Man Whores: A New Dope

Good evening Lovers!

And a happy good morrow to you all! I hope you have all been engaging in completely indecorous, wanton behaviour this entire weekend! Now you may be wondering ‘why is she using a touch of ye old English today? This is most out of character!’ Well Lovers, today I want to talk to you about a specific rogue I came across on my online travels today. (Don’t worry, we’ll come back to Callum next time I promise.) He called himself a ‘gentleman’ but boy do I find that hard to believe! I didn’t even make contact and I still hate him. Trust me when I say Lovers, I desperately wanted this to be a joke profile, and searched profusely for any sign that said gentleman was pulling yon ladies leg or petticoat. But alas, the gentleman was indeed a dickhead of the worst degree and had no redeeming factors to pull him from the deep douche abyss he had plummeted into. So you want to read his profile Lovers?

Of course you do, you sick, sick vicarious bastards! And boy do I love you for that!

Here we go… (The regular text is him and the italics are what I screamed at my phone as I read this pathetic profile. Enjoy.)

Dear Ladies, (Good start)

I am a 30 year old man and I am looking for a rare woman which I do not believe exists (certainly not here on this POF site which seems to attract very low status women) (then piss off and try another one loser),but I’m going to try and find her anyway.

My ideal woman is aged 18 to 26, (ageist much?) is non-hypergamous (that word doesn’t even turn up in spell check you wordy bastard.) and is not looking to ‘marry up’. She must love me for who I am and not for what I am and what I can provide in terms of financial resources. She must love me for my personhood and my humanity as a man. (Humanity? Pfft bitch please, like you have any at this point.)

She will: (always a good sign when a man lists off things you WILL do whether you like it or not.)

Be physically attractive, slim and look after her body. (Obviously.)

Have no children and certainly not be a single mother as I do no want to spend my resources raising another mans child. (Geez, heaven forbid you should do something generous with that mountain of cash you have under your bed.)

Is not a feminist nor has any feminist leanings whatsoever (damn the feminists, damn ALL the feminists! Pfft what a wang.)

Is deferential, respectful, compliant and appreciative – just the way a woman should be ( I can’t…. I can’t even.)

Enjoy sex very much but will not use sex as a bargaining tool to manipulate me as a man (well on the bright side he didn’t specify the sex had to be with him… Which is probably a good thing as I’m sure his baloney pony would be the size of a gnat.)

Be Asian as I much prefer Asian over Caucasian (once Asian never Caucasian)

(Don’t try and make your racism cute with a joke loser)

I will not be giving up any of my financial resources by the way (Why am I not surprised? You seem like such a kind hearted, giving guy.)

My goal here is to have sex with as many attractive women as possible whilst not giving up any of my resources (uh dude, you’re not supposed to actually SAY it. Don’t you have any tact at all? Oh wait, you don’t.)

In fact – whilst dating (wait are we having non negotiable sex or dating? Make up your mind boy!) you will be expected to pay for me given that we live in an age of equality now due to what the feminists have achieved in society which means there is now an excess of essentially undatable women who will end up bitter, lonely old cat ladies. (Make up your mind you silly sausage! If you want a woman with no feminist views whatsoever that bitch is going to want her coffee for free! What is she supposed to be grateful for if all she gets is you, your tiny gnat dick and the bill? You best watch out boy, when feminist cat ladies form a posse, they can be deadly to thirty year old fuckwits. Or so I’ve heard…)

I expect I will meet, have sex with but certainly discard several of these types of women during my dating here. (It will be a blessing for them when you ‘discard’ them, trust me.)

All contact from women who are unattractive, fat, old, have children or feminist leanings I will report to the site administration as inappropriate and I will block. (Because of course, heaven forbid a girl should dare contact a prized bull such as yourself! At least he’s narrowed the field down to rich, young, beautiful, Asian, compliant, anti feminist sex maniacs. I’m sure there’s plenty of those out there buddy.)

Fun fact (Are you fucking serious?) – Want to know what the most dangerous creature on the planet is? (Thats is a question not a fun fact fuckwit.) Answer: The beautiful woman. (Get out. Get out of my sight right now.)

Kind Regards,

Eligible Bachelor (who will remain thoroughly single for the rest of his days due to being completely devoid of any redeeming qualities and a teeny tiny todger.)

Aaaaaarrgghhh!

Apologies Lovers, I just had to get that out of my system. God that feels good!

Anywho I’m off to go take a cold shower and attempt to restore my faith in mankind. Emphasis on man.

Claire xx

Best bonking songs: Killing in the name of

By: Rage Against the Machine

Best Used: When you’re super angry with your man, but he doesn’t know you’re angry at him, but you need to de-stress with a good girl on top orgasm and you need something to keep the rage going so you can do him hard and fast, possible getting off before he comes. Ha! Suck it man!

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Kiss me you fool!

Hey Lovers!

Let’s get straight into it! No foreplay, just jam it in boy!

So, as you all know, after thoughtful deliberation, I’d decided I had to see Callum again. I’ve never been someone to leave things alone. I’m a picker. I’ll just pick and pick at something until not only is it badly infected, but has tinges of gangrene and is in danger of falling off and making a mess all over the kitchen floor.

But involuntary amputations aside, there was still so many questions gnawing away at me that I just had to get an answer to. Plus if I got to see my new favourite couch again that could never be a bad thing.

We organised to have a movie night. A boozy movie night. The booze was my idea as I wanted to get him liquored up so I could extract all the information I needed.

Sadly I hadn’t really thought the date through and when the big night rolled around I was fresh out of alcohol. Except for a two year old bottle of Passion Pop, possibly the worst and cheapest sparkling wine known to man.

I headed down to the bottle-shop to pick up something a tad more sophisticated. As I pulled up to the drive through I swore under my breath at my forgetfulness. It was Good Friday. There wasn’t going to be a bottle-shop open in the entire country, let alone my tiny little city.

I cast a hateful look at the bottle of Passion Pop nestled in the seat next to me, realising that that would be my alcoholic sustenance for the night.

Bugger.

Still, a real woman never blames her tools. Passion Pop or no, I was going to seduce the shit out of that boy tonight.

Now here’s a side note for you Lovers. I am well aware now of how crazy I sound. That is the beauty of hindsight. At the time though I thought I was a dating mastermind. I didn’t really like this guy and he didn’t seem too keen on me, yet I was heading in guns blazing and tits firing in an aim to find out what his feelings were towards me. I was very much an all or nothing girl in my youth. Just thought you ought to know that as I write this, I am agreeing whole-heartedly with you whenever you exclaim “WTF?” or “What the hell is she doing?” and “Wow, that bitch be crazy.”

This bitch still be crazy, but she has learnt a thing or two about self control and letting things run their course instead of diving in like an angry beaver and damming the place up until it all flows my way.  Especially since I wax (or shave) these days so no beaver connotations can be associated with me anymore.

So now that that’s cleared up, back to the story!

I arrived at Callum’s door dead on six o’clock, nervous and a little sweaty due to the heat. I shoved the Passion Pop under my arms, reveling in the blessed coolness of glass on skin. It was in this euphoric state that Callum found me as he opened the door.

I jumped and shoved the bottle at him, hoping it didn’t smell like B.O too much.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, gesturing at the bottle “It was all I had in the fridge.”

“That’s ok.” He replied, ushering me inside “I’ve got some stuff here.”

Cue sigh of relief from me.

He put the bottle in the fridge as I surveyed his apartment again. It was very clean and didn’t really smell like boy. I wandered into his bedroom and caught it, that stale corn-chip smell that I always found attached to guys at some point.

Satisfied that he was in fact a man and not some terribly convincing cross dresser, I sauntered back into the kitchen where the man in question was making drinks.

“What are you making?” I asked, sidling over to him.

“Frangelico and lime juice. It’s my favourite drink.”

“What about beer?” I asked, slightly disappointed we couldn’t just crack open a six pack.

“Oh yeah obviously, but this is all I had.”

I giggled. It was clear he was as unorganised as me. I liked that.

We took the drinks over to the couch and settled in.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Callum asked a little nervously. I could tell he was afraid I was going to ask for something like Notting Hill or some other girly crap. Instead I chose Red Dragon.

I hadn’t seen it before but he assured me it was great and really gross at some points too. Obviously the perfect choice for a date movie.

The movie started and I tried my best to concentrate. As soon as the opening scene had finished Callum turned to me and started blabbing on about his life story.

Where on earth did this come from? I nodded along as he yammered on about all sorts of details of his life, some interesting, some really not so. I didn’t get a chance to watch more than twenty minutes of the movie so when the credits rolled and he asked me if I liked it I just told him it was a little hard to follow.

Technically not a lie people.

The next two movies continued in the same way. We would pop on a dvd, settle in and then as soon as it would start, so would Callum.

By the end of the third movie I was getting a little frustrated so I declined the offer of another movie and tried a different tack.

“Why don’t we just talk?” I suggested, as that was what he had been doing for the last six hours.

“Oh, I’m not really much of a talker.” He mumbled, and I struggled not to spray Frangelico all over him out my nose.

“Say what?” I asked as soon as the nasal crisis had been averted. He just looked at me for a moment, and that was when I realised that he was just as nervous as I was. All the chatter and nonsense he’d been blathering on about was just nerves.

Huh.

Well if there was one thing I knew that cured nerves and awkwardness was a good snog. I sidled over to him so we were touching and leaned in close to his face.

He didn’t move.

I was all for helping out a fellow man but I wasn’t going any more than eighty per cent. If he wanted a kiss he was going to have to put in the effort.

He leaned in and I braced myself for the first passionate tongueing .

What I didn’t expect was his arms to come up around me and pull me into a hug.

Eh?

I opened my eyes to find myself staring over his shoulder as he stroked my back. What was happening here? Callum slowly started laying me down on the couch, arms still around me.

Oh ok, I thought, he’s just re-positioning for the most effective angle. Roger that.

I squished myself into the couch, getting ready for a long pash session, but again I was flummoxed when he curled up beside me and spooned me.

Just spooned me!

I counted to ten. And then I counted to thirty. And then I counted the ceiling tiles on his roof, and still there was no action, not even the whisper of a boob graze. What was he waiting for?

I wriggled around until I was facing him. I didn’t know what to say, as the phrase “Just stick your tongue in my mouth!” seemed altogether too blunt for this situation.

So as I searched for the right words, or in fact any words at all, there was a long silence. I’d like to say it was a very romantic silence in which our two souls finally became one in the simple motion of locking eyes, but that would be lying. It was fairly awkward actually.

Finally though, when I thought the silence would become too much to bear, Callum slipped his hand under my shirt and slowly moved it towards my back. His fingers traveled upwards until they found my bra-strap, where he began the complicated task of one-handedly undoing my bra.

Epic fail.

He fumbled and fiddled for what seemed like an age, all the while pulling the most ridiculous faces. I had the feeling I was getting a sneak peek at his sex face, and the thought did nothing to comfort me.

Finally though he brought his other hand up and finished the job. I waited for him to take my top off and get to the goods, but his hands stayed firmly on my back. I wasn’t going to let him go any further than a bit of a nipple fiddle, but the fact that he wasn’t even making an attempt to breach the perimeter was very off-putting.

And then he started talking.

Again.

We lay there for the next couple of hours, just chatting and laughing. Without the movies playing I could pay much more attention to his conversation and interact on a more level playing field.

It was only when Callum got up to pee did we realise the sun was coming up. It was five thirty in the morning and we hadn’t even noticed!

I was going to drive home as we both had places to be that day but Callum gallantly offered to let me stay the night, or at the least the hour or so that was left of it.

So we relocated to his bedroom and curled up under the covers. To my surprise and delight Calum slipped his hands under my bra and cupped my boobs most affectionately.

Houston, we have contact.

But still no kiss.

At that moment however I was too tired to care and we slipped into a spoony kind of nap and slept for the next five hours.

I woke up later not realising where I was and why my bra felt so loose. It was only when I noticed the fairly firm grip that was being applied to my ass that I remember what had happened.

I rolled over to Callum and mumbled a sleepy good morning and a mumbled apology, as I had to race home straight away.

He nodded his understanding and we rolled out of bed together with a plop, taking the doona with us as we went.

I wriggled out of the mess of blankets, giggling like an idiot the whole time. I realised with a jolt that I was actually having quite a nice time. I had gone into this date thinking I would get the boy drunk, seduce a tipsy kiss out of him for curiosity’s sake and be on my way. But that hadn’t been the case at all.

Best laid plans I suppose.

As I did up my bra and sorted out the situation that was my hair, Callum got us some orange juice from the kitchen.

I stared at myself in the mirror, silently psyching myself up for the moment. I wasn’t leaving without a kiss. I needed to know where I stood.  Was this something? Or were we just mates who fondled each others special features now and then?

After applying a heavy dose of lip gloss, (most of which  plastered itself to the glass when I took a sip of juice) I sauntered up to Callum and slipped my arms around his waist.

He looked at me for a moment quizzically before giving me a little squeeze and moving away to rinse out the glasses.

Aaarrrggghhh!

I stormed up behind him, all traces of seduction gone and spit out “So are you ever going to kiss me or what?”

Bastard didn’t even look up from the dishes.

“Yeah,” he said “Eventually.”

“When is eventually?” I huffed

“I guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” He said with a coy grin.

I was glad I couldn’t reach his saucepans, because at that moment a frying pan would have proved a deadly weapon.

I sighed, feeling defeated and very much the loser in this ‘game’ that was dating. I had no idea how to play it and the only cards I held were desperation and needy, which of course were played way too early in every hand. Of course after dating Rick I had also acquired the very handy  blowjob wildcard to my deck, but I still hadn’t quite figured out the power that particular card held.

I gathered my things and headed towards the door

It wasn’t until I reached my car that I realised Callum had followed behind me. I turned to him, my brow arched in a silent question.

He put one hand on the top of the car and the other around my waist. And then he went in.

I must say it wasn’t the passionate lip melding I was hoping for, but there was definitely talent there. Yes, I thought to myself smugly, I could work with this.

After a moment he pulled back with a smirk and said “See? Told you I’d do it eventually.”

I giggled and was about to answer with some cute come back when I noticed the parking ticket on my windscreen, along with a letter saying “YOU CAN’T PARK HERE!” in an angry scrawl.

“What’s this?” I cried, snatching up the ticket “You said I could park here!”

“Sorry,” he shrugged, “Guess the rules must have changed.”

“You think?” I growled. Talk about ruining the moment.

“Sorry.” He said again nonchalantly. I just glowered at him. He certainly didn’t look seventy dollars worth of sorry. Hell he barely covered fifteen.

I sighed and hopped in my car, annoyed that my triumph was so swiftly followed by punishment.

Callum leaned in my window and gave me a quick kiss. “So I’ll see you again soon yeah?”

One look at his puppy dog eyes and all was forgiven. I could tell he genuinely wanted to see me again and that thought alone cheered me up no end. Plus on the way home I blasted Vengaboys so loud I couldn’t hear any bad thoughts even if I’d had them.

I really should have turned down the Boys and listened to my inner voice as it screamed “Never ever go back!” But really, who can resist the dulcet tones of Boom Boom Boom Boom?

Stay tuned for the disaster that follows Lovers!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Your ass is so nice. It’s a shame you have to sit on it!

 

The Magic Blue Sex Couch!

Hey Hey Lovers!

Welcome back! Now after the last anecdote I gifted you with I think it’s best we get straight to what happened next with Callum, shall we? I thought you’d agree, we’re so in sync!

Alrightey, here we go…

After I had attained that all important number, I waited one day, and then I waited two. That’s the rule right? Three days? One day is too keen, two days is too calculated but three hits the spot just right.

So on the third day I sent a cheeky little hello message and to my delight received one back in return! We text flirted for half an hour or so before deciding to meet up for a coffee. I was a little concerned as the only time I could meet up was after work. You see when one works next to three ovens all day ones pits can get a little pongy. But I wouldn’t let that deter me and concocted a well-laid plan involving a change of clothes, three cans of deodorant and a commercial sized sink.

The moment finally came, and as I smoothed my hair down for the last time and unsuccessfully tried to remove the last remnants of butter from my person, I got the feeling that this could be the beginning of something special.

The coffee shop was busy, filled with bohemian types sipping on chai lattes and green teas, weaving dream catchers with their toes. Ok maybe not that intense, but safe to say it wasn’t exactly my type of place, which made me wonder why I had chosen it.

I walked through the throng, inhaling a deep breath of incense as I did, half choking me and yet also strangely soothing me at the same time. I would later find out that that certain type of incense was also the main ingredient of the establishment’s brownies.

Finally I caught sight of him. He hadn’t seen me yet so I took a moment to assess him, soberly this time.

He was still definitely attractive, that was for sure. He had an oval face with very open features, the type of face that struggles to tell a lie. He looked young and for a moment I thought I was in jail-bait territory. Then I remembered he worked at a bar. Breathing a sigh of relief , I continued my perusal and was a little disappointed that his body did not quite live up to my drunken memories. He was what you would call… cuddly I suppose. He certainly wasn’t fat, but he wasn’t going to be running triathlons any time soon either.

As if he heard my judgmental voice through the crowd, his head swiveled in my direction and we locked eyes. I realise that just sounded like a very Exorcist moment, but it was a normal one eighty head swivel, not the whole three sixty, I promise. Still on track to be a good date.

He only glanced at me for a moment though, as there was a stunning blonde waitress with an unfortunate surplus of breast behind me who unsuprisingly drew focus from me in my jeans and slightly butter smeared t-shirt.

Un-deterred, I sauntered over to the table he had commandeered and said hello. I sat down quickly before he could give me the once over as I really didn’t want him to see the cocoa stain on my jeans. Honestly you don’t do washing for just one week and it comes back to bite you.

I must say he didn’t look overly impressed with me. I fidgeted awkwardly as he asked me what I’d like to drink. Normally I’m a coffee with a hazelnut shot gal but I figured I’d try and butch it up a little so I ordered a hot chocolate instead.

Callum rose and went to order, giving me another opportunity to sneakily survey him. Was he as devastatingly gorgeous as I remembered? No, sadly not. But was he cute enough to get to know a little better and go from there? That was a definite yes.

He returned a moment later with our drinks and we dived headfirst into small talk territory. He wasn’t a big talker, but luckily I was a questioning master. I found out that he had quite an odd family situation, with half brothers and sisters all over the joint. He worked two jobs, one at the bar and the other as a clerk at his local service station. He lived alone, a fact I was very impressed with, and could already see us having sex on his kitchen table with no worries about being interrupted.

I nodded along, absorbing everything he said, asking questions where appropriate and staying silent when he was attempting to elaborate. The conversation was flowing well, but that was only because we were talking entirely about him. I kept waiting for him to ask about my family, or my job, or even just mention the sad state of my pants; but he seemed oblivious to all of that and was content to natter on about himself.

I’d just finished my drink when he asked if I wanted to go for a walk. For a moment I was confused as to whether the walk would include him or if he was just politely telling me to leave, but as he was standing when saying it, I went with my gut instinct and assumed he would be accompanying me.

Callum led the way through the masses and again I was assaulted by that thick stench of ‘incense.’ With a sudden pang I was transported back to Rick’s backyard, him smoking a bong with all his mates, laughing idiotically at the dog as it tried to eat its own foot.

I shook my head violently, trying to get his image out of my head. I wouldn’t let him run my love life, he was no longer a part of it and never would be again. I pushed my shoulders back, stuck my chin in the air, and in a sudden act of boldness, grabbed Callum’s hand as he passed through the crowd.

We reached the door together, where he swiftly dropped his hand from my grasp and transferred it to his phone.

I humphed in annoyance but luckily Callum was so caught up in a text message he didn’t notice.

“ So where did you want to walk?” I asked, trying to distract him from his phone fascination. He put it back in his pocket (finally) and just shrugged at me.

I pursed my lips at him, but didn’t say anything, just started walking in the direction of the park down the road. If there was one thing that could break up an awkward date, it was a round on the swings.

As punishment for his phone faux-pau, I made him take the little kids swing, and took much delight in seeing him attempt to squish his ass into the tiny seat.

My joy was short-lived however, as his next comment was not one that I had expected.

“ I think I should tell you something.” He said, swinging lopsidedly next to me, one ass cheek hanging out of the seat.

I gulped down a breath of calming air, trying to give myself time to think of all the horrifying directions this conversation could go in. “I love you?” No, too soon. “I’m gay?” No, he didn’t dress well enough. “I have an abnormally large penis?” No, I’m not that lucky.

What I didn’t expect him to say was “ You looked better at the club.”

Ouch.

“Excuse me?” I asked, praying I’d misheard him.

“Yeah you know you had your hair down, and it was dark and you were wearing that short skirt and all. You just looked better. Thought you might want to know.”

A long list of expletives ran their way through my head, but the only thing managed to make it out of my mouth was a soft “Oh. Right then.”

Callum nodded and kept on swinging in his tiny seat. A part of me wanted him to slip and have the chain smash into his balls but I tried to quell that feeling. Maybe he had a reason for being an asshole. Maybe he’d had a bad day or something? I was certainly having one, that’s for sure.

We swung in awkward silence for a few moments longer before he finally broke it with “You know I have an awesome couch at my apartment.”

I did a double take, getting my hair caught in the stupid chain as I did. When I’d finally (and not a little painfully) untangled myself, I goggled at him, dumbfounded.

“Your couch?” I asked

“Yeah,” he said, warming to his topic “It’s a blue futon and it’s so comfy. You lie down on that thing and you’re asleep in minutes. It’s so fantastic.”

Great, I was competing with a couch for a boys affection.

“That’s… Brilliant. I guess” I had no idea where to go from here. He had just said I didn’t look as pretty as he thought, and then he had followed that up with couch trivia? What the hell was happening? Just as I was pondering how to destroy his beloved couch Callum awkwardly vaulted out of his swing and held his hand out to me.

“Want to go for another walk?” he asked

No, not really, I thought. I want to go home and call every one of my mates and get their advice while I stuff my face with Tim Tams.

I couldn’t hurt his feelings though, that would just be mean. So I taped a smile onto my face and said “Sure.”

We walked for about twenty minutes, talking about nothing in particular. Finally I decided enough was enough and told him I had to pick up a ‘friend’ from the airport.

He nodded and I thought that was that. We would part ways and I would never ever visit his particular nightclub again.

That was until we got to my car and he suddenly said “Hey, do you want to come and see my couch?”

My head was screaming Noooooo! Don’t do it you fool! But my cat-like senses that were always full of curiosity won over and I found myself nodding.

“Where’s your car?” I asked, thinking he could lead the way.

“I left it at home and took the train.”

Hmm, so he may just be wanting a lift home then. Sneaky bastard.

Still, I had made the commitment and now I was super involved couch-wise. After all this talking I really wanted to see my competition.

We drove in relative silence, Callum breaking it occasionally with conversational tid-bits like “Turn left here” and “It’s right at the traffic lights.”

Saucy.

Finally we arrived at his house, a block of apartments not too far from where we had had coffee. Callum instructed me where to park and we headed inside.

The flat was nothing special, just your usual two bedroom one bathroom. He led me out onto the balcony to see the city skyline and the sunset.

Obviously he was doing this to get a kiss in, I thought smugly. What else could he be taking me out there for?

Yeah, turns out it was just for the view.

Strangely enough, when we went back into the apartment I was slightly disappointed. But why? This guy clearly wasn’t for me. He had insulted me, shown more interest in inanimate objects and bummed a lift home, so why was I wanting a snog?

Again it was partly curiosity. If Mr Bartender here thought he was such hot stuff, he must have a good technique to back himself up.

I looked over at him just as he seated himself on his beloved couch and patted the seat next to him.

I walked over, feeling tense. I sank down onto the couch close to him. Quite close. Not just friends close. Maybe friends with benefits close but not platonic friends. Although in most cases of platonic friends one is secretly in love with the other, so I suppose you could say I was playing the secretive friend in my closeness of sitting. Ok lets just say I sat super close.

Sweet lord! My god it was comfy! All my tension melted away as the delicately stitched cushions enveloped my shoulders, back and butt cheeks. I leant my head back and sighed happily, as if making the decision to come back and see this goddess of couches was the one thing my life had been leading towards all this time.

“Like it?” Callum asked

“It’s awesome!” I cried and to my surprise he leant over and gave me a hug. I jumped a little and he pulled back, but I recovered from my shock and leant into him.

It was great, two people celebrating the pure genius of one couch.

Again, this would have been the perfect time for a cheeky kiss, but it wasn’t to be. After I had waited what seemed like an age and waited to see if he would make a move, I pulled back and said my goodbyes.

Callum offered to walk me out to my car and I accepted. We reached the car, and I stood leaning against the door, bracing for the goodbye kiss…. Nothing! What on Earth was he playing at? Was he trying to tell me that he had literally brought me back to his apartment just to see his couch?!

Apparently so.

After giving me a measly little arm squeeze, he turned on his heel and trotted back down the driveway, leaving me to sit in my car feeling utterly perplexed.

Why didn’t he kiss me? Why did he even bother bringing me to his house if he wasn’t keen? And most importantly, where the hell could I buy one of those couches?

I know what you’re thinking here Lovers, “Get rid of him! Steal his couch and never see the loser again!” Which is exactly what I should of done, but because I drove a very small car that barely fit a bar fridge let alone a couch and because I was so curious and desperate to get over my ex boyfriend, I persevered.

So what happened next? It’s beautiful in both its juiciness and cringe-worthy aspects, I promise!

Claire

xx

Pick up line of the week: You can’t be my first, but you can be my next.

Hand Towel Terror!

Olah Lovers!

And may I just say it’s olah with a definite O! Sadly it’s not the O we all strive towards in our climactic bedroom romps. No no, this is the O with a big old H behind it.

Intrigued?

Read on fair maidens! (And all you perky prince’s too of course ;-))

P.S if you’re not a fan or get squeamish around toilet humour, you may want to step away from the computer right about now.

So, on Thursday night myself and my best friend Will decided to grab some delicious frozen yogurt. And yes if you’re wondering it lived up to its delectable expectations and pretty soon I was licking the cup clean like the immaculate lady I am. Just as we were about to leave I felt that familiar phone call from my bladder. He’d left several messages that I’d studiously ignored, happy to keep the stimulating conversation with Will going, (plotting to murder his incredibly annoying room mate was the hot topic) but this time he definitely wasn’t hanging up. It was pee or be peed on.

I headed to the bathroom, which in this case was a small single room with a basin and mirror etc a few metres away from the loo.

Straight away I noticed there was no toilet paper.

Bugger.

But there was one piece of hand towel left.

Hurrah!

I sat down to pee, thanking the bladder gods that I was only being gifted number ones at this current moment. Finishing up I jiggled around a little to get all the excess off (no need to waste my precious hand towel on unnecessary drippage) and as I did I felt a bit of a cheeky fart coming on. I shrugged and let it free; better to do it in the confines of the bathroom rather than wafting my way back through the innocent yogurters, right?

To my absolute horror though, my sneaky little fart, my measly little puff of wind, went from a harmless ethereal being to a damn butt nugget!

I waited, frozen in place to hear the telltale splash from beneath me…

*Splash*

Nooooo!

Oh God, oh God, oh God! What to do?

I looked dolefully at my pitifully ill equipped single paper towel, apologising to it mentally for the rigmarole I was about to put it through. He was a hands man all the way and here I was about to put him through the roughest wipe of his short-lived life.

I took a deep breath and went for it.

Argh I didn’t get everything!

Shit!

Literally!

I looked around frantically, praying there was some form of absorbent material I’d missed. I considered ripping up the toilet roll but cardboard was practically useless and I didn’t want to block up the poor establishments toilets. No need to drag them into this situation too.

I stood up and waddled around the room, my shorts still firmly around my ankles.

And then I saw it.

Do I dare?

The only other option I had was walking back out there and telling Will I had to go home because I was unable to wipe my ass properly, then proceed to walk over a kilometre home without my butt cheeks touching.

At twenty seven? No thanks buddy. Technically I could have whipped off my undies and used them but I was running really low in the whole undergarment area, and even if I did go through with it, where the hell did I hide the evidence afterwards?

So that’s how I found myself rifling through the bin, bare ass high in the air and legs apart as I desperately searched for hand towels that hadn’t been used too much.

Jesus, what had my life become? This was supposed to be a relaxing night of frozen yogurt dammit!

Finally I found a few pieces that had only been half ‘used’.

I sat back down and gingerly tried to clean up the mess that was Claire, careful not to use any dirty parts of the paper towel.

Yeah I’d have to say that was the low point of my night.

When I finally emerged I expected everyone to be staring at me, wondering what I’d been doing in there and why I had such a look of haunted shame stamped all over my face.

But of course nobody did, and everyone carried on eating their yogurt like it was a regular night.

Lucky bastards.

I waddled back to Will, still feeling incredibly icky, and explained what had happened. He was suitably amused and disgusted and we had a good laugh while I died inside and tried to block out vicious flashbacks. Then I took myself home, turned on the shower and washed my butt crack with a ferocity that would make any germ freak proud.

So how was your Thursday Lovers?

Claire

xx

P.S More on Callum next time, I just had to get that story out!

Pick up line of the week: Yeah its big, and if you pet it, it spits.

Are flamingos sexy?

Good evening Lovers!

And a happy Saturday to y’all!

Boy, I tell you Lovers, it has been slim pickings lately! Honestly, I’m on three dating websites and I barely get a bite! Well actually no that would be a lie. I do get a lot of attention but it’s usually from guys like Hornyindian69 and ThePenetrator4U. Not exactly the type of guy you want to bring home to the family, that’s for sure. I stooped to am all time low the other day though, when the saddest of all sad sacks tried to add me as a favourite. His profile name was Whatsthepoint86, (that’s enough to get any girl moist in the panty area for sure) and his opening line to his profile was “Love is dead… I give up.” I couldn’t even get a look at this obvious stud because the only pictures he had put up were either of cartoon men standing next to broken hearts crying or wilting roses that are on the edge of death.

That shit is like cat nip to the ladies.

Not! Good god who was this guy? When I scrolled down to the question “What would be your idea of a dream date?” he had just written “nobody cares.”

And he was right.

So as the online dating isn’t going gangbusters at the moment, I thought we’d take another trip down memory lane and I’d tell you all about my second serious boyfriend. It took me a while to get over Rick (because let’s face it, being deprived of amazing sex can leave a real gap in your life.) but eventually I got back on that horse and went searching for a new cowboy.

The night I met Callum was very much like any other. I do remember it was hot though, very hot. That type of heat that makes you picture sweaty boys with their shirts off playing badminton or baking a fresh loaf of bread. (Ok the bread thing is a little random but seriously what could be better than bread and boys? It’s a man sandwich that you can work off with the guy after you’re done!) I was working up a sweat myself that night, sadly sans bread. The girls and I were on yet another ladies night out, an occurrence that wasn’t so much a special occasion but more of a Friday night ritual that could not be ignored. Our Friday’s had become the night to rate the weekend by. Who picked up, who fell asleep in the men’s toilets, who tried to pole dance and ended up flashing the world? But most importantly, who was buying?

We stumbled into the newest club in town, eager to see what it had in store for us and more pressingly, to use the toilets. Let’s just say the seal had been broken about an hour ago and white dresses just don’t go with yellow these days.

After surveying the plumbing and playing with the sensor taps for a good twenty minutes we emerged, lips freshly glossed and cheeks pinched and powdered. And that was when I saw him.

Standing behind the bar like some shot pouring Adonis, he was perfection itself. Adorable short brown hair that cut off just after his temple in a sharp line, framing a face so gorgeous you couldn’t take him home for fear your Mum would seduce him. He possessed a body that frustratingly was covered in a loose shirt but hinted at being quite the visual treat underneath and shoulders that stood back and proud like a peacock showing his plumage, and my what plumage. He was just….

Delicious.

I hadn’t noticed I was staring with my mouth open until an eager young man stood in front of me and pointed at my mouth, slurring

“Well, if you’re offering…”

I wrinkled my nose at him and stepped away, drawn to my pretty peacock boy. He was just so damn gorgeous! It was like staring at a mirage. After a while my eyes started to smart, although that could have been from the neon lights behind him. I dithered about, fumbling for my purse and wondering what to say when he finally came over and took my order. Would he notice the connection? Would he compare me to a bird as well? I thanked god he hadn’t been working at the karaoke bar we had just visited or the only bird that would be coming to his mind would be a seagull. A dying seagull with bronchitis. I shook myself off and tried to visualise something sexy.

A sexy bird.

A sexy bird that all the dude birds wanted.

Got it!

Turns out trying to be a flamingo whilst standing at a bar is not the best way to snag a man.

In my tipsy state I think I took assuming the role of flamingo a little too far, trying to elongate my neck and stick my butt out so my legs would look longer and thinner. Take a moment and just picture how that might look, a girl with her neck craning over the bar, ass out behind her with her legs fully straightened, a beak-like expression painted on her face.

Oh yeah, sex on legs.

He avoided me for a good five minutes, and I don’t blame him, as I was still trying to perfect that beady eyed look that birds give you when they catch you in their sights. Finally he literally had no more customers to serve and he warily approached me.

“What’ll it be?” he asked

I laughed and replied “I bet that’s what you say to all the girls.”

He looked at me for a beat before saying “Well….yes.”

I died a little inside, knowing just how lame I sounded. However, I carried on, the bird firmly in place on the exterior. I smiled thinly at him, trying not to break my beak impression.

“ Five Jager-bombs please.”

If I couldn’t impress him with bird postures, then maybe showing my prowess in binge drinking would set him off. He nodded and got to work while I scrabbled for cash in my purse, wishing I’d taken the time to play with the hand dryer as well as the taps. Luckily at that moment my ladies appeared and like good friends, let me wipe my hands on them, much to the delight of the aforementioned eager young gentleman.

My peacock returned, drinks in hand and I quickly resumed position, flicking my hair so hard my necklace came up and smacked me in the teeth. I giggled awkwardly, pretending I had totally meant to do that.

Again he just looked at me nonplussed before confirming the price of the drinks. I handed over the money, hoping for a little bit of hand contact in the process but got nothing. I shrugged, thinking maybe he was a germ freak, which was not a good thing if he wanted to be with me, as last weeks laundry was still sitting in the washing machine growing a new species of bacteria.

I threw back my drink with gusto, my necklace hitting me hard in my eye as I did so. After setting my glass back down and resolving to sell all my jewellery that ended below the chin I looked back at bird man. He was gone, replaced by a busty brunette with little to no pants on.

I blew out a breath in frustration. It was time for an emergency conference, and we gathered in a little booth, heads together, talking tactics furiously.

The girls eventually convinced me that although our feathered friends are vastly attractive, some people tend to find them over rated and may in fact prefer humans. I frowned at this turn of events, realising my conundrum. How was I going to make contact a second time without looking like I had some crazy (yet amazingly attractive) alter ego?

Again my ladies stepped up and in the swing of a cubicle door I had switched dresses and hitherto, switched personalities. I was given a swift look up and down and a nod confirmed that I would look not only like a completely different person, but a slightly bustier one, thanks to a borrowed water bra.

My confidence and chest boosted, I flounced out into the bar. (I had previously decided that this version of me would most definitely be a flouncer.) Swanning over to the crowded bar, I patiently waited until my peacock (or in this scenario, cute human boy) was in front of me, hands open, ready to fulfil my every desire. So long as that desire could fit into a highball glass and be doused with ice.

I smiled winningly at him, all traces of beak gone, in fact almost all traces of lips too, as my mouth strained to produce a smile that showcased each of my individual teeth in all their tiny perfection.

He produced a tired smile back and I thumped myself on the back in congratulations. (Mentally of course, I didn’t want to look like a total freak) I ordered a shot of tequila, trying to make my voice sound as smooth and sultry as possible. I sounded fantastic, but as we were in a nightclub at 2am, nobody heard my delectable audio but me. In fact, I may have been tuning into someone else’s conversation and pretending it was me.

But that was neither here nor there, as my beautiful boy was slowly starting to edge away. Startled, I lunged over the bar and yodelled

“Tequuuuuiiiillllaaaa please sir!”

Well, if I hadn’t scared him before, you can bet he was reaching for the pepper spray now. Never before had I seen a shot poured so quickly, lemon and salt flying across the bar towards me before I could even get my new boobs out.

Feeling totally dejected, I handed my money over, remembering that he was sober and would remember every excruciating moment of our interlude. As he handed me my change and went to serve another customer, I threw all caution to the wind, a kamikaze mission of the dating world if you will.

“Thankyou,” I said, slipping the change out of his hand and turning away. As I did though, I threw him a meaningful look and stated “ I think your really cute.”

And then I ran.

As smooth as my line was, I knew I had to do something more to get a number, or at the very least a conversation. It was obviously time for a stakeout.

I stayed out of his eye-line for a good hour, waiting for my moment to pounce.

I was still hoping the previous events of the night might conveniently slip his mind, but after my shenanigans, there was little to no hope of that miracle happening.

Still, the night was young and all of my ladies were working hard on their own personal conquests, with a few already snuggled up in booths getting it on hardcore.

Finally though, I summoned up some Dutch courage and marched up to the bar, no tricks, no gimmicks, just me and a lot of ingested alcohol.

“ Hi. My name’s Claire.” I said, leaning over the bar with a smile.

He looked up from pouring what must have been my fourteenth tequila shot and smiled back. I saw his lips move but I didn’t catch what he said.

“What?” I yelled at him, trying not to spit on his face as I said it. Why is it that whenever you drink your spit glands go into over-drive? Very frustrating when someone is talking in your ear but you’ve failed to catch a word they’ve said as your ear canal has already filled up with saliva. Although I’ve heard some people are into that.

Hey whatever floats your boat people, I don’t judge.

So while my mind was heading off on that fascinating train of thought, I hadn’t realised bar boy had grabbed a pen and paper and was scrawling down a message.

I waited eagerly for the note, trying not to lick my lips in anticipation and scare the poor boy off. When he was finally done he slid the note over to me with a wink and went on to serve some girl and her pimp standing next to me.

I unfolded the scrap off paper and almost let out a whoop of joy, in very neat, very concise writing was the word “Callum” and a phone number directly below it.

I’d done it! I’d officially pulled a bartender! Adrenalin flooded through me as I rushed to the toilet to tell everyone and anyone who would listen about my great adventure.

Giddy with excitement, I headed home with the girls not long after, as they had their own unfinished business to attend to in a more horizontal fashion.

Sounds like things are going well, yes? Well you just wait until I take bar boy out on our first date Lovers. Cringeworthy doesn’t even cover it!

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: You know how I got these guns? (points to biceps) lifting children out of poverty.

(Wow I threw up a little in my mouth just writing that one ;-))