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.’


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.


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!



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


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