jesse James, but what about when it’s just you and the dude you’re keen on and this is the first time you’ve knelt at his pubic alter to get a little closer to the Big Man?

Is it too much? Do they know you’re faking it? Would they even like it if you tried to bring porn so vividly into their experience? It’s all speculation I suppose, but I would be so devastated if I was halfway through the performance of a lifetime, spit flying everywhere, moaning like a gloriously wanton whore as I turkey slapped myself and pretended to choke down his boomstick, and he tapped me on the head and said, “can you tone it down a little?”

Hmm, that could be quite the mood killer.

I think the main thing the class taught me was that every style is different, whether you’re a Tea Bagger, a Hummer, a Zig Zagger or any other myriad type of blow jobber, as long as you (and he) have fun and enjoy yourself, then that will be the best type of fellatio.

We finished the class with some more practice and the room was quiet except for the odd crunch and squeal of ‘oh God no!’ as someone accidentally bit the tip off their unfortunate carrot. Then the single men in the room were asked if they wanted to volunteer themselves for ‘practice.’

Pfft, is a frog’s ass watertight?

I’ve never seen fifteen men scramble to their feet so quickly and thrust their arms in the air. The only thing that could have topped it is if they cried, “I volunteer as tribute!”

I smiled as one of the girls whose unfortunate carrot had received a sudden circumcision walked over to one of the gentleman and offered her services. From his constant wide eyes I would say that that was the most terrifying blow job of his life.

One thing I’ll always cherish and never forget (apart from watching Isla reduce a man to a whimpering puddle through the mere work of her mouth and tongue) was the men as they left the room, rubbing their faces and whinging, “my jaw is so sore!”

Welcome to my world boys!

As Samantha Jones likes to say, “They don’t call it a job for nothing!”

Until next time Lovers xx


Best Bonking (or more accurately blow-job song): Lollipop

By: Lil Wayne

Just do it. Lil Wayne will serenade you about how much he loves it when his woman mouth holsters his nightstick while you give a bloody brilliant blow job at the same time. It’s like art imitating life! Naww how romantic for Valentine’s Day!


The Festival of Really Good Sex! – Part Five

What’s crackalacking Lovers?

Oh how I’ve missed our time together! Unfortunately (or as my parents and society keeps telling me) university comes first!

Pfft, lame ass society, who needs it? Just leave me with the kinksters and the swingers and I’ll be happy as a clam! Sadly, clam times will have to wait until certain Bachelor degrees are completed, but until then, let’s dive back into the sexy splendor that was the Festival of Really Good Sex shall we?

Ok, it’s time for… Electrosex!

That’s right Lovers, break out the extension cords, things are about to get static!

So, as you can imagine, I had eagerly been awaiting this particular session all day, intrigued beyond compare as to how this strange new (well, new to me anyway) sexual practice took place.

Truth be told I was also slightly nervous. After all I had only just finished sliding around in deliciously slippery Nuru, remnants of which I could still feel in certain crevices and cracks of my body.

Was it really a good  idea to add electricity to the mix?

But I needn’t have worried. Unlike the other classes, which were mostly hands on (pun intended) this class was much more sit, watch and be amazed. Or should I say shocked? Sigh, there’s just way too many electricity puns to fit into one little post.

Our delightful (and might I add delicious) teachers were the owners of Eagle Leather, only one of the best leather, kink and all things sexual store in the state. I was humbled that they took time out of their day to come and educate us novices on how to not accidentally kill ourselves with tens machines and electric butt plugs. (Now that would be a hard one to explain to the parents.)

Anyways, our educators consisted of one busty leather clad blonde named Pepper and one casually dressed guy named BJ. Pepper looked incredible. Both myself and my wet hairless friend from Nuru lusted after her outfit as soon as we clapped eyes on her, heedless of how long it had actually taken her to get into it. (Apparently there’s quite a process including copious amounts of talcum powder to get a body into said leather body suit.) But once she was in, damn! The outfit was topped off with black heels and a deadly looking black corset. At one point we both snuck over to ask if we could purchase such an outfit at her store. Our minds were racing, chock full of all the naughty scenarios we could enact dressed in such attire.

Sadly our hopes were dashed when she informed us the ensemble had set her back around $800.

Apparently being sexy is quite the investment.

I think she noticed our faces drop, as she hurriedly went on to divulge a 50% off sale in the next week. It was very sweet of her, but $400 to two uni students was still about $375 more than we’d hoped (ok dreamed, we knew it was never going to be cheap.)

Slightly dejected, but fervently calculating the cost of two minute noodles for the rest of our lives, we sat back down again to observe the master at work.

BJ was a great presenter. He was funny, down to earth and most importantly, he really knew his stuff.

The first thing he did was to completely terrify us. In the nicest way of course. You see as it turns out, people don’t enjoy spending a lot of money on legitimate sex toys, preferring to make their own and experiment. This is all well and good if you’re just throwing a condom on a cucumber, but as BJ quickly informed us, mixing electricity and pubes often equates to disastrous consequences (not to mention bald patches.)

One of his ‘friends’ an electrician no less, connected some wires to his nipples and flicked the switch… effectively ridding himself of said nipples. Apparently now he just has two little black craters where his poor nips used to be.

I crossed my legs and sat up straighter, keen not to miss some vital step or detail that would leave me singed or sans hair.

As it turned out, there was quite an art and a method to this whole electrosex thing. It’s all about circuits. Both Pepper and BJ urged us to never ever complete a circuit above the waist, as this brings the electricity dangerously close to the heart. Pepper angrily conveyed her experience of the most recent SEXPO exhibition, where electrosex stall holders would run up to people and invite them to try the product. This would be all well and good, explained Pepper, if they weren’t asking people to hold one part of the circuit in one hand and the other part in the opposite hand, effectively creating a circuit directly across the persons chest.

It was a bit concerning that even some of the people selling this stuff didn’t know how to use it. I was so glad we had teachers who seemed well informed to say the least.

So without further ado, BJ pulled out the first toy.

A clear glass butt-plug.

You could sense everyone leaning infinitesimally forward, eager to get a better look at this strange new toy.

BJ explained the many ways we could utilise such a toy. If you were a guy having some solo fun you would use it with a urethral sound (you know, the skinny long piece that goes up your pee hole. Ouch.)

Anyways, if you used the butt plug on it’s own it won’t work (electrically that is.) Sure you can just use it as a regular boring plug, but if you wanted the zing of electricity, you needed the sound to create the circuit. As BJ told us, the circuit created a buzz of electricity that circulated from the guys butt, through his pelvis, penis and balls.

Sounds good if you’re a guy hey?

But what about us girls?

Never fear ladies! There are in fact, two ways we can utilise said butt plug. First, if you want to have partner sex, one goes in your butt, the other goes in your partners butt and then you guys become the circuit!

I thought that was pretty cool and actually quite romantic. Pepper’s leather suit came into play during this demonstration, as the less skin exposed, the more intense and centred the current of electricity. Pepper showed us the zip located in the crotch of her suit, explaining how all the electricity would stay around her muff if she and BJ remained fully clothed. As soon as you get naked, you lose the intensity, as the current moves around other parts of your body.

Fascinating stuff.

Pepper ad BJ then decided it was time for a real demonstration. So, as I said, there were two ways to use a butt plug, the other way is to hook it up to your very own battery operated power box (yay, fun without plug ins required!) Very handy if the power goes out I’m sure.

To our suprise Pepper got down on all fours facing away from us and unzipped her crotch zip, exposing her amazing ass (seriously it was so perfect it looked almost plastic!) BJ hooked up the butt plug and squirted some lube onto his finger. With an apologetic glance down at Pepper he eased his finger into her ass, explaining to us that they normally did four hour workshops rather than two, so he would have to rush Pepper’s warm up a little.

I felt bad for her. She was about to have a plug rammed up her ass and this was the part they were going to rush? Luckily BJ seemed to be genuinely concerned for her comfort. Again, I was struck how even the most “gross” or “dirty” things could be so romantic in my eyes. This demonstration was definitely neither of those things to me and I felt a twinge of sympathy for the people who weren’t open minded enough to attend with me, as they were missing such a fascinating and intimate exchange.

Once Pepper was primed, BJ slowly slid the plug in and turned his power pack on. We watched on, enthralled as the plug began to pulse lightly.

“As you can see,” began BJ “the plug effectively fucks the person as it pulses.”

You definitely couldn’t disagree with the man as he turned the dials up and up. The plugs thrusting action became more and more obvious and Pepper let out a few soft noises.

“Are you enjoying that Pepper?” Someone asked hesitantly from the crowd, as if reading the very same thoughts that had entered my mind.

“Normally I would have come by now,” answered Pepper, a  little breathlessly, “it’s just a little more difficult with a crowd.”

We all nodded understandingly, awed by her actions and stamina.

Then, all of a sudden, the plug popped out and fell onto the ground.

A soft “aww” went through the crowd as we thought it had merely fallen out accidentally. Boy were we wrong.

About a second after the plug popped out, Pepper had the most incredible orgasm, squirting explosively before collapsing onto her stomach, and having what I could only describe as a seizure.

Now I understood why they laid down a tarp before hand. That girl had some distance.

We were all shell shocked, completely silenced by the amazing orgasm experienced right in front of us. BJ smiled and walked up to Pepper, her body slowly stopping it’s frenzied convulsions.

“So you see,” BJ started, crouching down beside her, “it’s quite an intense feeling.” Our mouths dropped open as he reached over and twiddled a few fingers into her soaking vag, sending her into violent spasms again.

Good god, and I thought my orgasms could be good. Teach me how to do that!

As it turned out, my thoughts on the romantic manner of the class were bang on, as Pepper and BJ were in fact boyfriend and girlfriend.

Oh my god. Cutest. Couple. Ever.

Once Pepper had cleaned herself up a little it was time for us to have a go! Nothing as extreme as what we had witnessed (much to the disappointment of some people) but instead the plug was placed in the crook of our elbows (after it had been cleaned, obviously.)

Ooh, that’s another romantic thing about electrosex! (Wow, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.) The toys are monogamous. Because they have all sorts of plugs and holes and stuff, it makes them difficult to clean. Obviously you still give them a wipe down but you can never get them as pristine as your regular vibe. I liked it. If you were going to make such an investment in something (the buttplug alone was $400 with the powerpack another cheeky $400) then it should be with someone you love and trust, or at the very least who you fuck regularly.

The actual sensation of the electricity was not what I expected. At first it just felt like a regular vibrator, but as they slowly turned it up it got much more intense. The closest thing I can liken it to is when you go to pop a mint in your mouth, but as you tip the tin up into your mouth you accidentally get five of the bastards instead of one. I think that powerful cool burn is the sensation closest to it, although really, don’t take my word for it, try it for yourself!

So that’s electrosex Lovers! So cool right? I swear, one Powerball and I’m rigging my place up with power-points galore!

What’s next I hear you ask? Well that would be the last class of the festival: The Art of Fellatio!

Excited? You should be.

Claire XX

Ok Lovers, instead of the usual pickup line or bonking song, today it’s all about what you can do for me! The Kinkly Sex Blogging Superheroes competition is happening again and it’s time to vote! I mean obviously I hope you vote for me but hey, no judgement if you go for one of the others (there are like 380 to choose from, so no pressure.) But if you like catching up with me and hearing about my sexcapades, then vote for me! Let’s see if we can keep that coveted spot 84 in the top 100! Just go to the link below and vote away! Love you long time Lovers XX







The Festival of Really Good Sex! – Part Four

Hidey ho Lovers!

I hope you’re all doing well on this, my most favouritist of days, Hump Day! (Yes I know favouritist is not a word and yes, secretly Friday is my actual favourite, but doesn’t Hump day just get you so in the mood for fun?) Well, it certainly works for me Lovers! I’ve just spent the last twenty minutes casting lines on Tinder. Let’s hope someone bites! (Preferably a gentle nibble in that sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder, but I’m not fussy.)

Until then, how about I finish off my tale of super slippery sexiness? (Just a note here Lovers, if you haven’t read the last post yet I advise you to do so before you continue. You will be so confused otherwise! Wait, how did she get naked? Why is everyone slippery? What on Earth is that?)

So, now that we’re all up to date, let’s dive back in!

After I had sufficiently soaked up enough Nuru from my squirming on the tarp I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see both my group members staring off to the side, transfixed.

“Look, just look,” said Darren breathlessly.

I looked up just as he said and the breath was literally stolen from my lungs.

There, right in front of my eyes was a mass of roiling, slippery, entwined bodies. I hadn’t even noticed people begin to clump together, so ensconced in my own little group was I. But now it was all I could do to look away for even a moment!

Shrieks of delight rang out as the group began to slide over each, effortlessly making it from one side of the room to the other atop the churning crowd beneath them.

I watched, mouth agape, as people literally dove into the mass of people as if it were a swimming pool. The most incredible part of it was when they would disappear from sight and resurface metres away, having ridden the slippery wave of people as far as the Nuru would allow.

I began to worry when individuals didn’t resurface for some time, fearing they may have actually drowned in the slick, stirring mass of people (not a bad way to go, as it happens) but then they would always reappear, laughing hysterically (if not a little breathlessly) and preparing to dive back into the fray once more.

Darren readied himself to jump in and I instinctively grabbed his arm and said, “wait, don’t go!”

He looked at me quizzically and asked, “why not?”

I paused, trying to think of some excuse to make him stay on the edge with me.

But that’s when it hit me.

I was holding Darren back because I was too nervous to dive in myself. Pfft, what a wuss!

There was no way I was going to admit I was apprehensive out loud though.

No no Lovers. I have a tendency to think about sexual encounters the same as any dangerous situation. Play it cool, wear lots of deodorant and never, never let them sense your fear.

There was only one thing for it, I had to make the leap myself and hope for the best.

I sent a quick prayer to the sex gods, knowing there was a more than average chance that my slide across the room could well leave me face first in a slippery ass crack, and leapt into the throng.

Only to come to a grinding halt two people in.

That’s the thing about Nuru bodygliding Lovers, you actually have to be coated in the stuff for it to work!

As it turns out, my skin (much like my minge) was ravenously soaking up the Nuru as fast as it was being applied!

Gah! How was I supposed to slide around if the damn gel kept drying up? Luckily my very helpful boys noticed my conundrum and motioned over one of the volunteers doling out the Nuru.

They quickly explained my ‘situation’ and before I knew it I was saturated in an entire bottle of the stuff!

“Go, go!” Cried the boys encouragingly and once more I flung myself into the crowd.

This time was much more successful. I giggled uncontrollably as I effortlessly slid over faces, stomachs, feet and all manner of body parts. My main fear was crushing some poor man’s wang as I flew past, as almost all the boys were raised to at least half mast (it may not have been a ‘sexual’ experience per say, but you show me a straight guy who can stay soft in a room with thirty naked women and I’ll eat my hat!) Luckily no men were injured in my first foray into the crowd, however I landed with a smack against the wall.

It’s ok, I broke the impact with my kneecaps.


Once I recovered somewhat from my little tête-à-tête with the wall I was able to take stock of my situation. I was right in the thick of the action now, and I let my mind go blank as I tried to soak up everything I was seeing and feeling, imprinting the images on my Nuru glazed brain.

It wasn’t long before I was joined by Anna, one of the girls I had gotten to know pretty well over the course of the day. She slid across five or ten people with a grace I envied before coming to rest beside me with a cute little squelch.

“Guess what?” She whispered in a conspiritual voice.

“What?” I asked breathlessly as a middle-aged woman slid shrieking across my stomach.

“I’m wet!” She exclaimed.

For a moment I was puzzled, and opened my mouth to agree that yes we were all indeed, wet, when suddenly I grasped her meaning.

The bitch was completely turned on!

Of course I didn’t blame her, the guy she had met at the festival was basically every woman’s wet dream and he had been slithering his gorgeous bod all over her for the past hour. I was just jealous of her abilities.

A quick check of my own lady garden revealed not a hint of salad dressing betwixt my leaves, even with the crazy amount of penis being thrust into my face.

Unintentionally of course, the intentional thrusting was to be saved for other classes later in the day.

But there wasn’t much time to dwell on lubricant inadequacies, as the surging crowd quickly enveloped me once more.

I lay there, doing as everyone else did, (which basically meant just stroking everything in front of me as it appeared then disappeared,) when suddenly the smoothest pair of legs I had ever laid hands on came within my grasp.

“Good god woman,” I gasped, “how did your legs get so smooth?”

As it turned out, the follicly challenged pins belonged to Anna, but in the knot of people they could have belonged to anyone.

Damn, was there nothing this girl couldn’t do?

As I continued to stroke the hairless unicorn’s legs I questioned her about how she achieved such a magnificent result.

We were chatting about the wonders of laser hair removal when suddenly a voice issued from the other side of the room, “but how many sessions did you do?”

Before we knew it the voice was closely followed by an extremely excited woman, eagerly clawing her way across five men in order to join the conversation.

Geez, even in a room full of fifty naked people; boobs, butts and wangs in every direction, you can always trust girls to chat about beauty regimes.

It’s clearly a built in quality.

By the time the conversation drew to a close we realised we had monopolised a good portion of the women in the room, much to the chagrin of the waiting naked men.


We all giggled and pushed ourselves outwards, allowing the Nuru to redistribute us wherever it saw fit.

I ended up sliding right into a scene from Dante’s Inferno, as one of the more adventurous men stood, raised his arms and cried, “come to me, Devil children!”

You just had to laugh; the situation was so absurd!

However, my laughing soon stopped when I realised the predicament I was in. I had let myself become so loose, so relaxed, that my limbs simply flailed where they liked.

Usually they slid off other body parts with ease, but this time, the heel of my foot was… stuck.

And warm.

I realised what had happened the same time the unfortunate woman did, and I slowly and carefully retracted my foot from her vagina, issuing heartfelt apologies as I did so.

I wouldn’t say the act of penetrating someone with my foot was on my sexual bucket list, but I guess I can officially tick it off now.

Huzzah for new experiences!

Although seriously though if the woman involved ever reads this I am really very sorry and hopefully my heel didn’t cause damage or incite an intense foot fetish.

I’ll say this at the end now Lovers, if you’re planning on partaking in bodygliding, prepare yourself.

Have a shower, cut your nails and if there’s time, rub your feet in coconut oil. You never know where they’ll end up…

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: If I flip this coin, what are the chances of me getting head tonight?





The Festival of Really Good Sex! Part Three

Olah Lovers!

And how are we all this fine afternoon? I’ll tell you how I am, damn smelly that’s what! Nothing like having the gas shut off for three days to really put a dampener on your showering routine. Seriously Lovers, I tried hopping in for a cheeky rinse yesterday and my arm started to turn blue after only twenty seconds! Sure, part of that is my terrible circulation, but the other half of it would be the fact that it’s fricking freezing!

So, now that you’re all aware of my pungent predicament, I think it’s time we move on, yes?

Back to FORGS!

Now where exactly did we leave off? Ah that’s right, erotic rope! That must mean foot worship is next!

Strap yourself in Lovers, this could get wild!

Well, that’s what I thought anyway, but as it turned out the foot pampering class was rather G-rated.

I walked into the room, ready for some foot action, and was greeted by a cute kids paddling pool. (It didn’t exactly scream sex to me.)Volunteers were in the process of filling it with water (warm water, thankfully). It was obvious the organisers didn’t expect many participants, as there were only about ten chairs set up around the pool. By the time class was ready to start however, there were at least twenty of us. (I guess people weren’t keen on the other workshop, as it involved ‘erotic dancing’. Not my cup of tea at all. I prefer to dance one of two ways, either alone or drunk.)

Anyways, the twenty of us stood around the pool as Mistress Minx and Kinta began to explain the whole idea of foot worship. I was glad it was these two running the workshop again. I really enjoyed their sexy vibe and they made the whole room feel closer. Which is kind of ironic because boy did we have to get close to fit into that kiddy pool! Although it was supposed to be a ‘cleansing ritual’ full of lingering silences and attention to small sensations, it turned into a bit of a squeal fest as we all clung to each other, desperately trying not to fall over.

It may not have been what Kinta and Minx were after, but it was still fun, and that’s what counts, right?

After the squealing and giggling had subsided, it was time to pick a partner. Now Lovers, I have no issues with feet, they don’t disgust me in any way, and I have had many shoved in my face over the years (mainly by my big sister in order to gross me out with her ingrown toe-nail. It really was truly disgusting.) So if I can put up with that, a stranger’s foot poses no problem for me. Perhaps it was lucky for my partner that I am so open to all types of feet, as the poor girl had lost both her big toenails after a hiking trip.

And when I say lost, I mean they were still there, they were just brown and dead.

Delicious, huh?

But hey, I was just happy to have a partner I could have a laugh and a chat with. I got to go first in the receiver role and my god was it great! Basically I got my feet massaged with yummy smelling oils by a pretty girl for twenty minutes. What’s not to love? I didn’t really see the sexual side of it so much at that point, but I definitely remembered how much I adore a good foot massage.

Sadly, my twenty minutes came to an end all too soon and then it was my partners turn. We moved away from the pool as it was now time to rub coconut oil onto each others feet. I studiously rubbed away (no pun intended) and was relieved to hear the sighs of contentment coming from my partner.

Oh yeah, I’ve still got it.

So up to this point in class it had basically just been nice foot massages for everyone involved, but as I said, there wasn’t much of a sexual side to it. That was until it was time for the demonstration. We sat in a coconut glazed circle and watched on with awe as Mistress Minx and Kinta showed us how foot play was really done.

It was fascinating Lovers! I’ve never really been turned on by feet, or by watching other people get their feet on, but after this I definitely have an appreciation for it.

They took turns in giving and receiving, and demonstrated just how sexy a foot could be. When these guys massaged each other’s feet, there was a such a sensuality to it, as if magic powers could be coaxed from the sole of a foot if stroked correctly.

Then there was the toe sucking. As erotic and cool to watch as it was, my partner and I both looked at each other and gave just the slightest shake of the head. No toe sucking for us today. I was secretly relieved she wasn’t into it either. Even after a bath and a rub down I wasn’t confident that my feet would be tasty enough too go into some poor girls mouth. And her toenails made it a definite ‘no’ for me chowing down at toe-time.

However, what we were interested in was the foot torture. Oh I know it sounds intense and scary Lovers, but you’d be amazed at how much the sole of your foot can take! Kinta laid out an assortment of paddles, whips, brushes and all manner of utensils for us to experiment with. Watching the demonstration, we were taught to use the one to five system in order to figure out how much pain the receiver was in.

Eager to begin, I decided to deal out the punishment first. I chose my weapon; the good old school ruler. With my hands placed safely over her toes (never hit people on their toes Lovers, that’s where doctor’s visits come in) I got to it, slapping her firmly on the ball of her foot. At least, I thought it was firm.

“How’s that?” I asked, peering around to see what finger she would hold up. She turned to me and held up one finger (luckily it wasn’t the bird.)

“Just one?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah I can barely feel it.” She scoffed.

Barely felt it? Well, I thought, there’s only one way to remedy that! I proceeded to punish her foot with wild abandon, slapping and smacking that bad boy until even Akon would have been proud of me. Before long two then three fingers promptly popped up, letting me know my smacking had been successful.

Woohoo, champion smacker right here!

We had previously agreed that we would only go up to three as far as the pain threshold was concerned, so it was time to try something else. And boy did I try something else Lovers! I slapped her with whips, rubber mallets, foam mallets, hair brushes and basically anything I could get my hands on. It was actually a hell of a lot of fun!

Then it was my turn.

As I had done previously, my partner started out tentatively, slapping me lightly on the heel of my foot, inducing me to snort and hold up one lousy finger. Once again, as I had, she went to town on me, smacking me until I could hear her panting with exertion. I must admit there was a strange satisfaction to it. In my head I was thinking, “yeah hit me harder, do it, do it! Is that all you’ve got? I’m such a badass!”

That is until she hit me really hard and the voice transformed into “oh god please don’t hurt me, I’ve still got such a life to live! Mercy, mercy!”

So all in all foot fetish was great fun. I must say, there really is something genuinely sexy about paying so much attention to a part of the body that doesn’t start with a p or a v.

I’m still not exactly sure how to work it into any type of regular foreplay though. I can’t imagine kissing down a guys chest, past his bellybutton down to his inner thighs and then breathing, “turn over baby, I’m going to give your feet such a smack.”

Hmmm, might be a bit niche for most of my men.

Still, it’s nice to have a good assortment of play in the foreplay bank.

Now Lover’s we get to what so many of you have been waiting for; Nuru Bodygliding!

But what is this bodygliding you speak of Claire? I hear you ask with trepidation. Well Lover’s it’s an experience and a half, I can tell you that now! So, you keen to keep reading?

I thought so.

Well, I’ll start off by saying that you should never, ever go into a bodygliding session straight after a big lunch washed down by a pint of Coke.

Which is exactly what I did.

What? I was really hungry and the burger place across the road was calling me all day, plus adding double bacon was only a $1 extra. What else was I supposed to do, just ignore the bacon? Pfft, not an option Lovers.

So, I waddled back into the building, adequately stuffed with bacon and beef, only to remember that this next workshop was ‘clothing optional’ which pretty much always meant ‘everybody will be butt naked.”


Still, I couldn’t take the bacon back, so I just had to work with it. I gingerly sat down on the tarp that now covered the full length of the room (yes you read that right Lovers, tarp, like from Bunnings, now replaced all carpet in the room. Quite an intimidating sight for a newbie I must say.) The more I sat there the more nervous I became. Did I really want to get naked with all these people? I mean, there was nobody I particularly disliked, but I really wasn’t in the zone to have sex with anyone. I was here to learn, not get laid (although I wasn’t averse to that happening if the moment was right. I’m still human after all.)

Just as I was considering the possibility of running, the leader of the group began to talk. His words instantly calmed me.

“Now guys, just so you know, this is not a sexual experience.”

Calmed me yes, but also confused the bejesus out of me. You’re saying that getting naked, on a tarp, with fifty strangers is not sexual? Dude, what could be more sexual than that?

He went on to explain, “you’ll find that this experience will be more childlike. You’ll find yourself regressing back. Usually with a lot of laughing and squealing.” He added with a wink.

Hmm, childhood regression? Sounds… weird.

But as they say sometimes you’ve just got to chuck it in the fuck bucket and move on, so that’s just what I did.

I was here. I was going to have this experience. No turning back (apart from regression of course.)

We were told to pair up or get into groups of three for the first part of the session, and I grabbed onto Darren, my erotic rope partner lightning fast. We may not have known each other that well, but I knew him more than anyone else in that room. We were then joined by a nice middle-aged bloke in need of a group. We of course accepted, being the nice polite people we are.

But that’s when I realised what would be happening. It was going to be a Claire sandwich.

No turning back, no turning back, no turning back. I repeated the mantra in my head as everyone began to strip off. I closed my eyes, gave myself a mental kick up the ass and whipped my shirt off before I could change my mind. Then my pants. Then my bra.

The undies stayed on.

As I’ve stated before Lovers, I am not endowed with the moistest of muffs and find it difficult to become sufficiently lubricated much of the time. However, what my lubeless love tunnel lacks in putting out the good stuff, it certainly makes up for in the opposite manner. In other words, if I took my undies off on a tarp smeared with Nuru, my muffin would suck that stuff up like a creepy crawly on crack.

So, the undies remained firmly in place.

Now that everyone was naked (sans for me and a few other ladies in g-bangers) it was time to begin. We were instructed to massage each other (without any oils or anything, this was just the warmup.) I tentatively reached towards the boys, who sat cross-legged in front of me, and started massaging their legs, just above the knee.

Below the knee felt way too PG for what we were about to do, but going straight to the upper thigh was a bit forward. Apparently in my head there was a certain decorous way one should approach these things.

The boys reciprocated and we fondled each others arms and legs for little while, just trying to ease into things and get comfortable. That was until the group next to us motioned for us to copy their style. They were doing a massage train of nakedness. The first guy sat with his legs crossed, enjoying a massage from the girl who sat directly behind him, her legs encircling his waist. She too was being massaged by the guy directly behind her, who seemed to be ignoring the whole ‘non-sexual’ aspect by focusing all his attention on her love puppies.

Subtle dude, very subtle.

My two group members looked at me for approval, their eyes shining with delight and excitement. It would have been like saying no to your new puppy. Your new puppy with two penises sure, but still cute all the same.

So I got up and clambered in between them with all the grace of a lopsided flamingo. In other words, I got up, them toppled onto them as I lost my footing on the slippery tarp.

No chance of sexiness here boys.

We were doing the train massage thing for about ten minutes and I was just starting to get a little bored when all of a sudden a volunteer appeared next to us with a wine bottle.

Geez, it’s a bit late to offer up some Dutch courage now mate, I thought to myself grumpily, but then he motioned for us to hold out our hands.

With just a touch of trepidation, I did as he asked…. And then the games began!

Oh Lovers, the oohey, gooey, stickiness of this stuff was just amazing! And to top it all off? It was warm! We gleefully cupped our palms together, greedy to receive as much of the Nuru gel as we could. When the gel had been described to us, I hadn’t been all that keen, as the stuff was apparently made from seaweed. But as our leader had advised us, it was completely odourless and evaporated like water.

Well, sort of like water. Think really really thick water. But warm. Like soup.

Soup water. Yeah, think warm soupy water.

I’m really not selling this stuff well am I?

Ok let me tell you how things progressed after the initial excitement. We cupped the Nuru in our hands reverently, admiring its texture and the delicious feel of it before quickly slapping it onto each other before it slipped through our fingers. We started just on each others backs before adventuring around to more… juicy parts.

There was no touching of the wangs you dirty bastards!

No no, it was more chests, inner thighs, butts and all those areas. In an instant though, the frolicking turned forlorn as we realised we were out of gel! What to do now? Luckily one of those handy volunteers was always available to top us up whenever our smiles turned upside down. There was one moment however, when we ran out of the sacred fun-gel and all the volunteers were on the other side of the room. To my surprise, one of my boys let out a whoop of excitement and splattered himself face down on the tarp, before rolling over onto his back, effectively marinating himself in Nuru that had slipped off our bodies and onto the tarp.

He was like a happy little chicken breast, basted and ready for the pan.

“Try it! You’ve just got too!” He laughed.

And he was right, I just did.

After I had sufficiently soaked up enough Nuru from my squirming on the tarp I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see both my group members staring off to the side, transfixed.

“Look, just look,” said Darren breathlessly.

I looked up just as he said and my breath was literally stolen from my lungs.

What did I see Lovers? Find out next time!



Pickup line of the week: Is your name Google? Cause you have everything I’m searching for!

Talk about unsafe sex!


Woah Lovers, what a Friday night I had!

That’s right Lovers, we’re going to take a teensy break from FORGS and focus on something that happened just the other night.

So what happened? I hear you ask with bated breath. Well it’s more a case of what didn’t happen, and how the not happening of it caused all sorts of other happenings to occur.

Confused yet? Me too, but don’t worry Lovers, we’ll get through it together!

So, Friday rolled around as usual, and although I was aware that yet another Saints and Sinners swingers ball was upon us, I was content in the fact that this month I would be sitting out the action.

Instead, I had the delightful prospect of a Friday night with Beet to look forward to.

Remember Beet? This was the guy I was most excited about second dating a few weeks ago. And oh my lord Lovers, the sex we had! It was incredible! Not only did I finally find my orgasm again, but it was just so connected and, I hate to say it… special.

Eww I think I’m catching feelings!

I thought maybe the first time was amazing because I was pretty tipsy, but after having amazingly orgasmic morning sex the next day, I knew I was on to something good. No, not good, great!

Phoar I just can’t get enough of him Lovers! Every time we have sex it’s like… so… you know… indescribable!

The best thing is I’m not alone in my opinion, Beet thinks the sex is pretty amazeballs as well.

So, happy days, right Lovers?


My only qualm with the boy is his delicious body (and mind, I’m not completely shallow) isn’t available often enough! Still, the waiting is what keeps it exciting I suppose. Nothing like a little anticipation to heighten the senses.

Anyways, as I said, I was looking forward to a quiet night of sexy time and party pies, (what more could a girl want) when I get a text from the man himself.

Turns out my quiet night of nakedness was not to be. I’d still be getting naked, but I’d be doing it in front of one thousand other people.

That’s right Lover’s, Beet had gone and bought us tickets to Saints and Sinners! And the best part? He bought mine as a birthday present!

How romantic!

I spent the remainder of the afternoon whipping around sex stores in the city trying to cobble together an outfit that was both goth/rocker/punk (the theme for the night) and also a decent amount of sexy.

Mission accomplished.

Beet came to my house before the party for some pre-drinks and pre-sex (no point going to a sex party without unleashing the turtle a few times first right?) and as usual we both came ferociously, gasping and laughing at the force of our orgasms.

After a few more beers and some last minute outfit changes, we were off.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but for some reason I was nervous. This was the third time I’d been to S and S, I said to myself sternly, why on earth should I be nervous? Maybe it was the fact that we were meeting some of the FORGS gang at the party? No that couldn’t be it, I’d seen them all naked and more, what else did I need to know to implicitly trust and like them?

Then it hit me. Ah shit.


Fuck fuck fuck!

This was the reason I never went with people I actually cared about! How was I going to feel when Beet left me and headed off to join a sexy threesome? We weren’t anything. We weren’t dating, and from what I could gather Beet had no intentions of making me his ‘special gal,’ so why was I getting all riled up?

Gah, those goddam feelings.

Son of a bitch.

I took a deep breath and resolved to drink much wine and have much sex, starting with Beet. May was well get him started off with some good sex before he headed into the fray.

But that was certainly not what happened Lovers.

As soon as we entered I felt that now familiar thrill of being with ‘my people.’ Everything was out and free (quite literally in some cases) and everyone was smiling. I took Beet’s hand and led him on a tour of the venue, pointing out my favourite spots and activities as I did so. After the tour we grabbed a drink and headed onto the dance floor.

Beet’s eyes were bugging out of his head trying to take in all the sights and sounds he was being assaulted with.

I smiled mischievously and slid my hand down into his underwear.

Round two maybe? I think so.

Beet’s pork sword disagreed.

There was no movement at this particular station, so I figured it was time for a scene change.

I steered Beet toward the bean bag section, eager to relax him and help him get into the groove of the night.

But after several attempts at bean bag head, it was pretty obvious that Beet Junior was not feeling the vibe.

You may think I was disappointed at this point Lovers. You’re at a sex party, and he’s not having sex with you? Jipped! But actually my Lovelies, what we did instead was better.

Maybe it’s just my dodgy romantic side coming out, but instead of having crazy wild bean bag sex we talked, we fondled, we kissed, long and slow.

It was so nice Lovers!

Eventually we detached from each other long enough to change floors, and that’s when we bumped into the FORGS crew. Yay!

The night got even better from then on. It was so great to see them again, and of course everyone’s costumes were on point.

We headed to the dance floor and danced and danced and danced. There was much coupe swapping happening, but for some reason I didn’t take part. As I said before, Beet and I are not a couple, we aren’t dating, exclusive or anything of the sort, but when the offer came to make out with a few dudes… I just didn’t feel like it. The only person I wanted to kiss was Beet.

Urgh, how sad is that?

Then again, Beet didn’t make out with anyone either… Hmm, was he too nervous to pash someone? Or was he actually enjoying hanging out with me?

So confusing!

Anyways we carried on the dancing until the drag queen hosting the night kicked us off stage to start the best-dressed competition. And guess who jumped on stage?


Well, I say jumped on stage, he was sort of pushed, but still once he was up there he totally owned it. The contestants had to do a little dance on the pole to show off their outfits (or lack thereof) and my my my did Beet work that pole like a runaway!

I was so proud of him for getting up there and giving it a crack (not to mention showing a little crack at the same time.) He didn’t win, but I gave him a celebratory blowjob anyway.

It was the least I could do.

After his tryst on stage Beet felt ready to have a go in the Grope box. And you know what Lovers? So did I.

What an experience!

As soon as I jumped in about eight hands plunged through the holes to get at me. I giggled uncontrollably as the hands touched and stroked me everywhere. And I mean everywhere Lovers. There was one quite persistent hand who set up camp in the old nether regions, but I kept my legs firmly closed, so all he got was the front page.

A guy popped his head into the box and asked if I was ok, which was very sweet of him… The first two times. After that I was just like, dude, let a bitch get felt up in peace orright?

I didn’t say that, (manners people) but it was quite irritating. I got in this box myself, I can get out just as easily if I feel violated. Although really, why get in the box if you don’t want a little violation hey?

After eventually extricating myself from the hands Spud and I decided to go downstairs to the ‘orgy room’ and try out those beanbags again. After trying and failing to breathe life into his skin flute for a good twenty minutes, Beet pulled me up and gave me a kiss.

Then we did something I haven’t done since I was eighteen.

We had dry sex.

Oh I know it sounds very clinical when you say it like that, but my god, I forgot how much of a turn on a good old dry hump could be.

There we were, sat in the middle of a pile of naked, writhing bodies, the smell of latex condoms and Heineken thick in the air, and yet all I was focused on was Beet.

I was on top of him so it was me in control, grinding deliciously up and down against him. It didn’t matter if he was hard or not, we were both so turned on and into it that it felt like we were having sex anyway.

And the kissing! Ah, the amazing things a tongue can do! The whole experience reminded me of how great it can be to not have sex.

So it was safe to say that we’d sampled pretty much all of what the party had to offer. Beet was a little frustrated that he hadn’t been able to tick ‘having sex in public’ of his list, but he still said he had an amazing time. We left at around 3am, happy, tired and more than a little horny.

Imagine if we had of stayed just half an hour longer.

It’s a strange feeling Lovers, when a ‘secret’ sex party, becomes common knowledge. Oh sure, you tell your friends, your colleagues and occasionally your family if you want to freak them out, but you never really expect your sexual exploits to make it onto television.

That’s right Lovers, this month’s ball made the news. For all the wrong reasons.

Just half an hour after we left around thirty police stormed the club and shot a guy, while he was having sex with his woman! The details are still sketchy and there’s so much controversy surrounding the whole thing, but supposedly the cops got an anonymous tip off that a guy in the club had a gun. The police say when they yelled at the guy he pulled the gun and aimed it at them, but others say he was too busy having sex to do anything.

I don’t know what happened so I won’t comment on that but I do remember the girl. I only remember her because I admired her outfit many times throughout the night (she was dressed as Harley Quinn and her man was the Joker). I just feel so awful for her that a fun night out with her man ended in such a horrible manner. The worst part is, now her picture is splashed all over the tv and she’s known as a girl that goes to ‘those type of parties.’

Which of course there is nothing wrong with, but sadly society doesn’t see it this way. Already a few people I told have reacted negatively, saying things like, “well Claire, if you hang out with those type of people, dodgy things are going to happen.”

Urgh, people’s narrow-mindedness really shits me Lovers.

I for one, will not let things like this stop me from hanging out with these supposed ‘dodgy’ people, and neither should you.

I had to giggle at the news casters descriptions of what the couple were doing though. Some noted the couple were ‘initiating in intimate relations’ whilst others said they were ‘in a compromising position.’ Dear god people, they were having sex, it’s not a crime to say it!

Anyways Lovers, that’s me done for another post. I guess what I’ve learned from something like this happening is that events like these really are more special when only the ‘dodgy’ people know about them. The general public can’t wrap their minds around this ‘sex is fun’ concept, so for this reason, lets all take a lesson from Gandalf.

“Keep it secret! Keep it safe!”

Claire xx

P.S Just a thought. Earlier in the night there was a male strip show. They were dressed as Police… anybody think maybe the Joker thought it was all just a fun roleplay? “Ooh you got me guys, I’m not going down without a fight!”

That would totally suck if it was true.

The Festival of Really Good Sex! Part Two

Sweet baby Jesus on a popsicle stick Lovers!

I. Am. Exhausted!

Who knew a weekend of getting naked and not having sex could be so tiring? This is why I needed a week of recovery before I could write and tell you all about my adventures! (Plus it was my birthday so I had a hell of a time trying to organise a birthday bang for myself. Very time consuming, obviously.)

But I’m here now Lovers, and I’m ready and willing to tell you everything!

So let’s pick up where we left off shall we? I’d left the festival absolutely buzzing the night before, eager and excited for what awaited me in the next two days and nights.

Happily, this buzzing sensation stayed with me through the night and I awoke feeling strong, sexy and powerful. I blasted Aretha on the stereo as I dressed for the day (apologies neighbours, but really, is it worse getting woken up by my Motown hits playlist, or the guy in unit 22 wanking furiously? My thoughts exactly.)

So anyways, it’s safe to say I was pretty pumped for my first full day of FORGS (Festival Of Really Good Sex. It’s too long to type every time so I’m going to be totally lazy from here on in.)

I arrived on time (we were told if we were late we would not be allowed entry) and sat myself down on one of the now familiar cushions.

It wasn’t long before I was surrounded by a bunch of people I’d met the night before, and I must say, it felt pretty cool to be making friends in such an odd environment.

Although, as a side note, I was a bit skeptical of people after they’d neglected to tell me I’d left with Nutella on my neck the night before. It’s no wonder the drunk guy on the tram home was staring at me. Here was me thinking I was just oozing sexual charisma and he was totally picking up what I was putting down. Turns out he probably just thought I had shit on my neck.

Not the type of oozing a girl strives for.

But lets not hold grudges shall we?

I’d guestimate about thirty per cent of the attendees had come alone, much to my surprise, so it was great to all group around and freak out about certain workshops together.

Before I knew it, the clock had ticked over to 9.30 (so goddam early) and it was time for our first class!

There were two rooms being used for the festival, ingeniously named the small room and the large room. Two workshops ran concurrently and it was up to the individual to make the sometimes painful decision of which workshop to attend.

I think I did pretty well with my choices.

The first workshop…. Tying for erotic intensity.

I’ll be the first to say I was a little dubious heading into this workshop Lovers. As you know, I’ve always been fascinated by the whole BDSM scene, so the thought of actually acquiring some skills in the area greatly excited me. However, of all the badges I earnt during my time in the girl guides, rope tying and knots was not one of them. I could whip up a mean scone in under an hour and my water saving skills were on point, but knots had me completely undone. So I wasn’t looking forward to attempting intricate harnesses on some poor volunteer. That shit would get intense real quick.

Sadly not for the same reason I’m sure.

But luckily my idea of what the class might consist of was completely wrong! The class was run by two awesome individuals; Mistress Minx and Kinta. They had such an intriguing relationship with each other. Obviously Minx was a dom, but what interested me most is that Kinta was gay. I’d never known that gay guys could play or would want to play with women. Maybe I was just naïve, but it was such a fascinating dynamic to see. They clearly cared for each other, and the trust and warmth they communicated was infectious.

It really made me see the fluidity of this crazy thing called sex.

Anyways, after introducing themselves, Kinta and Minx quickly assured us that this would not be an hour and a half of learning knots.


Instead, it was all about learning to take a step back and discover the sensuality and sensation of the rope itself.


How was I supposed to do that if we weren’t stringing each other up?

Luckily our teachers had it all well in hand and they asked us to pair off. I looked around hesitantly, trying to find someone I could be at least somewhat comfortable with in very close proximity.

I ended up pairing with a guy called Darren. We’d chatted earlier and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. His eyes didn’t instantly undress you like I’d noticed one or two of the other gentleman’s did. Still, I suppose you can’t be too surprised to get a few of those blokes. It is a sex festival after all!

Darren was here alone, all the way from interstate, so he was in need of a friend just as much as me.

So, rope-mate secured, we started with the first activity.

I had to blindfold Darren and start touching him sensually (genitals and fun bags excluded obviously, this class wasn’t just cop a feel 101).

At first whenever I touched him he would attempt to touch me back, hands reaching for contact. When I got closer to him he went straight for my but and set up camp.

I think this was just nerves though, as when I gave some slight signals that this was more about him than me he backed right off.

So I could get to work.

It’s quite a unique sensation, being told to sensually touch someone you hardly know, with clothes on, in a room full of other people doing the same thing. In a sexual situation with a partner I would always just go straight for the old pork sword, but this time that wasn’t an option.

How do you make someone feel good, in a sensual way, without touching them sexually?

Turns out it’s actually quite fun and really easy to get the hang of!

I just had to remember that he was blindfolded, meaning just like the night before in the Sensorium, everything was heightened.

I started by tracing slowly up his arms lightly. Then I did it again, but this time much firmer. Personally my skin can get a little irritated if people go too soft so I went with what I prefer.

I kneaded his forearms and then his biceps, stepping in close so that we were touching chest to chest. Again he went to grab my butt but I shimmied away and he got the idea.

Dude, let me sensuate you! (Not a word I know, but it was what my brain was channelling. Yeah sensuate him, sensuate him real good Claire.)

I circled behind him, tracing patterns on the back of his neck as I did so, before pressing myself tightly against him and giving him a firm hug from the back. In the Sensorium the tight embrace had been one of my favourite parts so I was eager to apply this sensation to Darren.

I touched him everywhere (that was allowed) and I was amazed at how enjoyable it was to be so in control and to be giving pleasure in such a different way.

In such a PG way.

After a while we were given a “tool” to touch the person with. The tool was to be an extension of our own arm, rather than a separate object. When we were using the tool, we weren’t allowed to use our hands, so the person only felt the sensation of the particular tool. I was given a small cane, which I traced all over Darren’s body. As he relaxed more and more I became firmer in my movements before giving him a few light raps across the back of his legs.

Then it was time to swap and I donned the blindfold. Darren started out a bit uncertain, but as soon as he started in on my neck and collarbone I was turned completely to jelly. The neck is such an intimate and sensitive place, not to mention vulnerable, so just the lightest of touches felt sensual and almost dangerous.

Loved it!

The tool Darren got to use felt decidedly odd. It felt like on of those sponges you use to wash the dishes, you know the one’s where one side is yellow and the other, tougher side is green. It wasn’t unpleasant in the least, just… unusual.

Next up, it was time to work with some actual rope.

Each pair was given a length of rope and Minx and Kinta demonstrated what to do with said rope.

We were to tie a knot around our partner’s wrist or neck and to then use the rope to communicate with each other.

I dove straight in and went for the neck, even though a fair few people around me expressed concern about the area. But I trusted Darren enough not to strangle me, so I guess we were officially friends.

The idea was to let go of everything else and tune into the sensation of the rope. The feeling of it going around my neck, the gentle rubbing against my skin as Darren tied the knot and the subtle pull as Darren twisted the rope in different directions.

It was really nice. I could see why people enjoyed this type of play. To be completely free of any other thought or feeling other than what the rope was doing was strangely relaxing. I felt completely tranquil and at peace, similar to what I imagine subs feel when obeying orders from their dom. I was to do nothing but follow this direct order of enjoying the rope, something I couldn’t do unless I was completely focused.

However, there was one specific thing that kept jarring my focus.

This first class was the beginning of knowing who not to stand near if you didn’t want to be distracted from your own thoughts or feelings.

Now Lovers, I do my best to be understanding when it comes to the notion that everyone expresses their feelings differently, and in normal PG life I’m amazingly good at taking people as they come.

But good God, put those people in a sexual setting and some things just get irritating as fuck!

Seriously Lovers, a few people at this festival literally had an orgasm every time they breathed out. Or at least that’s what it sounded like! We were told to take some deep breaths at the beginning of the class, the beginning remember, before anything even mildly sexual had occurred and oh sweet lord, the moans that issued forth from a chosen few were insane!

Just breathing!

So you can imagine the cacophony I had to listen to as the sensual stuff started. Every breath out there was at least one or two, groaning and moaning away as if they were about to cream their jeans.

“Now Claire,” I lectured myself internally, “don’t be such a judgemental bitch.”

Turns out it’s really hard not to be a judgemental bitch when people are interrupting your sensuate time!

Maybe I’m just jealous. After all, the confidence and ability to communicate sexual emotions that freely (and publicly) is well beyond my capacity at this stage. Perhaps when I get to their age it’ll be me moaning and groaning with great aplomb. Let’s hope so!

Soon it was time to swap and I attempted to tie a knot around Darren. He chose the wrist (probably a wise choice as I struggled with the knot big time) and I tried to get him in the same zone I had been in previously. Darren seemed a bit bored however so I decided to wrap him up tight in the rope so he could feel the snug sensation of being held.

He seemed to enjoy that a bit more luckily.

Then, that was that, class was done!

Time flies when you’re tied up apparently.

So that was the first class Lovers, next post it’s foot pampering and Nuru bodygliding! Can’t wait to share!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: So we’re friends now, when do the benefits kick in?

The Festival Of Really Good Sex!

Holy shitballs Lovers!

What a start to the festival! Not to mention my weekend!

I must say I had planned to save all my thoughts until after the festival and give you a really well thought out, pensive post, but after tonight the words are just exploding out of me! And let’s face it, explosive always trumps pensive, right?

So, you want to hear about it?

Thought so.

Oh Lovers, I was so excited (not to mention nervous) when I first arrived. I knew I’d be one of the only people attending solo, and for a while it appeared I was correct in my assumptions.

But then I noticed a few people trickle in one by one and my fears of not having a partner were cured.

I took a seat on one of the thousands of cushions scattered throughout the room (ok maybe not thousands, but seriously, if there’s a store called Cushion World, these guys had bought them out!)

Cushion chosen, I scoped the very warm room out. (A quick look at the aircon confirmed it was 30 degrees in the room.) Looked like they were following Nelly’s philosophy on life. It’s getting hot in here, so take of all your clothes!

Well, maybe not all of them, not yet anyway. I did shed multiple layers though in an attempt to keep my cantankerous sweat glands happy. (Honestly, a touch over 26 degrees and I’m sliding off chairs due to my drenched ass cheeks!)

Eventually though, everyone was settled and we began. Nothing too exciting really, just the usual housekeeping stuff. You know the type. Be quiet when you leave, smoke out the back and don’t take photo’s of naked people covered in lube sliding around on each other.

Pretty standard right?

Then we were given numbers and a consent sheet regarding our limits and where we didn’t want to be touched.

I pondered for a while. Would I be cool with all this touching?

Just kidding. There was no pondering. The answer was a very definite yes! I only wrote ‘maybe don’t shove a finger in my belly button’ so I’d fill the space.

Plus my belly button is kind of gross, so really I was doing them a favour.

Anyways, I was number 19, and had to sit and wait patiently for my number to be called.

It was like the sexiest Centrelink waiting room ever.

All this waiting gave me a chance to get chatting and I met quite a few pretty cool and interesting people. More on those peeps in further posts.

My number was up!

I was led into a small room and told by one of the volunteers to undress as much as I felt comfortable. I’d told myself I’d whip my shirt off but when I saw all the nakedness surrounding me I shrugged and slipped my bra off as well.

Freezing nipples leading the way (this room was certainly not as warm as the bikram chamber I had just emerged from) I was introduced to one of the male volunteers. I must say, it’s quite a strange feeling, standing in front of a fully clothed man wearing nothing more than your necklace and yoga pants. That’s probably the reason why I greeted him with a wink and a, ‘sup.’

Face palm.

Luckily at that point he blindfolded me and ended any chances of more white girl gangster talk occurring.

Now I was in it. The ‘Sensorium’ had begun!

The guy took my hands and slowly guided me down the hallway. I heard pulsing beats and rhythms as we continued forward and my heart fluttered with excitement. Of course I could have opened my eyes at any time and peeked out from the blindfold, but where’s the fun in that? No no, this was all about the feeling, not the seeing.

And boy did I feel!

The hands holding mine guided me for a few more steps before we came to a stop and they disappeared. For a moment I felt bereft. Those hands were all I had to cling onto in this new and nerve-wracking experience and they’d just abandoned me!

Those hands were quickly replaced by at least two new sets. I breathed in sharply as I felt at least four hands gently caress my arms, my neck, my torso and yep, my fun puppies.

It was so nice! The excitement of not knowing what would happen next, who was touching you and where they might lead you added an intense element to the whole thing. The hands withdrew again and this time were replaced by a… I have no idea actually. It could have been something wildly erotic, or it could have been a wooden spoon. That’s the joy of a blindfold!

I breathed deeply as whatever it was was traced all over my body before coming back to circle my nipples. All the while the pulsing music beat rapidly in the background, staccato drum beats keeping things tribal and intense. I heard a sharp smack and a startled groan as someone nearby received their own wooden spoon in a much more… direct manner. Whatever was happening, they were certainly enjoying it!

But I had no more time to think about them as I was now being guided to another section of the room by yet another set of hands. I stopped, as what felt like beads were guided gently over my skin. However they didn’t stay gentle for long.

Ooh, ah, goddam that stings!

My inner voice was screaming at me to stop this madness, to ask whoever was violently flaying my breasts to ease up and go back to the nice stuff. But no, I wanted to feel it all, the pain and the pleasure. So I stayed silent and took my boob punishment.

Go me.

After I survived the pap flogging, I was guided onward once again, this time not stopping until I could feel someone’s hot breath on my face. (It’s cool, they had nice fresh breath so I was more than happy with our proximity. The only part I felt bad about was perhaps my Hungry Jack’s dinner had made my own breath less than appealing.) Still, there was no time to think about mundane things like that, as a firm voice right next to my ear commanded me, “open wide.”

I did as I was bid, thinking I would receive a finger for my troubles, but instead got a nutella coated strawberry. Score!

“Bite, hard.”

Hey whatever you say lady, who am I to say no to a fresh breathed giver of chocolate fruit?

Before I had time to thank her for the offering a strong set of arms came around me from behind and held me tight. I could feel their whole body pressed up tight against me. Might have been a girl, might have been a guy. Don’t know, don’t care.

Whoever it was could certainly move! I loved the way they crushed me into their embrace as they ground into my back, swaying languorously with the music. Their hands slid all the way up and down my body, making me feel both incredibly erotic and yet surprisingly safe at the same time. It really made me realise the power and sexuality a body can wield.

I was certainly sad when he or she let me go, but as they say, all good things must come to an end!

And that was my first night at the festival of really good sex! Not too shabby eh? Now I really must go to bed as I have to be up at 7.30am to make it to the first class.

How I wish coffee breath was sexy!

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: I’ve got Skittles in my mouth, wanna taste the rainbow?




Getting randy in the veggie patch

Good morrow Lovers!

Sorry, just spent the past day watching the six hour BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. I think it may have affected me more than I first thought.

If it has I shall be most put out!

So, Jane Austen marathon’s aside, I guess you’re wondering what else I have been up to, hey Lovers?

Well, to start with I have a date tonight! That’s right, a real date with a real, live man! And what makes it even more exciting is that it’s a second date, which means sex is almost a guarantee! Right?

By the way if you’re new to the blog and you’ve read that sentence thinking, ‘geez, sex on the second date? She gives it up easy,’ then I can guarantee this isn’t the blog for you.

I’d more than happily give it up on the first date!

Anyways now that we’ve weeded out the prudes I’ll let you know more about tonight’s date/conquest.

(Seriously its been over four months, if he doesn’t rip my pants off after the first couple of hours I will be most displeased!)

His nickname is a vegetable, so to keep things anonymous (as usual) we’ll call him…. Beet (because there’s an almost definite chance he’ll get a root!) So I met Beet where I meet most of my men these days, the ever reliable Tinder.

Beet was a wily fellow, tricky to pin down and even harder to catch up with in person! Finally though, after about five weeks of small talk and meaningless chatter, we set a date and met up at a bar.

He wasn’t what I expected, that was for sure. Beet looked like his photo’s, which was nice considering I was quite a fan of his boyish charm, however it was a case of the voice really not matching the face! Imagine if you will Lovers, the face of a 23 year old with the voice and mannerisms of a 33 year old.

It threw me for a loop to start with, that was for sure, particularly because his voice totally reminded me of one of my uncles.

Luckily I love all my uncle’s, as they are the coolest dude’s I know over 50, so it didn’t bother me too much. Beet’s just lucky I don’t have any creepy uncle’s I studiously avoid at Christmas, otherwise it would have been a very short date.

As it was, the date went for about four hours and I had a really good time! Beet was a total gentleman, actually listening to my stories rather than just waiting for me to finish so he could jump in with his much more amazing life experiences (an event which happens all too often on my bad dates.)

What was more, he shouted almost all the drinks! I was blown away by his generosity. Maybe I’m just a simple country girl, but the fact that a guy bought me four wines in one night is my idea of impressive!

We had a few cheeky pashes that night, and I’m happy to report Beet actually knows what he’s doing (which greatly excites me for the upcoming sex) and then he walked me to my tram.

So, great night, nice guy, what could go wrong?

Urgh, this night was over a month ago Lovers!

Now I’m all for delayed gratification but come on dude!

We had scheduled another date about a week after, on a Friday night. I was going to his area so he could ‘show me around’ (aka we would be close to his house so his bed would be included in the round tour) but he cancelled a few days before.

I was disappointed, sure, but he rescheduled for the very next night, so no harm no foul, right?


He texted me again to say he couldn’t do that night either as he had promised a friend he would go to the footy with him.

God damn AFL getting in the way of my sex life!

This time I was legit disappointed, but I decided if we weren’t going to meet up, then I’d give him a cheeky phone call to touch base and have a quick chat. After all, this wasn’t high school, not everything has to be done by text. We’re adults, let’s chat.

No no no Lovers, let’s not.

Beet couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. He stayed on the line long enough to promise another date soon before hurriedly saying goodbye and hanging up on me before I could even reply.

What the fuck?

I decided Beet was a lost cause. Maybe something had happened between our date and now? Maybe he’d met some sexy girl named Lettuce and they were planning on making little cabbage patch babies together?

Whatever had happened, it was pretty clear Beet was not interested in my juicy apples any more.

I deleted his number, downed a bottle of wine, and all was right again in the world.

But a little voice in the back of my head kept repeating what Beet had said to me just before I’d got on the tram home.

“You smell delicious” he’d said.

Ooh, tingles just at the thought of it. It wasn’t just what he said (which was very nice of him because I’d actually worked pretty hard to smell just the right amount of ripe that night) but the promise behind the words.

Maybe I just haven’t had sex in a very long time but, ‘you smell delicious’ to my ears sounded like ‘I’m going to ravage you within an inch of your life.”

Yes please!

So you can imagine my excitement when Beet messaged me the other day, apologising profusely for his lack of planning and not having texted me earlier. Something about being crazy busy at work and all that nonsense.

I didn’t really care. All that mattered was that he was keen to go out again and he didn’t cancel on me again.

I’ve shelved the old ‘feelings’ on this date, as although Beet has made clear his appreciation for my particular aroma, it is yet to be seen if he appreciates anything else.

So, no strings sex for me (with possibly more if he decides he likes the personality behind the perfume) and a fun night with a well – scented lady for him! Everybody wins!

I’ll let you know how it works out.

Now before I go I must fill you in on my life model interview!

Sigh, sadly I am not flouting my flange for art aficionados just yet, but I am on a wait-list! What’s more interesting however, is the other ‘project’ they invited me to take part in. Here’s the down-low: Take 150 pictures of yourself, each one different, no two shots the same and you must be holding the camera (either with hands or toes.) You are not allowed to set a timer or get a friend to help you.

Oh, and did I mention you have to be butt naked?

And not just naked Lovers, but like… spread.

What an image eh? Basically they wanted the ‘models’ to get naked anywhere and everywhere they could (as public as possible basically so the shots would look ‘interesting’) and just click away some selfies.

Then once 150 selfies had been taken, hand the memory card over so the guys can load it up onto the website (yes people, these photos go internet public!) and people can click on your profile to take a cheeky peek at your phish flaps.

I said yes of course.

But as I walked home, the borrowed camera weighing heavily in my pocket, I began to rethink my decision.

The website was dedicated to feminism and freedom, erotica without the sleaze factor and an empowering way for women to take control of their bodies.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realised, it was still just smut that was going to be viewed for the singular purpose of wank assistance.

All of this didn’t really bother me. I’ve been wanting to get into some nudist groups for some time now, so it was an exciting idea to whip around town taking some cheeky pics.

The issue was… It’s the internet. And the internet is forever.

The ladies were very explicit when telling me that after the cooling off period they owned the photos, so it’s not as if I could just get them taken down.

And I have been studying to be a counsellor for over two years now, a course in which the idea of having any sort of public personality is heartily frowned upon. They don’t even like counsellors to have dating profiles!

Counsellor or not, I’m never giving up my Tinder, Plenty of Fish, Bumble or Happn accounts for anyone! (Until of course I find ‘the one’ then I’ll give it all up for amazing sex and wonderful lurve.)

So I couldn’t do it. As much as the sexual deviant in me loved the idea of baring all forever more, the counsellor in me hog tied her to the bed and CBT’d some sense into her. (And by CBT I mean cognitive behavioural therapy not cock and ball torture. It’d just be weird for the counsellor side of me to partake in that type of thing.)

Because when it comes down to it Lovers, it’s just too hard to open up to someone when you’ve seen their vagina.

Until next time Lovers!

Claire xx

Instead of a pick up line this week I’m going to give you some amazing news! As a birthday present to me from me, I bought myself a ticket to the Festival of Really Good Sex! I’m so excited Lovers! There’s workshops on electrosex, sensual tying, foot worship and so much more! I’ll write up a blog detailing everything I see and post it just as soon as I can Lovers!



The Joys of Muffin Buffin’


Just wow Lovers.

Huge. This is huge.

I just had my first orgasm in a YEAR!

That’s right Lovers, until about thirty seconds ago I had been completely buzz free. And do you want to know the best part? I did it all by myself!

Yep, I sit here typing, giddy with the afterglow I missed so dearly, the smell of freshly managed minge still fresh on my fingertips. (See this is why I never let anyone ever borrow my computer!)

I just had to tell you straight away Lovers. After all, you’ve been such faithful followers of my sexual journey! I didn’t even plan on paddling the pink canoe today. It was just a sublime coincidence of some spare time, a smutty book, tunes that reminded me of an amazing past fuck and an upcoming date on Friday.

Ah it still feels amazing! After it happened and I got over my shock I just lay in bed laughing uncontrollably. I’m so happy!

You see Lovers, for the past five or so years I’ve been on some pretty strong anti-depressants. After a breakup that left me teetering on the edge I just had to get some help. However, the doctors never told me about a certain side effect of these so called happy pills.

No. More. Orgasms.

How wrong is that? Orgasms are the one thing that can brighten up a cloudy day no matter what! Why do you think toilets have doors? Oh sure its got a little to do with the whole ‘modesty’ thing, but mostly it’s so anyone and everyone can be free to have a little fiddle judgement free!

Public toilets are not there for the reason you think people.

Next time you see someone emerging from a cubicle smiling ear to ear it’s not because the prune juice just kicked in, no no, it’s because they have just treated themselves to a little taste of what the good lord bestowed betwixt their legs.

I mean really, why would he give us girls such dexterous digits if he didn’t want us to use them?

Anyways, anti-depressants apparently act like the drugs on those dodgy late night ads for premature ejaculation. You know the one’s. There’s the disgruntled couple sitting in bed and then a miraculous voice-over pipes up with, “can’t get it up?” Or, “want to please your lady right?” Yeah, those one’s. Well, my happy pills effectively make me the dream date (if I was a dude.) That’s right, I can go longer, harder and faster. But who cares about that crap when you’re just a girl who wants to get her rocks off?

Don’t get me wrong, sex without orgasm can be and is still amazing, but a whole year with no finale?

Get fucked.

So for anyone out there who is experiencing the same issues as me, I can proudly say, when you get off the happy pills, the orgasms return! I always secretly feared that I’d lost them for good, but happy days, the queen has returned to her castle!

Anyways, I better go stretch, my  legs are killing me from all that delicious quivering and tensing.

Squee! Never give up hope Lovers!



P.S I’ll fill you in on Friday’s date asap. I fully intend to have my way with him, so fingers crossed he’s a willing participant or I’ll have to bring out my new (lockable) set of handcuffs!

P.P.S The songs that just happened to assist in rocks being got off was Gypsy and the Cat. Just in case you need a little inspiration for your own session.