The Irishman cometh… All over himself

Evening Lovers!

I hope wherever you are you’re much warmer than I am right now! It’s pissing down with rain here and my heater is pitifully ill equipped for this barrage of icy weather. Cue sexy man heater to snuggle up with! Warning: I have cold feet 😉 I know what you’re all thinking, “But Claire, what about that sexy Irishman who farted in your face? Won’t he keep you warm in these cold months?” And the answer to that question is sadly no. Why you ask? Read on fair follower, and discover how the mighty have fallen.

So apart from the fart ‘incident’ as we will now call it, and the fact that I wasn’t particularly attracted to him , Irishman seemed to have a fair bit of potential. As I took the tram home after our birthday sleepover I mused to myself about the idea that people often fall in love with personality, not someone’s physical appearance. I mean myself of all people should know that after being dubbed ‘the funny one’ at endless parties. Guys normally came around to the idea of me after I’d made them choke on their party pies multiple times with my awesome jokes, but I’d never been one to throw a sexy glance at a dude and moments later have him worshiping my feet. (Which is a relief really because I’m super self conscious about my smelly feet. Always wear open toed heels ladies, helps them breathe.)

So why should I dismiss Irishman just on looks? No, I was definitely going to give him a second chance. Although a big part of that second chance had to do with his dominance over me in the bedroom. Finally someone who knew what they wanted! I’m so tired of telling boys what to do in the bedroom and the constant ‘is that ok?’ just gets so old when they ask it five times in two minutes. Irishman had the guts to order me around for a change, and I liked it a lot. Maybe it was good we didn’t get to have sex. The wait until next time would be oh so tantalising and count as a bit of saucy foreplay. Yay for me!

Irishman waited the allotted three days to text me, (honestly I hate that rule, just call me straight away losers.) and we arranged to meet up the next Friday after he finished work at ten. I rubbed my hands together gleefully. Ten was too late for dinner and too early for sleep, which meant it was exactly sex o’clock! When Friday finally rolled around I had worked myself up to a fever pitch picturing the wild sex I was about to experience. Would he tie me up? Blindfold me? Whip me? The possibilities were endless! I picked out my best innocent nice girl dress and made sure I was wearing my most top notch come fuck me lingerie underneath. Oh yes, I was ready for some naughty action alright, and I was ready now.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I had to make the hour long two trams and one train journey, complete with one tram being delayed due to some dude spewing up down the aisle. Didn’t these people understand that I had somewhere very important to be?

Finally I reached my stop and I jumped off, eager to escape the vomit that was slowly wafting through the carriage. I spritzed on a bit of extra perfume just in case. Nothing turns a man off faster than the stench of stale vom. I waltzed into the pub where he worked and did a lap only to come up empty. Where was he? I sent a quick text and he replied saying he was just finishing up and would be out soon. I took advantage of the time and dashed to the bathroom to let out any stray farts that had built up on the journey over.

Thank god I got those out before hand!

When I was sure I was waft free I headed back out and pretty much bumped straight into Irishman. He looked…

Meh.

No! I told myself sternly. This was not about looks! This was about personality and sex. I kissed him hello and he pulled me out onto the street and into the nearest taxi. Ooh looked like he was as keen as I was to get the show on the road. In the taxi however things became a little… awkward. We didn’t really have much to say to each other. It was the usual ‘how was your week’ and ‘anything exciting happen lately’ but nothing particularly saucy. I began to feel a small knot in my stomach and I instantly regretted not staying in the bathroom longer. I tried to push past my sudden apprehension and sparked up a conversation about the first thing that came to my mind. Colours.

Shut up.

I had to get him talking ok? I was dying with all the lame small talk. Of course colours didn’t exactly spice things up but I was able to slip in a few sexual innuendos at least.

When we reached the house Irishman practically threw money at the taxi driver and we were out and into his bedroom before I could say orange is the new black. I breathed in slowly, and frowned. He looked at me in surprise before it dawned on him.

“Oh, I just vacuumed.” he said with a grin.

Ah. So that was the dust I could smell. Not exactly a recipe for desire, I thought, but I pushed that thought aside as I stepped closer to him and put on my best ‘do me now’ face.

Turns out I really have to work on that face.

“You hungry?” he asked, going for the door. I shook my head and pulled him in for a kiss, impatient to get things going. He finally got the idea when I shoved my hand down his pants to feel a sadly limp participant. He perked up quickly after a few kisses however, and we were good to go. I waited for Irishman to do something, to take control, to throw me on the bed, or really do anything at that point. But all he did was compliment me on my dress.

I had to restrain my raging sex drive from snapping at him and instead demurely accepted the compliment before perching myself on the edge of the bed. Irishman stepped towards me and started tugging his shirt off. Yes! This was it! I braced myself, waiting for my indecorous instructions. But none came. Instead he took off his clothes, hopped into bed and patted the side next to him. I turned around so he couldn’t see my face and rolled my eyes. What the hell was happening? It was like we were a married couple! This was not the crazy whips and chains sex I was anticipating, this was the kids are at the movies and we should have some quality time sex.

Snore.

So I decided to play the only ace I had. I unzipped my dress and shrugged it off, revealing my sinful bra and panty set underneath. It certainly had the desired affect as his jaw dropped open and his doona was suddenly levitating. I smiled impishly and fluttered my eyelashes at him. Irishman grinned and said the words that every girl in heat loves to hear.

“Come here to me.”

Oh I came alright, hoping I would come in more ways than one that night. But all we did was kiss! And kiss. And then kiss some more. I kept waiting for him to roll on top of me and yank my hands above my head or pull out some fluffy cuffs or something. But nothing! I was so bored. And that’s when it got worse.

“Why don’t we just talk for a while?”

Something exploded inside my head in that moment and I have no idea how I kept my scream of frustration inside. I had to take three deep breaths before answering in as calm a voice I could muster.

“Ok then.”

At least that’s what I would have said if I hadn’t sneezed at that exact moment.

Oh no. The dust was hitting me!

And that was how I spent the next hour lying half naked next to an Irishman with a lacklustre erection, talking about where we went to school and spasmodically sneezing at every inappropriate moment.

So when he rolled me on top and told me to ‘grind’ on him it’s safe to say I was not enthused. But he was keen as mustard by that point, (somehow all that school talk must have gotten him hot. Weird.) so I complied, grinding on top of his semi flaccid penis until eventually he slipped it in.

God I was bored. It was all I could do not to yawn. But then it got worse.

“You love my dick?” he asked breathily.

“Of course.” I replied. I don’t care who you are, but you never insult a man’s penis while he’s inside you. That’s just cruel. Once it’s out, go for it, but not while he’s doing his thing.

“Say it.” he groaned.

I looked at the ceiling and sighed. How was I going to say this and not sound as sarcastic as I felt? No I don’t love your dick dude. It’s alright I guess. It gets the job done, but it’s no Dirk Diggler. Luckily he took my sigh as one of unbridled passion so I got away with that one without hurting his feelings. I eventually looked back down and with as much enthusiasm I could muster I told him what he wanted to hear.

“How much do you love it?” he asked

“Oh, you know, like a lot.”

“Tell me again!” he moaned. I was so thankful his eyes were closed at that moment as I looked down at him. I don’t think he would have been pleased at what he saw there. I was doing my best but after such high and exciting expectations this was just pathetic.

“It’s really really nice.”

“It’s really really nice what?”

“Sir.” I said, my voice dripping sarcasm. It was just unavoidable by this point. What was also becoming unavoidable was my need for a tissue. The dust had taken up permanent residence in my left nostril and the right nostril seemed to be crying after being left out. Any minute now I was going to drip on his heaving chest, I was sure of it. There was nothing for it, I was going to have to finish this. I sped up to double speed and watched as his eyes popped open and unnatural sounds started to emanate from his mouth.

“Tell me you love my dick!” he squealed

“I love it!” I cried, bouncing around crazily on top of him.

Just as he was about to explode I jumped off. He yanked off his condom and furiously wanked for a few moments before his own mini volcanic eruption took place all over his hands. And stomach. And balls. And ew the sheet too? Come on man I have to sleep here too.

After a few moments of panting he reached for his tissues and cleaned up. I gratefully plucked one out of his hands and blew my nose, which was sadly the most satisfying moment of our encounter.

The next day I woke up groggy and snotty. Irishman grinned at me and told me what a wonderful time he’d had last night. I nodded and smiled back, too blocked up to do much more. Then he grabbed his work clothes, gave me a kiss on the lips and left for work.

And I never saw him again.

Oh sure he called a few times, texted a lot, but if it’s not there it’s not there. Ah well, next time right?

Claire xx

Best bonking song: Mustang Sally

By: Wilson Pickett

Best Used: As a saucy striptease number that leads into grindy raunchy sex!

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One Picture Wankers

Hello Lovers!

A thousand apologies for the late post but exam time is upon me! (Sure I’m not really studying much but procrastinating really eats into your day!) Now last time we strayed away from the Rick story to let you in on my present mishaps. But what to do now? I wish I had a reader hotline that I could talk to you all on. “Hi there would you like to hear more about Rick my disastrous first love? Or perhaps the Irishman who I had such high hopes for? Or maybe you don’t care about either of those and you’d rather hear about my new years eve lover who tried and failed to make passionate love to me several times?” You see it’s very difficult to choose when there is so much subject matter! 😉 Well, until they create such a magical hotline I will just have to make the choices around here. So let’s hear more about this Irishman.

Alrightey, so we met on Plenty of Fish (always a reliable source for great men, not.) I went against my own rule of never speaking to what I call One Picture Wankers. As the name suggests these are the boys who try and get by with only one measly picture of themselves on their profile. You might be thinking, so what? I’m sure he’s just not very photogenic. Maybe he’s just shy. Maybe he’s so romantic that he wants to keep the mystery of one photo. Maybe he’s my future husband and we will laugh about this at our fairytale wedding exactly two years and four months from now.

Or maybe, he’s just a plain old wanker.

Seriously ladies, every single time I have plucked up the courage to meet one of these fellows I have been sadly disappointed. They never, ever look like their profile pictures! The picture was either taken years ago in amazing light by a professional photographer, or is a little known but super attractive d-grade celebrity. The entire date you want to scream “Who are you? And what did you do with the hot guy!”

Now I have never walked out on a date. Ever. That’s just not cool peeps, not cool at all. I believe you should always give them a chance to prove they are just misunderstood and not a full blown wanker. I have a one beer minimum and I let them do the dating dance as best they can before I make my excuses and leave. Sure it’s a bit of a waste of a night and you feel ripped off that you didn’t get to meet Brad Pitt’s body double, but there is no excuse for drinking and dashing ladies. Never.

Well unless you catch him spiking said drink, then you can go ahead and bash him over the head with your heels for all I care. 😉

Now, that being said, I decided to take a chance on Irishman and have a chat to him. If he was a wanker I could just delete him right?

We started to chat and right away I could tell he was a really nice guy. Now when you pair Irish and nice together you get a lovely cocktail I like to call Cream Your Jeans. So when said Irishman invited me out for a beer I graciously accepted.

The situation was a little bizarre though as it was his birthday. Would it be weird? Would I be intruding? Didn’t this dude have any mates to hang out with on his birthday? Irishman assured me he did have friends but he still wanted to grab a drink with me before the big bash started.

Sounds legit.

So I hightailed it over there as quickly as I could. (Which turned out to be not so quick as I had to take two trams and a train. They never show that part on the rom coms do they?) I arrived and ordered a pint, swallowing down a massive gulp along with my nerves. And then he appeared.

Bugger.

He was nice sure, but as usual he looked almost nothing like his profile picture. Sigh. Still, I decided to have a birthday beer with him and then make a quiet exit when his mates arrived.

Five pints and four shots down I had my tongue down his throat while his friends cheered us on.

Double bugger.

His friends were lovely and they took to me like cheese on pizza, with one of his girlfriends even dragging me into the bathroom to show me all her various tattoos. (They were quite cool actually.)

We were all drinking like there was no tomorrow but I was doing my best to try and slow the birthday boy down. After all, if he was going to have some birthday fun he needed his equipment in ship shape condition. Sadly whenever I suggested he slow down this would prompt the response “Jagerbombs for everyone!”

Oh dear.

Eventually I did what every girl in my situation would do. I stuck my hand down his pants, nibbled on his earlobe for a second, before proclaiming that he should take me home.

I know I know, I wasn’t really attracted to the guy, but the beer goggles were firmly on and I hadn’t had any action in ages. Plus I actually wanted to help the poor guy out as I knew he had work the next day and if he drank anymore there was no way he was getting vertical in the morning.

But there was one more reason. A very very selfish one. Irishman had spent the whole night complementing me. He fawned constantly over my eyes, my dress, my hair, my body. There was nothing about me he didn’t adore. I felt incredible. Although to be honest the Jagerbombs probably had a hand in that too. After all the rejections from those stupid boys previously my confidence was at an all time low. But Irishman made me feel so wanted that I wanted to repay him in the only way I knew how.

Yeah I wasn’t really attracted to him, but hey birthday sex is always going to be good for him. 🙂

We hopped in a cab together and made our way to his place before spilling out onto the pavement in a mess of giggles and kisses. Irishman took me through to his bedroom which was fairly sparse but thankfully nice and clean. I leaned in to kiss him but was brought up short when he suddenly said

“Did I tell you you could kiss me?”

Keh?

“Uh, no.” I replied, slightly confused.

“Turn around.” he said, his voice tight.

I did as I was told, realisation slowly dawning on me.

“Take off your dress.”

I started to unzip but stopped as he commanded me to do it slowly. I slid my zip down slowly, before reaching up and slipping my dress off my shoulders. It fell to the floor and pooled at my feet. I smiled to myself as I heard him inhale sharply. Clearly he liked what he saw. I loved what he was doing. He was being dominant. Yes! I was getting my very own taste of Irish Christian Grey! I was officially in the zone and at that moment I pretty much would have done whatever he asked. So when he told my to take off my bra and undies I did so eagerly and turned around.

He had somehow taken off his own clothes at the speed of light and was standing before me naked.

“Did I tell you to turn around?” he asked

“No.” I said, a cheeky smile playing at the corners of my mouth.

‘No, what?” he breathed

“No… Sir.” I replied.

He strode forward and grabbed me, spinning me around to face away from him. I leaned my head back against him as he kissed my neck. This was awesome!

Then he pushed me onto the bed and we were making out.

Sadly that was where it ended as all those Jagerbombs had taken their toll on the Irishman’s banger and mash. Not even my caring ministrations could breathe any life back into the poor old thing. So we just talked. For a long time. And I found out that Irishman would actually be my perfect partner if only I was goddam attracted to him. We liked the same things, he could make me laugh and of course the dom thing was a total tick in my book.

Eventually though we let sleep takeover and we drifted off, spooning the shit out of each other.

Hot.

The next morning I woke up feeling remarkably chipper considering the night before. Irishman was also awake and greeted me with a kiss and an amazingly long speech about how beautiful I was and how it was the best birthday he had ever had and no girl he’d been with could come close to me.

Wowsa.

We made out for a while, his dominant side from last night occasionally shining through when he would tell me to shut up and kiss him. Unfortunately I wasn’t really feeling it as we both had morning breath and things were just a touch smelly. I was saved from more kissing though as his phone rang. I grinned. This was the perfect time to play the phone game.

For the uninitiated I’ll explain the rules of the phone game. Your man gets on the phone to whoever is calling and that is your cue to dive into his pants, whip out his penis and commence the most splendiferous, over the top, amazing blow job you have ever attempted. If your boy can carry on the conversation without yelps, moans and voice pitch changes then you continue to lay on the pleasure. If he can’t and tries to cut the phone call short then you stop immediately. The goal of course, is to get the other person on the phone to realise what is happening and hang up in disgust at their friends antics. You might think, but why? Well for one thing, it’s hilarious, and how often do you get to laugh when there’s a penis in your mouth? Also, guys bloody love it, no matter who they’re talking to and eventually some will even schedule calls just when you’re around so you can have a bit of fun. And lastly, do you need a reason? That’s a negative.

So I slipped under the covers and started doing my job (he was loving it but sadly his little man was not standing to attention. There is nothing worse than giving head to someone who can’t get it up. It’s like giving a blowjob to a ball of warm play-dough.) Anyways I was grinning away listening to him try and have a normal conversation with his brother when it happened. A strange and unknown smell crept into my nostrils just as I was working up to the big finish. I paused for a moment and then realised what had happened.

The bastard had farted!

And I know we all know that the night after a big one farts are bloody awful! It was the ultimate in silent but violent and it was all I could to not fling the blankets back and run screaming from the room. I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so you know what I did? I kept going!

For shame!

Urgh it was disgusting. I knew he’d done it, he knew he’d done it, but neither of us said a word. It was just the unspoken agreement. Please don’t mention that I just dutch ovened you.

Blech.

So what happened next? Did I see him again? Did I get a severe case of pink-eye? You’ll find out soon Lovers! 😉

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: My doctor says I’m lacking Vitamin U

Wine is not a food group!

Hey there Lovers!

Boy what a week I have had! Today we’re going to take a little break from the Rick saga so I can update you on the day to day happenings 🙂 And my what happenings they have been!

Now then, at the end of last week I was at an all time low. No sex. No money. (Why oh why do I ebay drunk?) No men on the horizon and nothing to look forward too career wise. Just endless uni and menial tasks to complete. Blurgh.  I had thought I had found a lovely new boy and had enjoyed a few colourful sex fests with him and was looking forward to more until he dropped the text bomb. These were his exact words:

“You’re cute and awesome. However I want to focus on myself for a while.”

Keh?

What the hell had happened? I wasn’t clingy or weird, in fact when he didn’t text me for days on end I followed suit and maintained radio silence. What did he want?!

Men!

But of course I didn’t put any of this into text as I wanted to remain cool, aloof and oh so mysterious. (Although really, what mystery is left after someone’s rooted around inside your treasure chest?) So I texted back:

“Ok no worries, just don’t focus on yourself too hard (you’ll start to chafe) xx”

Nice, aloof and yet still putting sexual images into his head, even if it was just man to hand conversation and I wasn’t involved anymore. He laughed and sent back some lame message about how he’d keep that in mind and all that nonsense. I was totally bummed. And although he said it had nothing to do with me it kept gnawing away at the back of my mind. I stayed strong though and didn’t text him. That was until I talked to Ben.

Ben and I met on Plenty of Fish and he seemed like a lovely bloke. We chatted for a bit then organized to meet up on Saturday night for drinks.

Yay for even the possibility of sex! (Although I must say my ravenous sexual appetite was starting to get quite disturbing.) Still, it was something fun to do on a Saturday and I set about planning my menu for the day before so I didn’t accidentally ruin sexy time with unwanted flatulence.

A couple of hours later Ben asked for my number which of course I gave willingly. Then he asked for my Facebook.

Hmmm.

I don’t give out my Facebook anymore because goddam boys are clingy! I’ve had far too many experiences of continuous poking (pun intended) and endless likes. It’s just not worth it until you actually meet the guy and suss out his stalker status. So I said no and waited for a reply.

And waited.

And waited…

What the? I texted him asking what he was playing at only to receive his reply of “Yeah no Facebook and no meet. I just don’t feel comfortable otherwise.”

Ex-queeze me? You don’t feel comfortable? What do I have to do next, spread my cheeks and let you dig around just to satisfy your ‘comfort levels?’ Needless to say I lost a lot of respect for him at that moment. But my raging inner sex drive urged me onwards and I agreed, grudgingly giving up my name and asking for his.

Nothing.

Hello? I waited an hour and texted again. Still nothing. You’ve got to be kidding me.

I’d just been rejected because of my Facebook page.

This guy had been a total keen bean after seeing my five POF profile pictures (which may I add were pulled directly from Facebook) but as soon as he logged into the old book of face it’s as if my pictures made his penis shrivel up to the size of a gherkin. (Although maybe it was that size the whole time. I guess I’ll never know now will I?)

Did I look that bad??

I logged on to do a little re-con. Sure my profile picture is a very tipsy me dressed as a Belgian beer wench with fake green plaits and badly chosen beer. And yes my cover photo is an extremely drunk me writhing on the floor with Will performing Total Eclipse of The Heart on a karaoke stage, but surely that’s not too bad?

Right?

Here’s the kicker. The bastard didn’t even give me his name so I could do the appropriate thing and judge him by his stupid drunk photos as well. I mean come on dude, fight fair at least.

So you can imagine what this little episode did for my flagging self esteem. What was I doing wrong? Well in hindsight I know exactly what I did wrong next. I popped over to the local and bought myself a tasty (yet disgustingly cheap) bottle of wine and drank it. For lunch.

Oops.

So around three o’clock I had the brilliant idea to text the fellow before Ben who needed to ‘focus’ on himself and see what the real story was. I could pretend I sent a great witty text but I don’t lie to you guys (although sometimes I wish I did. Really, it would save a lot of embarrassment on my part.) So here is the wonderfully well thought out text I sent.

” Heya so I know this is an annoying question but I’m finally drunk enough to ask yay! Did I do something to make you not want to hang out anymore? Was my vajayjay too small, my head shaped too much like a potato, my butt too bumpy? I’d just really like to know so I can fix it for next time cause this is kind of a recurring thing :-)”

Smooth eh?

Yeah not so much. Luckily he was good enough to answer back a day or two later saying my vagina was fine (thank god) and that he really did just want to be single for a while.

Huh. Fair enough.

So that was him sorted. I was tempted to torment Ben with endless annoying bordering on stalker-like texts just to teach him a lesson about giving his number to a total stranger, but my heart just wasn’t in it. Instead I decided the only way to get back in the game was to ride that horse until it’s dead between your legs. Ok I’m not so great at analogies but you get the idea right? I went right back online and restarted the search.

And that’s when I found him.

Irish. 28 years old.185cm. Brown hair, blue eyes.

Houston, we have lift off.

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Your body is 75% water, and I’m thirsty.

 

Why do you judge me Chicken?

Good Morrow Lovers! And a happy Sunday night to you all!

Although, let’s face it, unless Monday is a public holiday Sunday nights are pretty much the worst night of the week. Want to know how I staved off the Sunday blues? Watched a documentary all about Ivan Milat, Australia’s worst serial killer.

Woo hoo! Come at me Monday! 😉

But seriously though, I actually have had quite the dramatic weekend full of ups and downs and not being able to get it up again. However all of this is still processing in my one track mind so you’ll have to wait a few days for me to hash it all out (and hopefully see a certain someone again to see if their walk is as good as their talk.) So let’s get back to Rick shall we? Good news, we finally get to do it! Well, after a few minor hiccups involving a chicken. You’ll get it, trust me.

Rick and I were floating in that honeymoon bubble that so many new couples experience. The only difference with our particular bubble, was that there was no sex involved, which really if you think about it, was kind of convenient. Nobody wants their bubble smelling like stale sex. No, ours was squeaky clean, a little too clean actually, and we were both in quite a hurry to mess that bad boy up. But I was also very wary about trying again. After all, the only experience I had ever had was Charlie, and lets face it, a carrot and a cucumber are very different things.

One night, Rick decided to put the moves on. I was all for it, and excitement coursed through me. Now this is the part they talk about in those ‘special alone time books’ It’s where the girl is so overcome with lust and adrenalin that she practically pees on the guys face she’s so ready. He is astounded with her eagerness for him and slams straight into her no questions asked, and they continue on in that fashion for the next few pages. In real life however, things can be a tad more complicated. My brain was singing some wet song in my head, burning for some sexy time. My neck was all shivery and deliciously tickled by his tongue flitting back and forth across it. My stomach was in the most intriguing set of knots that felt oh so good for no apparent reason. It was like butterflies with fairy-floss, tickling my skin from the inside. My legs were tensed, waiting for the very exciting action to start. And of course my… well, you know… nothing! I was turned on to the max, but the downstairs area was closed for re–modeling. Would have been nice if I could have been notified in advance, like when they turn off your power for the day. I kissed Rick long and hard, trying to kick-start my annoying G spot, which apparently was away for the weekend. How could this happen? I was lying half naked with a very hot tattooed man on top of me, doing everything he could to please me, and I was as dry as an alcoholics anonymous meeting! Oh the shame! So of course when that pivotal moment came, and Rick attempted to make sweet sweet love to me, he couldn’t even get past the screen door. I was horrified. I was bad at sex! I was one of those people guys talked about when all the girls have left the building. I couldn’t even fit it in! Damn you teeny tiny vagina!

I ran outside, clad only in my t-shirt. (It’s so frustrating that whenever you try to do dramatic storm outs it always the middle of bloody winter.) I tip toed into his backyard, trying to avoid the frost and sank down near the chicken pen. They’re soft clucks soothed me, until I realized that they could push eggs out of their sweet spots, whereas I couldn’t even fit anything in! Scowling at them, I moved further away, shivering in the cold. I had told Rick I had to go to the bathroom, and it says something for men’s lack of intuition that he believed me. I resolved to stay out there for as long as possible, as punishment for my total failure in the area of natural bodily functions. What type of girlfriend was I? If I couldn’t fit it where it belongs, how was I supposed to do any of the other things girls were always jabbering on about? That whole hot dogging thing was definitely out what with the size of my boobs, so that was why it was so important I be amazing at everything else. I sighed in frustration, but it came out as more of a wheeze as the cold started to constrict my lungs. Holy shit, what is this, Antarctica? After another ten minutes or so, I saw Rick emerge from his room and go inside looking for me. He asked his Mum if she had seen me, but I knew what her and Stan had been doing for the last ten minutes so she of course said no. Seriously some people really need to get curtains, you never know who’ll be watching you in the backyard. Needless to say I could see why she was dating him, go trucker! Rick eventually realized I wasn’t in the house and came outside with a torch. It was a very deer in headlights moment when he eventually found me in the torch beam. The fact that I was clutching one of the chickens for warmth didn’t help either. After depositing Henny as I had called her, back in with the other girls Rick took me back to his room. All I could think about was how much Henny and the girls must be laughing at me right now, poor eggless humanoid.

Shut up Henny, at least I won’t end up on the table.

Oh yes I showed her. Eventually Rick dragged me from my chicken revenge schemes and back to the present. I didn’t know what to say. How do you tell your boyfriend that you think you may not have been made for sex? That in the great factory of life the machinist had forgotten to insert a very important very particular box into my model? Even more degrading, was that Rick asked me if I was a virgin and had lied about Charlie. I was shocked that he could think I would lie to him, especially about something as important as that! I promptly told him the exact amount of times I had had sex to date (twenty one baby) and the fact that if I was a virgin when I saw his trouser snake I would have run screaming for the hills. This seemed to placate him a little but it did nothing to fix my problem. How does one get oneself, shall we say ‘wet’ for ones boyfriend?

Tricky, very tricky. Then it occurred to me, like a lightning bolt without the pain and sizzle of burning hair. Maybe I was having troubles with Rick because of Charlie. I never looked forward to sex with him. It was the done thing. I just went along with it as he didn’t have many hobbies and it was difficult to fill our time together with anything else.

Woah, epiphany much?

No wonder the old lady garden was seizing up at the thought of another intrusion into her peaceful life. Nothing good ever went in there, just the odd tampon and Charlie. Intriguing… Unfortunately all these thoughts were happening entirely in my head and Rick was left staring at me blankly as I self congratulated myself on another problem solved. I opened my mouth and the whole Charlie story poured out. How much I hated it when he smoked and blew it in my face to be ‘sexy.’ How I really didn’t like the fact he hid me from his family, even going so far as to throw a blanket over me when he needed to drop something at his sisters house. And how he never made me feel wanted, not once. Rick just looked at me, and for a moment I thought I’d blabbed my last blab. This was it, he was going to throw me out. Go crawling back to Henny, that’s what he’d say. But no, he didn’t say anything. He just leaned in, gave me a soft, yet bone deep kiss, and pulled me down next to him. He held me like that for I don’t know how long, minutes, hours, days, ok maybe not days, I’d need a sick note for work if it was days.

But the fact was, without saying a word, he showed me just how wanted I was, right there in that moment. And to make a long story short, it turns out there is such a thing called lubricant! (Most impressively, Rick purchased a self heating one!) Hallelujah my problems were over!

Yay for good sex!

Ok Lovers, here’s a little side note for you before I go. Whatever you do, DON’T use self heating lube in summer! Dear god in heaven, the agony! The sweet sweet burn! Unless you want to spend a good half an hour having ‘sexy’ shower time furiously hosing your bits off together I wouldn’t advise it.

Claire xx

Best Bonking Song: Let’t talk about sex

By: Salt n Pepper

Best Used: When you want your man to talk dirty to you but don’t know how to broach the subject. But of a sexy     striptease to that bad-boy and you’ll be perched on his lap talking pussies and painting the pickle in no time!

Snuggle Buddies

Wassup Lovers?

What’s crackalakin? I tell you what, I am now entirely ensconced in winter warmer mode, and of course by winter warmer I mean hot naked man with minimal stickiness. This winter though I’m looking for something more. Usually I can be quite content to enjoy a cheeky seasonal session, but this year I’m feeling my age (a massive 26) and I think it’s time to find a keeper. So, how to find a man quick smart? That’s where the world wide web comes in. I’m not on one dating site, I’m on four. That’s right Lover’s, this year I’m not leaving anything to chance! Bumble, Plenty of Fish, Tinder and for the very first time E- Harmony. Urgh, I know it sucks to pay to date people but I figure now that I’m slowly nearing the top of the hill I’d better find someone good before I start to topple down the other side. (Probably weighed down by my gravity enduced saggy boobs by that point.) So stay tuned for more exciting dating adventures there!

But tonight it’s back to Rick and all the excitement (and tears) he brought. So just remember, we’d had an amazing date, and I was already thinking of what I would name our first child.

The next day was full of flashbacks. The kissing, the conversation, all that witty banter! My face was permanently stamped with the dopiest grin possible. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. His face, his smile and oh god his body. My phone was set to vibrate in my pocket and whenever I received a message it threatened to send me over the edge.

He messaged me that afternoon and we set up another date for the night after. I admit I was terrified. Was that one date just a fluke? Had he been a dating mirage I had dreamed up? And what was worse, I was meeting him at his house, which meant I was to meet…the parents. 
Horror of horrors, they were divorced. For me this was quite a new experience. Whenever meeting the “elders” I would always address them as Mr or Mrs or even Miss, but never EVER the first name! On the drive over to his house I racked my brains trying to think of titles for his Mum. 
Ma’am was too formal, Chicky-babe far to informal and saying “Hello Rick’s Mother” just seemed like a recipe for disaster.
So concerned about this most terrible of problems was I, that I ended up at the wrong house, very awkwardly asking a lovely Indian woman if her son or possibly her nephew was at home. 
Luckily Rick had spotted me from across the street and waved me over before I was ensconced into an arranged marriage.

It felt right walking with him, and when he opened the door and introduced me to his Mother I felt calm and at ease. We got along straight away, with her offering me a cigarette in the first couple of seconds of our exchange.
 I worried I might offend her if I didn’t take it but Rick saved me once again by quickly informing her that I didn’t smoke.

She took it well, and told me if I did ever want to start up, she’d be here.
 Um, great.
But then it was time for the tour of the house, or more importantly, Rick’s bedroom. You can tell an amazing amount about a guy from his room. I had never been to Charlie’s house so his room remains veiled in mystery to this day. (Although I assume it was mostly covered in pictures of his wife and children. Bit of a mood killer with the ladies I’m sure.)

Rick’s room was almost a granny flat really. It was tacked onto the side of the house and had a nice sense of privacy about it. Brick walls, plain blue bedspread (Navy, not baby blue thank goodness.) a computer by the wall and some music posters tacked up in the corners above his chest of drawers.

Simple. Efficient. Manly.
We didn’t simply fall onto the bed and start making out with wild abandon as I had imagined. It was even better than that. We talked and talked and talked. I know any boys reading this must be thinking “What a pansy, he’s clearly gay.” But I tell you, it was the single biggest turn on I have discovered to date. We would chat about one thing or another, then break off to get our pash on, before drying off and changing to another subject.
 Before I knew it, it was one o’clock. Rick asked me if I wanted to stay over and I simply couldn’t find it in me to refuse. It was Winter after all, and when faced with the choice of snuggling up with a gorgeous man and going home to a cold bed, you can imagine which option was the more appealing.
I was a little concerned however, as staying over can often lead to what some people refer to as ‘special cuddles.’ In lamens terms, ‘hot second date all out sex.’ Now you must remember I was a very green eighteen year old, so the very idea of hot second date sex sent me running for the hills. I couldn’t see Rick naked! Even if I really really wanted to. It just wouldn’t be right… Would it?

Luckily for me my Rick was once again that perfect gentleman. We slept together for the first time that night. Fully clothed. Ah bliss. I mean sure, he took my bra off but I was practically begging for it by then. All that sweet talk was such foreplay! I got to keep my shirt on though, and we lay there in contented spoonfulness for the next seven hours.

So that was date two, and my oh my were things going swell! We went on several more dates. The movies, dinner, the beach, basically hitting all the key dating places. I met his Mum’s boyfriend, (a rather large but loveable truckie) his good mates, (weed smoking losers. Of course I didn’t mention how I felt about them at the time. Not the best start to a budding relationship.) and then finally, it was time!

Granted, the time he chose was not exactly perfect, but when the mood hits and you’ve had a couple of stubbies, you’ve just got to go with it.
 We were outside on the patio, soaking up some moon beams. His friends and his Mother were with us and everyone was drinking and having a good time. Rick was looking at me all lovey dovey and dragging me into his lap, telling me how happy he was. Oh yes, from where I was on his lap I could tell exactly just how happy he was.

And that’s when the bong came out. Yuck. If there is one thing I hate more than getting shat on by birds, its drugs. Maybe I’m old school, maybe I’m not living in the now or I’m a total nerd, but what I do know, is that nothing good ever comes of any drug. Well except maybe for the odd butter menthol, god those are good. Rick and I had already had the drug discussion-

Oh, this might be a good time to mention that my boyfriend was a drug dealer. What a kick in the pants huh? Turns out no one’s perfect. I rationalised his “extra curricular activities” by noting that he didn’t sell any hard drugs, just pot, and that he was just doing it to get through a bit of a tight stage of his life.

Yeah. Sure.

Anyways, out comes the bong, away goes Claire’s libido. I hate the smell, so even though Rick was being ‘good’ and not partaking, I was what you would call “not happy Jan.” 
Fortunately for Rick, he wasn’t entirely stupid, and sensed my innate displeasure at where the night had gone. 
Desperate to rekindle my previous jovial mood, Rick decided it was time for bed. I was overjoyed at this suggestion. He knew bedtime was my favourite time of any day. There is no experience more fantastically amazing to me than snuggling up with someone special, blankets pulled up to your chin, feet tangled together at the end of the mattress, just lying there enjoying each other. I know I may shock some readers with this omission, but I enjoy this feeling more than sex. Hell, more than chocolate even. Although snuggling in bed after having sex coated in chocolate would have to be the ultimate fantasy.
 I jumped from my seat, barely concealing my delight, bid goodnight to his friends and his Mum, and scurried into his bedroom.

Oh joy of joys, an entire night of snuggle time!
 But this time, something was in the air. I think you would call them pheromones, but to my slightly tipsy brain they may as well have been tiny snuggle fairies, come just in time to tuck us in.
 Rick followed me in and shut the door gently behind him. It didn’t do much. We could still hear the raucous laughter of his mates clear as a bell, but it didn’t matter, we were too far gone at that point. He walked up to me and planted the sweetest kiss right on my smacker. It started off all soft and delicious, but as he continued it got rougher and more urgent. Kind of like when you suck on a malteaser I guess, being all gentle for the gooey chocolate exterior, but when reaching the malt centre, crunching down with glee. 
I enjoyed every second of it. We were attached at the lips for who knows how long, not even breaking apart for him to swipe all the clothes off his bed. When he did pull back to yank his shirt off I was most displeased, and made him pay for it in all sorts of wicked ways. (Nothing too R Rated though, remember I was still a newbie to this whole seduction thing.) Eventually we were down to underwear and ooh was it nice. The whole grinding experience I had enjoyed with my few other men was nothing compared to this exotic horizontal dance I seemed to be embroiled in. I could feel Rick’s excitement growing too as his Calvin Kleins began to stretch to their limits. It was at that moment I realised the trouble I was in.
 Boy did I want to sleep with him. More than anything. I wanted to have his lovely tattooed chest above me with that creepy Ent tree thing covered with my hands. The only problem was… Rick was huge!
 Yes it’s true that I hadn’t had much experience in that area at that particular juncture of my life, but even though I had never actually seen Charlie’s baby-maker, I sure as hell knew it wasn’t a patch on Rick’s monster. It was like comparing a Hummer with a Barina! And a Hummer limosine at that! We’re talking length and girth here ladies. (Bet some of you are wishing I gave out his personal details in the index eh? Wink wink)

It’s an understatement to say that when Rick pulled out a condom I was nervous. How was I supposed to do anything with that? Let alone put it in anywhere! It was like telling someone who’d gone to Subway for a light snack that they’d have to have a foot-long instead of the six inch, and cookies weren’t even an option! I gulped audibly as he tore the packet open. I dreaded to think what size he used. Maybe he’d have to join two together even? He set the unwrapped condom on the pillow next to me and the scent of latex wafted over, giving me déjà vu of my first, very unsatisfactory experience. If Charlie hurt, what on Earth would Rick be like? My mind kept flitting back to the stories I had heard about girls being split in half during sex. Of course they were trying to have sex with horses, but it’s all relative right? Rick hovered over me and gave me another one of his tongue melting kisses, making my bones turn to jelly.

So what if he breaks it? I’ll get another one, I thought hazily, smiling giddily after the kiss had ended. His hands slid over my stomach, my hips and down to my thighs. I froze a little, thinking he might notice the two and a half stretch marks I had, but his mind seemed to be on other things. Lucky, I thought, exhaling a long breath and making plans to go to the gym first thing tomorrow morning. Suddenly I yelped and sat bolt upright. I jammed my hand in my mouth, hoping the others outside hadn’t heard my squeal. Apparently not, as the verse of an appallingly bad drinking song carried on unwavering.

“What are you doing!” I squeaked down at Rick.

He looked up at me and grinned devilishly.
“Just relax baby.” He cooed 
“I will not relax!” I hissed. “ You have clearly misunderstood what goes where!” He laughed, amused at my obvious ignorance.
“I’m going down on you whether you like it or not.” He said

Eh? I racked my brains trying to remember anything in sex ed class that had mentioned this, but nothing came to mind. I’m sure I would have remembered Mr Anderson quoting “And then you will feel the man’s chin stubble graze ever so gently on your slightly wobbly thighs.” No he had never said anything remotely close to that. 
So what was he doing down there? Was he that clueless that he needed a map or something? Dear God, what if he was one of those sicko’s who was going to tie me up and lock me in his cupboard for ten days?

“Just relax babe.” He said softly, and before I knew it he had disappeared beneath the blankets.
 So apparently the experience of being “gone down on” is supposed to be one of great pleasure.

One word for you. Overrated.

I mean, hats off to those ladies out there who can blow their top from just a little cunnilingus, but for me?

Meh.

That first time it happened I had no idea what to do. Was I supposed to be doing something back? Was this a tango for two? No, it appeared not. This was more one of those interpretive solo dances that every man must make every time he wishes to engage a ladies interest. I didn’t know how long it would go for either, so I just had to wait. I must say I got very well aquainted with his ceiling, and I made a mental note to ask him how one particular stain got up there. When he finally resurfaced, I let out a sigh of relief. On one hand, I was getting a little sleepy and had to keep fighting the urge to doze off, and on the other I could feel a bit of a fart brewing and desperately didn’t want to dutch oven my brand new boyfriend.

A quick side note here, and just in case Rick ever reads this (doubtful, as in all time I spent at his house I never found so much as a comic book) but to this day, no one has ever been able to keep me even remotely interested in the old down time. So don’t fret big guy, you weren’t the only one.

Once he was done deep sea diving, it was back into the much more interesting business of figuring out how to fit an under ripe banana into a keyhole.

Tricky indeed, you may think. And yes, you would be right. Not that it ever got to that point. It turns out that pressure can just be too much for some guys.

We had kissed and canoodled ourselves to a fever pitch and it was finally time for the end game. Rick grabbed the condom and disappeared down to the end of the bed for a time.
I heard muffled cursing from underneath the covers and ducked my head in to investigate. Turns out condoms aren’t as easy to put on as they seem. Well, when your very mean girlfriend has worked you up to a certain point I suppose all manner of simple jobs become impossible, as the urge to procreate fills every cell of your man brain. Both of them. Brains I mean, not cells. Although in Rick’s case he may have smoked himself down to just a couple…
But I digress.

Long story short poor Rick was so keen that he simply couldn’t manage to get that teeny tiny condom over his massive bulge. When he finally gave up and threw the condom at the wall I felt so sorry for him. You really get to see the true side of a man at moments like these. Turns out my man was a bit of a crier.
 But of course so filled with passion, love and Carlton Dry was I at that point, that it just seemed so sweet. Not girly at all, but a sensitive side of him that was finally revealing itself to me.  A magical moment if you will. Not a time for laughter and mockery (which, don’t worry, I piled on later on) but for sharing and lots and lots of hugging. Hugging which led to a bit of grinding. Grinding which led to a hell of a lot more grinding, which finally led to a most miraculous of moments.

Rick came in his pants!

I felt like Xena warrior sex princess, bringing men to their knees without even taking my knickers off! He had got so turned on by me only half naked that that had happened? Think what I could achieve three quarters naked! My mind began to race with ideas.

That was the very first moment I had ever felt sexy in my life. And it felt great.

That’s it for now Lovers, talk again soon!

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: You’re like my little toe, I’m going to bang you on every piece of furniture in my house.

Sexual History 101 – Rick + Macca’s = Gush

Evening my sexy Love-Cats! (apologies, just watched the Lion King ;-))

How are we all? Surviving the start of Winter? On the prowl to find a cuddle buddy to get you through those cold nights? Me too Lovers, me too. Thought I’d scored one but then he used the oldest line in the book of “I like you but i just need to focus on me for now.” Cue me trying to keep the little bit of vomit that just sprung from spraying all over my innocent phone. Pfft, focusing on himself? What a girl. I sent back a very witty text wishing him well but not to focus too hard or he’d start to chafe. Ah well, onwards and upwards! In more exciting news I had the most intense sex dream during my nap today, Talk about afternoon delight! So of course being in a great post coital mood I decided to forgo the usual cigarette and blog instead. (I don’t smoke Lovers but I always think about it after sex. Sometimes I’ll keep a box of wafer sticks by my bed so I can pretend to smoke it afterwards. Usually the boy I’m with doesn’t join me. Massive suprise to you I’m sure.)

So, where did I leave off? Ah yes, I had stuck my tongue down Rick’s throat on a night out and was deliriously looking forward to our date.

Here goes!

I will preface this first date by saying right here and now, that it was, quite simply, the best date I have ever been on to this day. I say this because when I explain it, it may not come across as the most glamorous or perfect night. But stick with me through it, and maybe I will be able to convey some of the awesomeness I felt that night.

Rick’s car was…unique. There was a small hole in the exhaust, which meant getting anywhere quietly was a no go. I stepped inside and found a small white pill on my seat. I raised my eyebrows at him and told him he wasn’t very subtle, and that it was supposed to be slipped into a drink, not placed on a seat. Luckily for me Rick was one of the few who understood my somewhat special sense of humour. After a bit of a chuckle he explained his brother has ADHD and his medication must have spilled out when Rick was driving him home one night.

After inspecting the pill and seeing no smiley face or pixies etched into it I decided to believe him and hopped in. The conversation flowed and Rick made me feel at ease almost instantly. The radio was turned onto triple j, or as I like to call it, triple gay. Witty right? (Maybe not.) After a channel change to a bit of soft rock the mood picked up even more and I found myself having a great old time, and we hadn’t even got to our date yet! Rick had decided we were going to a nice little beach side suburb for dinner. (I love love love it when a guy makes the decisions. Practically creamed my jeans right then and there.)

After about half an hour we reached our destination and parked. Like a total gentleman, he came around and opened my door for me, paid for parking and parked right under a light so there was no chance of an unwanted ravishing later on. Truth be told I was a little put out by his last choice, but being the lady I was I kept my ravenous sexual side on the down low. Well, for the meantime anyway.
It really was perfect. We walked along the beach hand in hand, talking about our childhoods, our careers and our families. It would have looked like something straight out of a Hollywood rom­‐com had it not been for me screaming every time I saw seaweed. Seriously that stuff looks really creepy at night. I kept thinking it was a body or something and made Rick double check each sludgy pile, a chore he carried out with not a single complaint or eye roll. That’s when I knew he might be someone quite special. That was also the point when he decided we should get off the beach, but that’s understandable, he did smell somewhat like day old sushi by that time. 
We decided it was time to eat, and of course Rick had it all planned out. Fish and chips on the beach. That was when I had to tell him I was allergic to seafood…

I’m not actually allergic but I find people take it much better than “Yeah no, I just don’t like it.”
His face fell a little but I wasn’t deterred. We would find another restaurant, I told him, and we set off in search of our own private restaurant de lurve. After a good twenty minutes walking I realised why he had looked so disappointed about the seafood issue. Every single restaurant we passed boasted of their award winning snapper, the tenderness of their calamari and the barely poisonous tendencies of their blowfish. I was about to give up and tell Rick the truth, when suddenly his eyes lit up. I swallowed my sentence and followed his gaze until my eyes fell onto what he was staring at.

In all my life I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see the golden arches as I was that day.
 We practically skipped over to them and bounded through the doors. Rick burst out laughing when I jokingly told him I had a craving for a fillet o fish and my heart did a little flip flop. It may have been a preview of the heartburn I would suffer later on but at that moment I put it down to that crazy little thing called love.

We got our burgers and sat at a very romantic table (the only one not covered in food. Score) We dipped chips into Sundays and challenged each other to burger off’s (hence the heartburn, blurgh) And I loved every minute of it. 
Afterwards we went for another walk, this time around the suburbs so Rick could show me his old school. The place looked like a prison but of course I oohed and aahed at his description of the architecture and fantastic facilities.

As our palms started to get sweaty from holding hands so much, I began to realise that this could finally be a guy I wouldn’t mind getting very sweaty indeed with.

Our conversation somehow took a turn toward our respective weights and had me lamenting on the fact that even though I wasn’t massive, no guy I’d dated (all two of them) had ever been able to pick me up. 
Rick took that as an invitation and a challenge all at once and before I knew it I was airborne.

Here’s the bit where it starts getting soppy so if you’re not into that you might want to skip down a few lines.
There I was, nose to nose with the love god, his arms tucked just below my butt, supporting me with apparent ease as my legs dangled between his.

He moved in closer and the smell of pickles wafted towards me.

Gross.

But even that didn’t stop me from leaning in and participating in one gigantic smacker of a kiss.

Top. Notch.

That’s all I can really say about that particular snog. I guess you just had to be there. 
After he put me down again and I had regained use of my legs, we walked back to his car, stopping in a park to do some bench kissing, before lying down and trying the old grass pash, before finally making it back to the parking lot for some car canoodeling. All very G Rated of course, there might have been the odd boob graze but all in all he was the perfect gentleman.
We talked until two am, before finally realising the night had to end sometime. Rick drove me home and even walked me to my door. When he turned and blew a kiss from his car I almost fell into a pot-­plant. It was just too shocking, too lucky to find a guy this perfect. But for the meantime I was happy to bask in the wonder that was Rick; as soon as I got out of the pot-plant that was.

Ooh who’s intrugued? I am and I know what happens next so it must be good! Still your pounding hearts until next time Lovers, there’s always more to come!

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: (It’s a bit of a creepy one) I want to live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way.

Told you!

Sexual History 101

Hello again Lovers!

And one thousand apologies for the lateness of this blog. Things have been crazy hectic lately and I am even beginning to have trouble scheduling regular sex sessions in. (Heaven forbid!)

I’ve been doing some thinking, and now that you know me and my particular… style, I figured it was time for you all to know how I reached this point in life. After all, you can’t really truly know someone until you know who they’ve bumped uglies with can you? (Well, unless it’s a member of the family, then you want nothing to do with uglies, or bumping or any of the like. You just accept that they are a well rounded person thanks to Jesus and your wonderful influence in their life.)

So, it’s time for a little Claire’s sexual history 101. Through this delightful lesson we will be exploring my past serious boyfriends and figuring out what I have learnt from each. For instance, we have already discussed my first lover, Charlie the Adulterer, (did I mention that most of them will be getting awesome nicknames? Because that will most definitely be on the cards) and I certainly learned a thing or two from him! Mainly to check for wives and children before entering into a relationship, but hey, a lesson is a lesson!

So now it’s time for you to discover my next ill fated tryst. Strap yourselves in, because if you’ve been reading along as we go, this is the poor guy with who I instituted the ‘cum sock.’

Enjoy!

So, first boyfriend is a pathological liar with a suppose-ed plastic nose. Second boyfriend not so much a liar as an adulterist and sex addict. Not the best track record in the world, but onwards and upwards!
After Charlie had left the scene I kept a low profile for a little while, gave myself a little time to work on me you know? To my credit I set myself a new record of how quickly I could drink a can of Pepsi up my nose. Word of warning? That shit burns. Don’t try it at home kids. I also only recently found out that drinking through your nose can kill you if you do it wrong.

There goes my afternoons.

Anyway, I was working on bettering myself. I even perfected the art of microwave popcorn. It’s three minutes and 23 seconds to get it perfect, any longer and you’ll be eating buttered ash. But hey maybe that’s just my microwave. Set aside a weekend sometime soon and find out for yourself! Eventually though, on a particularly windy night, I was dragged into clothes, yanked into a taxi and deposited into the heartland of lonely souls and the desperate and dateless. In every city there is always one street that is compiled almost completely of clubs, pubs and maybe the odd naughty “massage parlour”. If you want a boozy night out that you won’t remember, these are the streets you want to visit.
So I landed slap bang in the middle of one of these derelict playgrounds, and after downing three jager-bombs and countless beers, I was ready to start forgetting. Bec and her boyfriend were with me and they wanted to visit a favourite club of theirs. It was a club that played only hard-core trance and dub step throughout the entire night. That wordless crap that consists mainly of a thudding bass beat and the occasional instrumental thrown in for good measure and flair. It was just what I needed. As soon as we were through the door I snagged myself a lollypop and some glow sticks and I was off!

I danced with everyone and anything. I was up on podiums, under tables, around poles and occasionally, just for effect, on the dance floor. Nobody could keep up with me. I was high on life and loving it. Of course, most people in that club were high on something, but mine was the only one that came for free.

Eventually though, I had to take a break. Plus I was getting to that sweaty point where I was spraying everyone within a two-metre radius.

Saucy.

So after sponging down in the ladies room I joined Bec and her boyfriend on the balcony. It was pretty easy to find them. They were the only two people not staring with fascination at the pretty lights or trying to kiss their own face. They were quite happy kissing each other’s faces… and necks, and ears. I think I even saw a sneaky tongue go up a nostril. Gross, not to mention awkward. Luckily for me, Bec’s boyfriend was nice enough to untangle himself just long enough to introduce me to a guy he’d just met.

And what a guy.

I’ve always been a romantic person. I want the over the top proposal and the rose petals on the bed, but strangely enough, I was never one to believe in that whole love at first sight idea. Turns out, add a little booze to the picture and you can fall in love with just about anyone.
But this was more than that. His name was Rick, and there was something oh so special about him. (It turned out that that something special had been purchased for thirty dollars and swallowed about forty minutes before meeting me, but who’s judging, right?) Rick was completely different from Charlie. He was tall and lanky with shoulder length blonde hair. Some people would have called it trashy, but to me it was his own personal halo. It was like Ken had crossed to the wrong side of the tracks after ending things with Barbie and he was ready to have a little fun. He could do no wrong in that first conversation. We clicked instantly, finding that we had so much in common that we even liked the same drink! (Yes, it’s true that quite a few men like beer but in this case it was totally coincidental and meant to be.) We talked for almost an hour on the balcony whilst Bec continued in her attempt to drain her boyfriend of all bodily fluid. She did a great job, and we were there for another hour before I decided it was time for a change of scenery.

In the tiny city that I live in, after two a.m, there are really only two clubs to choose from. The first we had just left, so it was time to join the thronging masses of tweens pretending to be eighteen for the night. On one hand, it did make you feel more mature and awesome, knowing you were allowed to be there, that your ID was real and that you didn’t have to lie to your Mother about “sleeping over at Suzie’s place.” But on the other hand it could be a crushing blow for your self-esteem when fourteen-year-old boys would look you up and down and recoil as if they had just seen Nanna in fishnets.

But on this night I had my very own, very grown up boy to look me up and down, so the teenyboppers didn’t bother me in the least. Even when we were told the wait to get in was at least half an hour, it didn’t deter me. It was chat time.

I got down to the hard-hitting questions first. Did he wear boxers or briefs? Did he occasionally dabble in cross-dressing? And if so why? After a sharp kick from Bec, I realised I may have been asking the wrong set of questions.
So I reverted back to the usuals, what do you do for a living, where do you live? Who do you live with? And all those generic issues. As he was answering I noticed something poking out the top of his shirt. It looked very much like a tattoo.

I’m terrified of needles so my skin will never see a tattoo pen, but a little ink on a guy can be very sexyliscious indeed. 
Intrigued, I asked Rick what his tattoo was and what it represented. I was not prepared for the answer. He unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his entire chest covered by a massive tree. Sort of like those tree’s they had in The Lord of The Rings movies. It even had eyes right smack bang in the middle of his nipples. Yowch. His explanation was almost too simple really. “I really like plants.”

No shit, Sherlock.

Any normal person may have been a little concerned at this point, but not me. Those Jager-bombs were really starting to kick in. So much so that in response to his answer I squealed back “Oh my god, I like plants too! This is so crazy!”
After jumping around in excitement for a couple of minutes, I finally managed to contain my elation that we both, in fact, liked plants.

Things may have got even more embarrassing, but luckily for me, Bec’s boyfriend was one of the unfortunate males that gets the lazy eye when they drink. Bouncers hate the lazy eye, and as if it were an epidemic they make it their mission to rid clubs and pubs of it, which is a real bummer if you actually do genuinely have one.

And so it was that Bec’s boyfriend was swiftly denied access to that particular establishment and went on to throw a rather large, rather loud hissy fit. So there went our chance of getting in anywhere else in a ten-­mile radius.
I sighed, knowing the night was over thanks to that cursed lazy eye. It really was a killer. I looked up at Rick and knew that he was going to kiss me very soon.

Ooh it was nice. If I didn’t like him a lot before hand, I was head over heels for him now. He had the perfect mix of tongue, lips and head tilt, garnished very nicely with that oh so seductive hand on the face. After I caught my breath again he leant his forehead on mine and whispered, “I wish this didn’t have to end.” Instant melt for me. Literally could barely stand up, although the shots may have had a little to do with that as well.

In my smoothest voice I purred “Maybe it doesn’t have to.” I saw his eyes light up and realised I was in dangerous one night stand territory, which wasn’t what I was going for at all. I quickly blurted out “Meet me at the movies on Tuesday. It’s cheap… and stuff.” I was aware my stunning English skills weren’t exactly blowing him away so I sealed the deal with a badly aimed kiss, which landed square on his chin. He even looked cute with saliva on his face, who can achieve that but a god? If I was very lucky, a sex god. I shoved that thought to the back of my head. It was far too dangerous to even think about him naked, who knew what that thought could lead to.

We swapped numbers and then some more spit before finally parting ways. I must have looked back about six times as I walked away. I knew if we met again it would be something really special. Little did I know what else he would bring.

Ooh are we intrigued Lovers? Let’s hope so! Things get even better on the second date!

Claire

xx

Pickup line of the week: Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Cause you have a pretty sweet ass!