Mr Backup Slips it in…and off

Good Morning Lovers!

I’m feeling very American today, sitting in Starbucks drinking my venti hot chocolate. Don’t worry I’m not really here by choice, it was the closest cafe around, the heavens had just opened and I was desperate to shelter the precious muffin I had just purchased. So here I sit, laptop in front of me, happily tapping away on the keys as I listen to people order short caramel macchiato’s and and tall espresso frappacino’s. All this talk of coffee wankers got me thinking of a wanker of a different sort.

That’s right, Racist Buble popped back into my head. Now he was quite literally a wanker, as in all the time we slept together I couldn’t once get him off. I tried everything. Missionary, doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, dress ups, bondage, sexy music, icy poles in certain places, nails down the back,front and middle, biting, licking and everything in between! But nothing. Hell of a lot of pre, but no big finale. The worst thing is he would tell me that if he went home and jerked off for two minutes watching porn he would be finished in seconds. Not one to give up easily I pulled up some of the best butt porn I could find on my phone and held that in front of his face while I wanked him at the same time. (It was certainly an arm workout I’ll tell you that!) But no, I’d chosen the wrong type of porn, or it was the boring bit where the girl was just giving him head. So sorry! He had very specific tastes, but not in the sexy Christian Gray way, in the “bloody hell what more do you want!” way. So we searched for the “correct” porn and away went my arm once more. But nothing, not even enough pre to keep me from having to use lube every five minutes. So in the end my sheets were soaked in strawberry scented lube, one of my arms was the size of a truck while the other was barely a kids scooter and RB lay in the middle of my bed, frustrated and unsatisfied.

Which is why I really had no qualms about cutting contact after the sex party. After all, no point in flogging a dead horse. Well, there was that and also what had happened the last two times we had had sex before the party. Something that I had only ever heard about actually happened to me.

So, the first time we had sex was lovely. I definitely came at least once for sure, I think the second was just an aftershock. Anyways after that delicious romp I was eager for more, so the next time RB came round I was quite happy to rip off his clothes and jump into bed. Things were going… well. I mean it wasn’t as intense as last time, but last time I’d been on a two month break (not by choice) so that was like sweeping away the cobwebs which is always a nice feeling. This time the cobwebs were gone though, the basement completely clear, so there was nothing to sweep away, so to speak.

I decided to switch it up and jump on top, my favourite of all positions. I was having a lovely time up there just chilling in my zone, but nothing was really happening. After doing a few jiggles and re-positioning I realised it just wasn’t going to happen for me this time. So with a sigh I rolled off and told RB to have his way with me and just finish himself off. Just as he was about to re-insert he said something that chilled me to the bone.

“Uh, where is it?”

“Where’s what?” I muttered impatiently, frustrated that my orgasm had evaded me so well.

“The condom.”

Shit! I sat bolt upright and scrambled around on the bed, frantically searching for that little latex tool of destruction. And that’s when I realised, it was inside me!

I ran to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. What to do? I put my leg up on the toilet seat and went cave diving into the murky depths. But nothing. So I forced my leg up higher onto the basin and tried again. Nothing! Next I tried for the age old squat on the floor. I channeled pregnant women everywhere and silently screamed to myself “Bear down! For the love of God bear down!” But no tiny miracle popped out, just a little bit of nervous pee. Ugh! I bent over with my legs straight and my head against the wall, scrabbling between my legs for any sign of foreign life. My god, without those cobwebs in the way my vagina was a vicious vacuum! It was literally sucking the condoms off men! I took a towel and silently screamed into it, cursing my ravenous roast beef curtains. Then I googled. That was a bad idea. Girls had actually had condoms stuck up there for days! Well that was not happening to me. I had to take a walking tour the next day and I certainly couldn’t do that with “stuff” all up in there! So I took a deep breath and went towards the door. As I did I heard a strange noise coming from the other side. What the? I opened the door to see RB sprawled on my bed, carefree as can be, furiously wanking.

“Seriously?” I snapped.

He looked at me like a wounded puppy. I sighed and crossed over to the bed.

“I  need you to help me.” I ground out.

“How?” he asked, completely oblivious to my desperate need to erase this entire episode from my mind.

I sighed and explained to him that he was going to have to go panning for gold. Except in this case the gold was a condom and the pan was my cavernous vagina. Suprisingly he was quite good about it and before I knew it I was flat on my back with a two fingered search party taking place in my undercarriage.

And he found it! Hazaar!

I could have cried with happiness. I was a free woman! Or more accurately, the condom was freed from it’s watery prison. I hugged RB and before turning him down flat when he asked for round two. I was grateful sure, but I was still traumatized! I mean come on, I had practically just fisted myself! I breathed a sigh of relief and tucked myself into bed, already making plans to get the morning after pill as soon as I woke up, if not sooner.

So Lovers, all the stories are true. Stuff like this does happen! And you know what else? It happened the next time we had sex as well! Of course by this time we were old hand at it and I just flipped onto my back and let him do his work. Nothing like digging around in the trenches for a lost soldier to kill the mood though, and alas it was never the same with RB again.

Talk to you again soon Lovers!

Claire xx

Pickup Line of the week: Do you work at Starbucks? Cause I like you a latte!

But seriously, where are your shoes?

Evening Lovers!

Hope you all had a fabulous weekend! I certainly did! But enough of what happened last night, we need to backtrack here.

So now that you know exactly why I don’t swallow anymore (shudder) you can understand how a big a step it was for me to let Tim come in my mouth. Therefore the next morning I was keen to see if my investment was well placed or if I had just danced with the diarrhea devil for naught.

When my eyes cracked open at 8am (far too early for a Sunday morning in my opinion) I was happy to see that Tim was still an attractive man and not some beer goggled illusion. I’d give him a C minus for cuddling, the dude was practically licking the wall all night. However in the morning he made up for it as we snuggled and talked about the usuals. “You remember what happened last night right? Your name is Tim yes? And your over eighteen? Ok great carry on.”

After some pillow talk we delved into some morning sex, not normally my favourite activity as everyone tends to have bad breath, your all dried out from last nights exertions and there’s about a thousands farts waiting to be unleashed. I wanted to see if the sex was as good as last night though, so I clenched my ass to watertight levels and let it happen.

Nice, very nice.

The curvy wang was still something new so I had to keep adjusting to keep my vital organs from being scraped as he eagerly  thrusted away, but all round it was really fun. I even got to arch my back as he was sitting up and I was laying flat, something I love doing as it always reminds me of my smutty Mills and Boon romance novels and makes me think I’m some exotic princess being held captive by the evil King and his hot son just happens to want to have his way with me and rescue me. In that order. Hey, whatever works right?

So after the love fest, where he very politely came inside like a gentleman (don’t get your safe sex panties in a twist people, he was of course wearing a condom) he offered to make breakfast. I sat up eagerly. Eggs? Bacon? Just bacon?

No, quinoa.

Kill me now.

I politely declined and tried to suffocate myself under his pillow as he wandered off to go and make himself some bloody ‘super food’ breakfast. Blurgh.

When Tim returned he was holding a saucepan and a wooden spoon. He held the spoon out to me and offered me some of the porridge like substance sitting on it. I’ve never felt more sorry for a piece of kitchen wear in my life, and that includes the scrubbing brush we once used to unclog the drain. I shook my head and watched with veiled horror as he spooned in mouthful after mouthful of the stuff. It had taken on a sickly brown colour and when I questioned him he told me that he mixed in cacao to make it taste even better.

Pfft, waste of chocolate if you ask me.

After he was done with his gruel it was time to head off, so we dressed and hopped into his car, not without a few cheeky bum smacks on the way. I was happy. Apart from his terrible taste in breakfast foods (seriously, had he never heard of Nutrigrain?) he was a really nice guy. Plus I was hoping I could learn more about tantra, it was so fascinating! After a quick kiss good bye we arranged to meet again in a few days.

Skip to a few days later.

Ok, so I was determined not to ruin this thing like I did with all the other guys I liked. The pattern normally went like this. We met, we had a beer or two, we slept together then had a great morning after. Then I would start to pine. I would build the guy up in my head, start to miss him even though it had only been one day, put his last name after mine to see if we should hyphenate or if I would just take his outright, and other crazy insane thoughts like that. Then we would meet for the second date and of course the mere mortal man would not live up to my conjured expectations and everything would fall flat. I’d usually sleep with him a second time to see if a physical attraction was still there, but normally that had all but fizzled as well.

Not this time though! Not this time. I was going to have a great time and we would have some lovely sex and things would grow from there and we would live happily ever after in a house with a pool that had cool underwater lights so we could throw awesome parties in the summer.

Maybe not.

Tim texted me on a Sunday asking if I wanted to go to the convent with him.


After a few Q and A’s I found out we would not be going to pray with the nuns and wash linen, but to eat some dinner, watch some bands and look at art. Turned out the convent hadn’t been an actual convent for years but was now a hip happening place that was both at one with nature and also art.

What could go wrong?

I hopped on a train and we arranged for Tim to pick me up. I was super nervous but determined all the same. When his car pulled onto the street my stomach did a little flip. It could have been excitement or the slightly old tomato soup I had eaten earlier. I decided to go with excitement. He parked up and jumped out of his car.


He ran over to me and we did the obligatory hug and kiss on the cheek before I asked the obvious question.

“So… no shoes?”

He looked at me and smiled, taking my hand and walking me to the car as he said

“I just felt like today wasn’t a day for shoes. Why do we need shoes? This way we can connect to Mother Earth.”

I contemplated running in front of the next car I saw but abstained by sheer force of will.

What the fuck? Closer to Mother Earth? Why do we need shoes? Bitch, that’s what prickles were invented for!

I looked longingly at the passers by on the street, all of them clad in wonderful, awesome shoes, and then I got into the car with Hippy Mcgee.

As we drove I felt a knot forming in my stomach, I’d say about roughly the size of a tomato. How ironic. This was going to be bad. I asked Tim what the place was like and he said it had a great garden and was perfect for long walks. I jokingly commented that it would be awesome as long as it wasn’t just a bunch of hippies sitting around smoking pot.

He hesitated.

Fuck my life.

I sighed and resigned myself to an interesting night full of new and unwanted experieces. When we finally got there I found out that we would have to climb the fence to get in because the front entrance was closed. I figured it might be romantic like in Notting Hill. Then I found out exactly why the costume department hadn’t put Julia Roberts in a skirt for that scene. My legs and arms were everywhere as I clambered over the wrought iron fence, very aware that the spikes were in very close proximity to a special friend of mine who would like to remain un-pierced. I hauled my skirt up and over the fence and fell as gracefully as a wilder-beast onto Tim, who was waiting on the other side. After reassembling the remnants of my once delightful outfit, we joined hands and took a walk. The place really was beautiful, with fresh green grass and massive trees towering over it. Of course the crazy ladies dancing beneath those trees were a bit off putting but I tried to put my hesitation aside and just go with it.

Minus the tree dancing, no way I was confessing my love for the humble oak through expressive movement.

We strolled past the art gallery, which was unfortunately shut and on to a special back bar Tim was eager to show me. The bar was pretty cool. You know what would’ve been cooler? If we had of been able to get in. But no, Mr No Shoes and his great idea for bare feet meant no entry for either of us. Which was a real shame because I really could have used a drink by that point. Things looked up dramatically however when I realised they had a petting zoo! I absolutely adore animals and watching the cute little sheep and goats running around like crazy things improved my mood no end. Of course Tim was keen to keep moving as I was paying literally zero attention to him and was more involved in Billy the pig than him. He finally dragged me away and we went for a walk along the river. Of course that didn’t last long either because Timboy got the chills and we had to go back so he could warm up. I almost offered him my jacket but then realised that that would make the date a complete disaster and I so wanted to salvage it.

So when Tim suggested dinner I jumped at the chance. Maybe if we could get out of this convent and back into the real world things would return to normal. But no, the convent had a restaurant.

A vegan restaurant.

No meat. No Eggs. No fun.

I sat there watching the crowd file past the bain-maries filled with orange, green and brown substances, taking in the clientele. Turns out not many people liked shoes in this particular establishment, or shampoo for that matter. Tim sipped his camomile tea and yapped on about how he wanted his daughter to go to a hippy school because it will improve her learning and stuff if she’s surrounded by natural things. I’m not really a huge fan of nature or kids so most of this went over my head, but I nodded dutifully and silently plotted my escape route. Finally I concocted a sure fire plan.

“You know what really turns me on?” I asked suddenly. Instantly Tim was at attention, eager to hear the juicy details of my latest fantasy. (We had been discussing such things on our long walk.)

“Indian food!” I gushed. “I just love all those exotic spices, they really get me hot in more ways than one!”

Ok, I know it was a pathetic excuse, but I just couldn’t bring myself to eat the mushy green stuff, let alone pay for it. Luckily my Indian gamble paid off and it was back over the fence for us. I had to get a boost from Tim and I may or may not have accidentally fluffed in his face, but thankfully it was a silent one and we were right next to a bin, so I could blame it on that. Phew!

We went home and Tim popped on some shoes before we headed to a cute little Indian joint. I knew I was going to have to have sex with him after this with all the hot talk so I made sure to eat just enough to be full but not enough to be exploding out of orifices once a heavy weight was thrown on top of me.

I must say I was a bit bummed we split the bill. I’m all up for bill splitting second, third, fourth and forever after dates, but it’s always been my opinion that a guy should shout on the very first date. After all, the grand total was $22.50 surely he could have sprung? I flashed back to the night we met when he was drinking my beer. God was he broke? I couldn’t date another broke guy, I just couldn’t! It may sound very very shallow but I’d done my time with numerous broke men, paying their rent, dental bills and just about everything else. It was time to get spoiled!

After dinner we headed back to Tim’s and he tried to set the mood. Poor lamb. He was trying so hard to make the place sexy it was just coming off as weird. He even tried to pick a sexy play list, which I must say, was just about the un-sexiest music I had ever heard. It was like electric whale song.

Needless to say I made it quick that night.

Then he dragged me up out of bed and made me sit at his computer (because tv’s are bad apparently) and watch some terrible show that he loved. He cackled away while I quietly died inside. So, another one bites the dust. He wasn’t the one. He was just one of the many that was nice enough, but not for me.

I decided not to see him again after that, but stupidly I left my earrings at his house so we will meet again. When? I don’t know. All I know is that it sure as hell won’t be at his house. His daughters bed is right next to his (don’t worry his daughter was never there) and it’s just way to creepy to have sex while the whole cabbage patch crew is watching.

So I guess the search is still on, but not to worry Lovers, I’ll go for someone childless next time so the only thing watching us will be his one eyed monster 😉

Claire xx

Best Bonking Song: Anything by Micheal Buble. Seriously, anything, that man could sing Incy Wincy Spider and make the       ladies gush.

Best used: Anytime. Anywhere. With Anyone. It’s the Bube!

I Shit You Not

Evening Lovers,

So I’m just going to jump straight into it tonight, no foreplay, no pre-heating the oven, we’re jamming this bad boy in balls deep on the first thrust. When I left you I was just about to confess why I hate to swallow. Well, here goes…

My first boyfriend, Charlie, well I didn’t even see his spring roll, let alone let it get anywhere near my mouth, so there was no problem in that relationship. Next up was Rick. (I’ll tell you about him later, total sex god but also total drug addict/dealer. Sigh, there’s always something isn’t there?) Now I got very very close to old Rick’s knobster, and that was where I originally fell in love with the blowjob. That feeling you get when a man surrenders all control over to you and becomes putty in your hands, (well all except one part of him. If that part feels like putty you might be doing it wrong.) is such a rush. Every time we had sex, which I must say was often, I jumped at the opportunity to head downstairs. Rick didn’t seem to mind too much either 😉 However, I never swallowed. Why? I think I was still very much an innocent. Sure I loved a dirty great cock in my mouth but swallow that icky stuff that came out the end? I think not sir. So Rick and I had the cum sock. Yes, you read right, the cum sock. It was blue with white stripes and it lived on the floor by the side of Rick’s bed. Now I’m not exactly sure why we never changed the sock or just used any article of clothing close at hand, but it became a sort of tradition. I would go down on Rick, he would bloody love it, the signal would sound ( a guttural cry of “I’m coming!”) and I would relax my mouth and let him spurt his love juice into my waiting cheeks. Then as soon as the last drop was extracted I would dive over the side of the bed for the cum sock and spit said love juice into the lucky sock.

Job done.
And this system worked fine. Until it didn’t. Rick and I were sleeping in one fine morning, well I say sleeping in, what I mean is we had had way to much beer and were in an alcohol induced stupor on a weekday morning. With a bolt and a cry Rick sat up in bed, clutching his head as he did so. We were late! Both of us scurried around the room, tossing on random pieces of clothing hoping they were on the right body part. The door slammed shut behind us as we ran to our cars, shoes in hand (that’s what traffic lights are for yes?) A quick kiss goodbye and we were driving away from each other at well over the speed limit.
I thought that was that, but it turned out in all that rush Rick had picked up a certain sock…

And he wore it all day!!!


But that’s not the reason I don’t swallow, no no that’s just background.

I had two more boyfriends before I decided to take the leap, or the gulp so to speak. I was dating a guy who I was certain was the one. If by the one I meant  the one guy I wish had taken a pair of scissors to his genitalia then yes I was right. However I was not to know this at the time and I floated on my blissful cloud of ignorance, planning our wedding and generally nesting. I decided because he was the one that it was time to get really serious. It was time to swallow.

Oh yeah.

So, I was downstairs doing my thing, and of course he was having a lovely time, when he did his own signal (every muscle in his body tensing) so I prepared myself. This was it. This was the moment. I was about to swallow some organisms, and by god I was going to like it! With a gasp he came, hot and hard in my waiting mouth. I shoved my head forward, pushing him to the back of my throat hoping gravity would do most of the work for me and just carry that shit down. It mostly worked, and after a quick drink of water I was right as rain. I got up, gave him a kiss and gave myself a massive pat on the back, which I passed off as a mozzy bite. I suppose it would have been nice if we could have savoured the moment, but I had a lunch to get to and he had, I dunno, boy stuff to go do, so we parted ways pretty much five minutes after.

I pulled on my skinny leg jeans, so excited to tell the girls about my own personal Everest, conquered in under five friction induced minutes. After a quick check in the mirror I headed for the door. As I grabbed my keys and unlocked the fly-screen I felt a fluff coming on. As I was alone I went the full leg cock and let her rip.

And she ripped all down my leg.

I screamed. I mean, what else can you do when you’ve just sharted in your skinny legs? I staggered to the shower, feeling the fraudulent fart sliding against my legs as I did so. No no no! How did this happen? How did a grown woman shit her pants when food poisoning wasn’t involved? I stepped into the shower fully clothed, too disgusted to take off my jeans without the safeguard of water. Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly as everyone knows skinny leg jeans are almost impossible to get off once wet. (I remember shaking my head at the ignorance of two girls who took part in a lube wrestling competition with jeans on. What were they thinking?) However those girls didn’t have to deal with an exploding ass at the same time. In the end I had to sit on the shower floor and peel off my soiled jeans inch by inch, wails of disgust mirroring every movement.

Maybe this was a one off? Oh no, I experimented people. I blew and ran on three occasions. A quick bj in the car, a suck fest just before leaving his house and some fast fellatio in nature. I made sure I would be alone straight afterwards and I monitored all ass action.

And sadly, it looked like somehow, the girl who loved to give blow jobs, was allergic to sperm!

Try explaining that to prospective partners. Nobody ever believes it, trust me, and I’ve had to prove it on a few occasions.


Anyway Lovers I need a long hot soapy shower to cleanse myself of these memories! Next time I promise you’ll hear the morning after with Tim 😉

Claire xx

Special Edition Song (Just because it’s so wonderfully related to the topic. Next time someones got the runs, sing this ditty to them :))

When you’re sitting on the dunny and you’re feeling kinda funny



When you’re climbing up a tree and it’s running down your knee



When you’re sitting on a cushion and you’re feeling something squooshing



Enjoy that Lovers!

Teach me your tantric ways!

Hi there again Lovers,

Well this Easter has certainly been a weekend of firsts for me! I officially became a groupie, bedded myself a divorcee, (or is it pronounced divorce-ay? Who knows it’s all way too grown up for me.) dipped my toe into the blessed waters of tantric spirituality and swallowed for the first time in years! So is that enough to keep you interested for the next few paragraphs? Here’s hoping 😉

So, I’ll start off where these things normally begin, Tinder. Ah Tinder, the source of all my disastrous attempts at love and lust. I would quit but then where would I find men? We all know after last weekend’s dangly debacle how bad picking up at clubs can be. (Shudder)

Anyways, I thought I had found myself a good one. He was a little older than my usual conquests (thirty one) but I figured that would just mean he had his shit together, right? I did hesitate when I saw he had a kid. I am definitely in no position to become some instant baby mama, so I baulked at meeting him the first few times. But then I decided to grow some balls and just get on with it. How bad could it be? It wasn’t as if he was going to arrive at the date, bottle in one hand, screaming child in the other.

Or at least I hoped not.

Which is why I agreed to meet him at one of his gigs. (Did I mention he played bass in a band?) I dragged Will and Rob along for company and moral support. If anyone could give me an honest opinion about a potential man companion, it was these two.

We walked into the empty establishment and got stamped by a surly door bitch, before being waved to the bar dismissively. I looked around furtively for my bass player, trying to spot him before he saw me. The fact that there were only three other people in the place kind of made it hard to hide.

We grabbed a few beers and snagged a booth a way back from the stage. There were some people doing a sound check on and I scanned their faces, searching for the illusive bassist.

And then I spotted him! He came striding in from a room near the back of the place, his black jeans hugging his thighs as we walked. I breathed a sigh of relief. No skinny leg jeans.

Thank god! There is nothing more off putting than a guy in tighter pants than me. Where’s the excitement, the allure, when I can see not only his peas and carrot, but the exact amount of change he’s carrying in his back pocket?


Luckily for me, old bassey was wearing a comfortable boot-leg cut that suited his frame nicely.

I chugged the rest of my beer in the attempt to gain a little courage. After all, he had no idea I was coming, as he’d sent out a group message to all his Tinder bitches to swell the crowd for the show. Looking around though I could tell there wouldn’t be much competition unless he was into saucy long-haired biker dudes.

After a few words of encouragement from the boys I stirred my stumps and went to meet him as he walked to the bar, his long strides eating up the distance quicker than I imagined.

I took a deep breath and tapped him on the shoulder shyly. He turned and looked at me blankly for a moment. I grinned nervously and introduced myself, relieved when my name struck a chord and he pulled me into a hug.

Phew! So it was the right guy after all!

His name was Tim and he seemed nice enough. We chatted awkwardly for a few moments but I could tell he was pretty nervous about playing so I didn’t stick around for very long. I wished him quick good luck and retreated back to the safety of my booth.

After filling in the boys on the exchange (I was very awkward and most of my sentences would end with, “ah good times.”) we sat and watched the show.

They were actually really good, although Will had a complaint that Tim wasn’t jumping around enough, which I relayed to him later.

Once they came off stage Tim stayed away for a while and I thought maybe that was it. Maybe he wasn’t keen? I was ok with that, if it didn’t happen it didn’t happen and had already told myself I was definitely not going home with anyone. This was an open house inspection only, no bids accepted.

Finally though, well into the next bands set, Tim slid himself into the booth next to me. We attempted to chat but considering the heavy rock that was pulsing through the place it was proving difficult without spraying each other with spit.


So we popped outside for some ‘air’ and that’s when I learned I had unwittingly found myself a kindred spirit. Tim was just as into sex as I was! He had even attended the much anticipated sex camp three years in a row. I had wanted to go this year but sadly fundulation was at an all time low. (For anyone not in the know this particular sex camp was three days in the wilderness, back to back seminars on kissing, bondage, tantric sex and any other sexual seduction under the sun! And then you get to go back to your tents and test it all out.)

I bombarded him with questions. What was it like? What type of crowd was it? What was the craziest thing you did? Turns out the weirdest thing he did was get wrapped up head to toe in glad wrap and have his nipples sucked and bitten by hordes of horny women.

Yep, that’ll do it.

I was fascinated. The time simply flew by as I probed him for more information. Sadly he wanted to go back in and listen to the bands. (Urgh, how boring when we could be talking about the most exciting topic ever.) So we headed back inside and he dragged me to the front of the stage. There were only about fifteen people on the dance-floor so it wasn’t exactly a raging mosh pit, but Tim was adamant we dance.

But how do you dance to hard rock?

I went to my back up dance. Jump up and down and repeat as necessary or until knees give out and crumple underneath you. I looked over at Tim and had to stop myself from laughing.

I am certainly not the best dancer in the world, but Tim was channeling Midnight Oil all the way. I wanted to request Beds are Burning and really see him come into his own, but with a substantial effort I controlled myself.

When I reached the knee giving out stage I left Tim to fan-girl over his favourite band and I sank back down into the booth.

Will grinned at me lopsidedly and asked if we’d kissed yet. I told him that no we’d been talking too much and he was busy dancing. But as soon as he asked me I suddenly knew that that was exactly what I wanted to do. I didn’t want it to be any old kiss though, I wanted it to be different.

Luckily I happened to have some Pleasure Balm in my bag (because a girl never knows when she’ll be needing it.) so I whipped it out and coated my lips with it. It’s tangy peppermint burn began to take effect immediately. I pranced over to Tim and grabbed his face, smearing his lips before crushing his face to mine.

Very nice I must say.

We swayed to the pounding music as our tongues darted in and out of each others mouths, playing the sexiest version of kiss chasey there is. The pleasure balm tingled erotically as our lips pressed together tightly and released, each time getting more intense.

I broke away before I ripped off his pants and swaggered back to my seat, pocketing my secret weapon and throwing a wink to the boys as I did.

When the music finished Tim was back next to me. (drinking my beer actually, slightly annoying.) We started talking about Tantric sex and I told him how much I was dying to do a few seminars and courses.

And that’s when the trap was set.

He smiled and said he had learnt quite a lot on the subject during his years sex camp.

And he would be willing to teach me if I went home with him.

Squee! Yes please!

Er, no, I mean no, definitely not, my brain screamed at me. But of course it was too late. My brain was no match for my thunderous loins, who had already begun singing Gregorian monk chants in preparation for the tantric goodness that was to come.

I finished my drink in a gulp and with a wave at the boys and the promise to text them asap to assure them I hadn’t been murdered we were off.

Tim had a car so there was no waiting in the freezing cold for a tram. I was liking this guy more and more. His cd player clicked into action and I braced myself for some awful grunge crap, but instead the soulful sounds of The Police came wafting through the speakers. He even let me pick the songs I wanted to listen to.

Big points there.

We reached his house in no time and after a quick tour of the place we were in the bedroom.

Tim pushed me onto the bed and we picked up where we left off, sucking face like dehydration was a real issue. Seriously I think the boy swallowed about a litre of my spit, he had such a vacuum going! After about ten minutes of this his hands started wandering. I thought to myself, hang on, if I wanted this I could have gone home with the bloody drummer, where’s my tantric lesson!

So I slapped his hands away and demanded that he teach me some of the good stuff. He nodded obediently and turned off the light before turning on his bedside lamp, which was one of those weird rock lamps they sell at shops along with incense and sarongs.

We sat across from each other and Tim instructed me to place my hand on his chest. I did so as he did the same to me. Then we stared into each others eyes for about two minutes. I know it sounds lame or boring but it was actually quite nice. When you know you’re about to jump on someone and make them scream it’s soothing to take a break and just breathe. Plus it builds up some epic sexual tension. Then he got me to lay on my stomach while he performed a ‘five elements massage’ which is basically a very creative masseuse coming up with earthly names for someone scratching your back. Air was him blowing on my back, then fire was said scratching, Earth was pressing down hard with both hands and for the life of me I can’t remember the last two. I think the first three had made me kind of sleepy.

Which is when Tim suggested a Yoni massage. My ears pricked up as my brain struggled to remember where I had read about Yoni. And then when he duck dived downstairs it all came back to me. Of course! Yoni was the tantric word for the old sticky purse.

I lay there and let him commence his ministrations before yanking him up to me by the hair (gently of course, I’m not a total dom or anything ;))

He slipped on a condom (blueberry flavoured ooh!) and we commenced the stage I like to call fucking.

And it was good.


Tim was a big boy but what made him different was his curve. I’ve never minded a bit of a bend in my banger but it can make it a little harder for me to come. However, because Tim was so large, some positions were almost impossible for me. For instance when he flipped me over to doggy I had to stop after only a few minutes. Good god, it was like he was scraping my backbone with that thing!

We made it work however, and it was most pleasing.

There was one thing though. Tim was very vocal. I don’t just mean the usual “ooh yeah’s” and “oh baby’s” no no, this was intense. It seemed that he made a noise on almost every breath out. It was like he was panting or something. But moaning. But also talking. You get the idea? Very… appreciative yes, but also quite distracting!

Eventually though the moaning reached a peak and he was on the cusp of orgasm.

“I wanna come in your mouth.” He breathed.

Aw man, why? I thought. I really wasn’t in the mood for a smoothy but he’d already slipped of the condom and the yogurt slinger was coming towards me at a rate of knots. It was either the mouth or he’d probably miss and get me in the eye, and we all know how much that hurts. So I took it like a man and opened my mouth for him.

You may be thinking, Claire, you love all things sex, why on Earth aren’t you into swallowing? Well dear reader, I was, I very much was. Until disaster struck. Something that was impossible to come back from. So me swallowing Tim’s spunk was quite the step forward.

What’s that I hear? You’d like to hear what terrible awful made me a spitter? Well Lovers, you’ll just have to wait until next time.

I’ll tell you all about it and also the morning after with Tim the bassist 😉



Best Bonking Song: Happy

By: Pharrell Williams

Best for: Isn’t it obvious? Happy sex! Guffaw your way to the g-spot

Trim Much?

Oh Lordy Lord Lovers!

What an emotional rollercoaster of a weekend I had! See that’s why I’m just writing about it now, I’m still recovering (that and I’ve been too busy eating all the ice cream out of the freezer so it will be empty when we eventually move… in three weeks.) But I digress, I sit here with a tub full of cookies and cream and I am ready to write!

So, it’s Saturday night and myself and my friend Homie had booked ourselves a little treat. Or should I say a big treat? Strippers! Much to Homie’s dismay they were of the male persuasion. (She says she’s straight but man does that girl love a good nipple in her mouth!) Luckily she decided to bite the bullet and try it my way for a night. And boy was she glad she tried it! We arrived at the club a few minutes before the show started and Homie wanted to nip out the back for a smoke, so drinks in hand, we shimmied our way through the throng of brides and horny bridesmaids to the deck out the back, with Homie getting a few appreciative smacks on the ass from the male wait staff as we did. Not long after we sat down the photographer for the night approached us for a cheeky snap. After he’d done the deed he sat down next to us and started chatting to Homie. Well when I say chatted I mean more like knelt at the alter of her perfection and offered himself up as sacrifice. He was smitten. He complimented her on her eyes, her dress, her skin tone, I think he even complimented her cigarette! Homie, ever the good girlfriend, then graciously turned his attention back to me. I could see his eyes scanning my profile, looking for something, anything to comment on. Finally he blurted out “ I love your… sandals.”

Ooh low blow.

I smiled thinly at him and took a gulp of my champagne, the bubbles tickling my throat like acid. I choked my gulp back up but hid it under a very unladylike sneeze. Luckily photo man put me out of my misery and left me to splutter on my lonesome as he made his excuses and returned inside. I opened my mouth to say something to Homie when suddenly the music flared up and there were men on stage! With a scream and a squeal we rushed to the bar where our seats were. Technically we didn’t have seats but we stole one off an unwitting bride who spent the rest of the night perched on her friends lap. Hey woman, you snooze you lose. The strippers were amazing. Just enough giggle, with generous lashings of sexy all topped off with a good dollop of stud. Homie and I worked our way through three glasses of champagne each before we decided to be real women and just buy a whole bottle. This was probably not the best idea, as I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was getting over some dodgy ‘virus’ or whatever, but when you’re at the strippers there are NO rules! (Well except for no grabbing at the artists, but that’s more of a request.) So after a bucket-load of champagne and a shot from a strippers pants, (because hey, you only live once right?) we were well and truly on our way to that place where all drunks go at the end of the night, the gutter. But as much fun as I was having, one thing kept bothering me. Every time I turned around Homie was being chatted up by another dude. And not just the uggs and the wierdo’s but the strippers too! Now don’t get me wrong, I love it when a friend is on her game, and often it’s me getting the ball rolling, but what I don’t like, is being completely ignored for long periods of time. I usually give the guy a good five or ten minutes of talk time alone and then I’ll step in and gauge the situation. Is she still enjoying talking to him? Is he creeping her out? And most importantly, does he have a cute friend? On this night though, as there were pretty much no men to speak of, no boys had a plus one to distract me. After sitting for a good twenty five minutes, talking to the bartender, two brides and a bussie I was starting to get a little bored. I didn’t begrudge Homie her flirt time, Lord no, she’s about the sexiest woman I know and men are no match for the Venus fly trap that is her body/face combo, but this was supposed to be ladies night! Luckily at that point Homie got yanked up on stage by a stripper she had earlier befriended and had to pop a balloon with her ass cheeks, so that cheered me up no end.

After the big balloon popping finale it was time to head off and we made a beeline for the place where I always get lucky, Macca’s. Oh yes, with that saucy cheese burger between my lips I felt ready to conquer the world once more.

As soon as I threw up.

Yes Lovers, I’m not proud of this, but I chundered in the Macdonald’s bathroom, flushed, and then went straight back to my happy meal. Urgh.

But enough of chunks, lets get back to the hunks! Homie and I stumbled into the club that was the official ‘after party’ venue and started to get our groove on. Apparently my groove was a little too much for me as it was a quick dash to the toilets once more. But the best way to get over throwing up is to have more beer right? Ah the drunken mind, so useless and yet so decisive.

After my coming out of body experience I headed back to the d-floor where I found Homie grinding on a particularly cute boy. By this point I was so past caring about men. I just wanted to have a good time and dance. But then Homie grabbed me by the hand and yelled “He’s got a friend!” My interest was of course piqued. I may not have been that interested anymore but one never looks a gift horse in the mouth, although at that point everyone’s mouths were kind of blurring together into one. She yanked me around to a group of boys and presented me to one in particular. Even through my drunken haze there was no mistaking his disgusted grimace and the furious shaking of his head.


I turned and ran. Homie was beside me instantly, cooing quiet words into my ear to try and stop the tears that were running down my face. Was I so undesirable? Yes I was standing next to a major siren in Homie but surely I didn’t scrub up that badly? I wanted to march up to that boy and scream “Yeah ok I’ve got a bit of a potato head and yeah my eyebrows aren’t plucked as well as they should be and sometimes when I eat a lot of lasagne my farts get really bad, but you know what? I’m the nicest person you’re ever likely to meet, and I could make you piss your pants with laughter if I wanted too, and I hope that’s how your night ends! With piss all over your pants!” Thank god I have a good friend in Homie who didn’t let this drunken rant reach the surface. She steered me outside so she could have a smoke and I could let off some steam about how all men were bastards except for the ones I liked.

Once we reached the smoking area two things happened, Homie bumped into a guy she knew, and I decided I was taking him home. And so I did.

His name was Ryan and he was twenty two years old. He had just the body I loved, lean and wiry with an ass you could cook pancakes on. We chatted for a while on the cab ride home but honestly I don’t remember what about. He could have been telling me the secret of how to turn semen into sapphires and I still wouldn’t remember. When we got home he suggested a shower. I love showers! Or at least I do when I’m that drunk. I clumsily pulled off his shirt and jeans and reached for his underwear. (Bonds, not bad) Ryan stopped me. “ Just so you know, its’ a bit hairy down there.” I snorted and made a face at him. If only he’d known where I had been the week before, then he wouldn’t have worried about it at all. I pulled down his jocks in one quick motion and stifled a scream.

Dear Lord in Heaven! How was this achieved?? Staring at me square in the face was the biggest wad of pubes I had ever seen. I couldn’t even see his skin through the layers of the curly monstrosity! Imagine the hairiest armpit you have ever seen and then triple it.

Yes, triple it.

I pushed him into the shower and went to get towels. Had the man never trimmed in his life? He was like one of those Guinness Book of Records people, never cutting always growing. How did he deal in Summer? If it gets above thirty degrees my ass becomes a swamp and that’s only with a few measly lady hairs! I took a deep breath and stepped into the shower with him, conscious of the fact that his hair was so thick the powerful pressure of the shower wasn’t even making a dent in it. I bet if I ran my fingers through it the bottom half would be dry! I shook my head and tried to clear all pube related thoughts. I was having sex tonight, and I was going to make it good. Hell, maybe all those pubes would give him a bit of extra bounce. We made out for a while under the shower before towelling off and heading to bed. I had one eye on the mound constantly, thanking god it wasn’t a humid night. Christ knows how much my hair puffs up when it’s a sticky evening. Sadly, my brain hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that it was now foreplay time, and what did I do best at FP time? Head.

Lord save me.

I let him go first so that I had time to brace myself for the incoming onslaught my face was about to receive, and to his credit he did a very… enthusiastic job. Eventually though, my time had come. I resisted the urge to put on protective eye wear and instead closed my eyes and got to work. Why? Why me? I thought, as I pulled him in and out of my mouth, his black fronds caressing my cheek, forehead and nose with each stroke. Why can’t I just bring home a normal guy who maintains his patch? “Ooh deeper,” he moaned and I swear I almost bit it off. I was still super tidy after my Brazilian the week before so his time was a walk in the park compared to the jungle I was having to weed through. I tried to go a little faster so he wouldn’t notice me not going deep but the sensation of my forehead bouncing off his curls was just too much. Oh well, I thought, at least if I pass out there’ll be a soft place to land. I sat up and tried to inconspicuously remove his danglies from between my teeth but I don’t think he cared by this point, as he threw me down on the bed with a force that belied his weedy frame. We popped on a condom (Safety first people!) and went at it.

It was… fine. It wasn’t bad I guess, but I wasn’t about to break any sound records either. Ryan suggested I get on top and I eagerly complied. I was just working up a good rhythm all of a sudden the wanker jams his finger smack up my ass! We’re talking knuckle deep people, and not the first little one, the big one! I screeched bloody murder and yanked his finger from the depths. “Never do that again!” I cried. Jesus! No lube, no warning, not even a bloody rissole tickle to let me know what was about to happen! He just smiled lopsidedly at me and carried on writhing underneath me. I decided to forgive him because I suppose anyone could make that mistake. Besides, so much porn is butt based these days boys just assume we love it.

I curse you butt porn, I curse you!

So I was back in my zone, grinding away, trying not to think of what a trolli doll with pube hair would look like when out of no where comes that damn finger again! Smash! Straight up there! I squealed and kneed him in the ribs hard.

“What are you doing?” I yelled, beside myself with shock and now just a touch of ass burn. “C’mon, you love it.” He drawled.

I fixed him with a death stare and informed him if he did it again he could say goodbye to his precious pubes as I would be tweezing them out one by one. This seemed to get the message through and he rolled back on top. I prayed he would be done soon as I was now just tired, hung over and not the least bit horny. And then… it happened.

Two fingers!!!

That’s when I slapped him. Hard across the face. I pushed him off me and stormed into the bathroom, my poor butt in tatters behind me. I sat down to pee and as I did I saw a drop of blood fall into the bowl. That bastard made me bleed! I folded up a wad of toilet paper and held it to my shredded hiney, whimpering as the stinging slowly subsided. When I eventually emerged, seething from the bathroom, ass hat had fallen asleep. I kicked him none too gently to the other side of the bed and flopped down on my side, wincing as my battered booty hit the mattress. As my drunken eyes drifted shut, and slurred dreams of policemen sticking hot dogs into screaming buns flooded my brain, I thought to myself, “No morning sex for you.” And true to my word I had him out the door almost as soon as we woke up. I spent the rest of the day in bed, longing for a donut cushion and a frozen coke.

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: My love for you is like diarrhea; I just can’t hold it in.