Worst. Sex. Ever!

Hey hey Lovers!

 

We know each other pretty well by now don’t you think? I mean, we’ve been going steady for over a year now. Therefore I think it’s time we get some of those skeletons out of the closet. So grab a comfy cushion and take a seat Lovers, it’s time to spill.

 

As the title so eloquently suggests, this story is all about sex; and terrible sex at that.

After I broke up with Callum I was understandably put off men for quite some time. However, although the mind can be tamed, the loins cannot be ignored. Which is how I found myself trawling three different dating websites for the perfect ‘quickie.’

Up until this point in my life I had been very much the serial monogamist. No man shall enter the sacred garden of lady land without the spare key to my heart.

This theory was all well and good up until the point where the lady garden in question was looking particular sparse. Nobody had taken their haloumi hose to my nethers for over six months!

The situation was simply untenable, and my mission was simple; get that bad boy moist.

However, considering I had only ever tried dating sites in my search for ‘the one,’ I wasn’t sure how to separate the future fiancé’s from the fuckboys. With names like Shadypants69, Hummer25, Nofudgepackers, Bedmasterurwelcome and The penetrator 88 there was quite a choice!

The main goal was to find a guy who was not too bad in bed, (I wasn’t stupid enough to think I would find some miraculous sex god on the first go) fairly attractive and not a total douchebag. As it turns out that is a hard combo to come by!

Eventually I settled on a guy called Shopping 27. He had brown hair, blue eyes, was a non-smoker and best of all he was a fly in/fly out mining worker. What could be better? I figured if the first time went well we could continue our little arrangement every time he was back in town.

Sex on tap here I come!

I spoke to him on the phone a few times and after the obligatory “hello, how was your day,” he was always keen to jump straight into the sexy talk.

I suppose my first warning sign should have been how much he boasted about the size of his yogurt slinger and how great he was in bed.

Here’s a general rule ladies; most guys who are actually great in bed don’t need to race around screaming it from the roof tops, they’re just happy to prove it to you when the time comes.

But back to my boastful bull-shitter.

We arranged to meet when he returned from work in a couple of weeks and I pencilled a great night of sex into my diary, hoping for the best.

The day came early however, as I received a call from him a week before he was due to fly back.

“Hey, so you free?” he asked curtly.

I was at a friend’s dinner party at the time but it was wrapping up fast, so I said, “Sure, what did you have in mind?”

Another warning sign I probably should have mentally jotted down was when he suggested we have sex in a car-park.

Wow. Classy dude.

I politely declined his gentlemanly offer and instead suggested we meet in the car park he so gallantly suggested and see what happened from there.

He gruffly agreed and I left the dinner party, careful to let all my friends know the exact address and every minute detail of his profile.

When I pulled up next to his Landrover and caught sight of his profile through the window, things looked promising. Then he stepped out.

Fuck a duck he was tall!

I don’t mind a bit of height on my men but this guy towered over me! When he gave me a kiss on the cheek he practically had to drop to his knees. My mind reeled at the sexual ramifications this height difference could cause, but I swept those away quickly. Never judge a man by his length people (that goes for height and the pork sword obviously.)

We chatted amicably for a few minutes just so I could feel out his vibe. After confirming that he was in fact, not a serial killer, we jumped in my car and I took him to my favourite place in town.

Along the way we kept up a steady stream of conversation. Although Shopping27 wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he seemed nice enough.

That was until I asked him why he was back early.

I assumed work was slow or some vital piece of machinery had broken down making work impossible. What I didn’t expect to hear was, “My Grandad died.”

What?!

I sat silently for a moment, flabbergasted not only at his statement, but at the matter of fact way he said it. He could have just as easily been telling me the footy scores. How could he care so little?

I chastised myself inwardly at my lightning fast judgement. Everybody grieves differently, I thought, maybe he just needed someone to talk to, or some time to process it.

However when I questioned him about it I was met with a very nonchalant, “Whatever. Everybody dies.”

Whatever? Whatever?! Who was this guy? Bruce No-Feelings?

I asked him if they were close and he nodded. I asked him if he was going to the funeral and he shrugged. I asked him why he had come back if he wasn’t going to the funeral.

He replied, “Time off is time off I guess.”

You unfeeling bastard!

When we arrived at the park I jumped out and hurriedly took my shoes off so I could feel the delicious crunch of fresh grass beneath my feet. I had to remind myself that even though he was dead inside some things were still alive and kicking.

I took Shopping27’s limp unfeeling hand and led him through the maze of massive trees and native brush. Eventually we found a comfortable looking mound and sat down.

The minute my butt touched dirt he was lunging at me, mouth agape.

Woah! Down boy! I jumped backwards, surprised by his amorous attempts. As I did however, I noticed just a glimpse of hurt in his eyes.

Aww the poor boy thought I was rejecting him!

That was when I remembered; I wasn’t here to make friends. I wasn’t here to start some fabulous new relationship that would last through the ages.

No; I was here to fuck.

So instead of leaping away from him like my instincts (and possibly the angry spirit of his Grandad) told me to, I instead leaned forward and locked lips with him for our first ever kiss.

Urgh.

It was not good Lovers. His lips were thin and dry, not a deal breaker in the slightest, but god the way he used them! It was as if he was trying to keep his teeth in, the way his lips curled inwards on themselves. In fact he probably could have made quite a bit of money handing out blowjobs in the city if his mining gig ever fell through.

I stopped the kiss and tried to collect myself. This was just insane! How did other people make hook-ups look so easy? All I wanted was no strings attached mediocre sex and instead I got the ghost of Grandad past!

Now Lovers, I have always been of the opinion that is someone is bad at something sexually, you should always tell them.

Nicely of course. Nobody wants to hear “You’re shithouse!” in the middle of sex. I gently informed Shopping27 that his kissing style wasn’t exactly for me and that maybe we could try something different.

(That’s the key Lovers, if you’re going to let someone know they’re not the best at something, you’ve got to let them know how to improve. Nobody should have to commit sexual suicide and become celibate due to lack of confidence!)

This did not go down well, and I was met by quite the litany of ladies names who apparently loved his kissing style.

Sigh.

Another thing Lovers, if you get advice from someone, never take it as a bad thing. It’s advice, not gospel. It’s somebody trying to open your mind to another experience. Learn a new style. Explore different methods. Try everything you can. If you don’t like it, don’t use it again, but never refuse to budge on your method.

Shopping27 didn’t budge.

I put up with his awful slobbery kisses (his lips were dry but his tongue was on a mission from god to explore every inch of my mouth) until I couldn’t take it any more. I grabbed his arms and pinned them to his sides before jumping on top of him. If I was on top then hopefully I could referee the tonsil hockey a little more appropriately.

That was a negative.

He just thrust his tongue even harder into my poor innocent mouth. I rolled off him and heaved a sigh of regret. I really should have stayed at the dinner party. They were probably having a second serving of dessert by now.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted by a hairy hand groping none too gently around my thighs.

I sat up to protest but he pushed me back down with a “shhh” and continued his quest upwards into my shorts. I shrugged and decided to let him continue. Maybe he was such a shit kisser because he spent all his time and energy pleasing the punani?

Aaand that’s another negative.

The boy had no skills. Honestly I didn’t know how he had gotten through puberty with a fingering technique like that. I had to make him stop before he yanked out my ovaries with his fingernails.

The only way I could think of ending it was to take him home.

You. Are. A. Moron. Claire!

It gets so much worse Lovers, don’t miss next weeks post, it will make your sexual disasters seem minute in comparison!

Claire

Xx

Pickup line of the week: The word of the day is ‘legs.’ Let’s go back to your house and spread the word.

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O Bed; O Enemy of Thine!

Hello there Lovers!

Anyone snag an Irishman last week? Sadly my studies prevented me from trawling the streets for a good shamrock or two, but I live vicariously through all you ladies who got some loving. To be sure to be sure!

In other much more disappointing news Lovers, I have discovered my continued sexual journey is being thwarted by one who is supposed to be my friend!

This is no small issue that can be solved with a simple unfriending on Facebook or a quick smack across the back of the head. No, no, this ‘friend’ aka turncoat is much much closer to me.

I suppose that’s why the betrayal cuts so deep.

It’s my bed!

That’s right, my own bed is working against me, the spring filled bastard!

We started out on such good terms. I still remember the day I brought him home from IKEA.

We had our first fight on the stairs as he simply refused to go up them willingly, but with some gentle cajoling and the help of a much stronger third party, we made it up eventually.

That first night was magical. The mixture of fresh linen, the slight indent on my hand from the alan key and the soft sigh of the mattress as I belly-flopped onto it.

Ah, heaven.

Sure we had our problems, what bed doesn’t? I would forgive his occasional squeakiness and he would tolerate me not washing the sheets for weeks.

And everybody would be happy. Slightly musty smelling, but happy.

It worked. It was nice.

So to find out now that the whole time he has slowly been conspiring against me, well it fills me with a sorrow so deep not even all the dirty sheets in the world could mop up my tears.

So what evil could my place of slumber, sex and several other daytime activities have caused you’re wondering?

Well, that small squeakiness that I so happily forgave has now morphed into a catastrophically loud mood killer.

To date my bed has cost me five, that’s right five, perfectly wonderful orgasms!

You’re probably thinking, “so what Claire? What’s a little squeak when it comes down to sexy time?”

This is no little squeak Lovers. When I lie in my bed at night I attempt to time my rolls with a gust of wind or a thunder clap. I wait until a loud pedestrian meanders down my street or a car with a hole in the exhaust screams past before I attempt to turn over. Because when I do, dear god the noise! It’s as if I’ve stapled a pig’s ass together and sat back to enjoy the ambiance. The squeal, the squeak, the creak!

These days I can’t even let go of a particularly powerful fart without the bed protesting!

A squeaky bed is not sexy Lovers.

Don’t get me wrong, a little creak here and there can set a nice tone and or pace to the process we like to call lurve making, but when the bed is drowning both of you out and taking centre stage it is most off putting!

To the credit of my bedmates, they make every effort to quiet the beast, but to little effect.

Sometimes they’ll grab onto the end of the bed and try to keep it steady as I bounce around on top of them.

Doesn’t work.

Other times they’ll switch up positions faster than a speeding bullet, covering all angles and sides of the bed. Doggy on the side of the bed. Missionary at the base. Cowgirl in the centre. Spider on the other side. Scissors diagonally across.

Doesn’t work.

Lastly they try the whole levitation sex trick, trying desperately to keep both your torso’s completely off the bed, as if that’s the only part of you the bed registers. A constant stream of “lift your butt up babe,” and “hook your legs around me so I can hold you up without falling out all the time” does nothing to improve the mood and of course;

Doesn’t work.

The only thing that does work? Sex on the floor.

Argh the sweet burn of carpet on the knees!

Much to the chagrin of my housemate, whenever he’s out and about I make full use of his fancy and very comfortable couch. Why waste a perfectly good surface that’s just screaming to be screamed on?

Don’t worry Will I always make them use protection on the couch (because we all know the saying don’t we? Sex is cleaner with a packaged wiener!)

So the big question is, how to solve this most grievous of problems? Sadly I don’t see any solutions in the near future. A new bed is out of the question on my student wages. I don’t think you can crowd fund for a better sex life. I’ll just have to content myself with sex on chairs, couches, floors and any other non abrasive surface I can find for now.

If you have any suggestions though Lovers, I am all ears! Have you been in the same predicament as me? Has your bed literally been twat blocking you? How did you get past the baby pig constantly intruding into your most intimate of moments?

Let me know you sexy sexingtons! Until next time!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Are you butt dialing? Cause I swear that ass is calling me!

PS don’t forget to check out the Facebook page! https://www.facebook.com/howmanyfrogs/

 

When the sex goes, so do I

 

Guten tag Lovers!

And how are we tonight? I’m feeling chipper for the first time in a while! I just landed a job scooping salads for the well-dressed gentry of the inner suburbs. Although this means I smell like a Caesar salad for the majority of the day, it also means I’m finally making some cash again! Count down to payday has begun! Until then however, I shall remain ensconced in my house, eating ham and cheese-toasted sandwiches for sustenance and blogging to keep my mind sharp.

Well… sharpish.

Let’s get Callum done and dusted shall we?

After his mother had given me explicit permission to give him the boot I mulled it over in my head for weeks. If she thought things were going bad then maybe I should just interpret her permission as a gentle nudge towards the door and get it over and done with.

But I just couldn’t leave a man when he was so down.

Luckily for me a week later Callum got a job.

Hurrah!

By all accounts it wasn’t a great job, but at that point I would have been happy prostituting him out on the street corner to make a little dosh.

I reckon I’d be a super nice pimp, I’d even let him keep twenty per cent of the profits. Lucky boy!

His job involved late nights at a convenience store, which meant most of the time we had scheduled to ‘hang out’ involved me by myself at his house waiting for him to eventually come home.

Such a social butterfly I had become.

To my immense relief Gretchen was at the house less and less, as when she was home Callum seemed almost afraid of her. I couldn’t quite figure out what was going on and my innocent young mind never even suspected something nasty could be brewing.

I tried never to speak to her for fear that my simmering hatred would spill over and my fist would run into her face. Callum avoided her at all costs except when she owed him rent money (which was all the time.)

So that was the awkward uncoordinated dance we were performing, night after night with a few matinees when I got the afternoon off work. It was uncomfortable, insufferable and all round shithouse.

I never expected it to get dangerous.

We were heading into the third week of another rental cycle and as usual, not a cent had come in from Gretchen’s end. Callum was having a massive freak out as the real estate agents were none too happy with the constantly late rent and had threatened to evict him.

After some gentle cajoling I finally convinced Callum to grow some balls and ask her for the money directly. Lord knows I didn’t want him to get evicted, then he’d have to live with me!

No, no and once again no.

I waited in the bedroom and listened to their muffled conversation as best I could. It did not sound positive. When I saw Callum’s face as he came back I knew he had just been handed those balls I had cajoled so well straight back to him on a plate.

He told me that she didn’t have the money and she didn’t know when she would have it. She had apparently told him to stop hassling her or else.

I scoffed and rolled up my imaginary sleeves, ready to take the bitch down, but Callum stopped me a pulled me back onto the bed.

Why was he so afraid of her? My respect for him was dwindling fast. Just stand up to the bitch!

But there would be no standing up that night, or the night after that or in fact the entire week.

Finally it was crunch time. We had to get the rent money or it was curtains for Casa Callum.

I offered to give him a quick blowjob before he faced the music but he refused.

That’s when I knew something was definitely wrong.

Did she have something on him? Some weird crazy secret that nobody else knew about?

It had come to light that the bitch was a massive meth head, which of course just added to her likeability, which was about as much as I liked the stomach lint I’m constantly plagued with due to having an innie belly button.

So imagine I liked her even less than smelly belly button lint and we’re on the same page.

Once again I sat and listened to the muffled sounds coming from across the hallway. I could hear she was angry and in preparation I twisted the ring on my middle finger. If I had to slap the bitch at least it would leave a nice mark.

I was still caught up in my fight club idealisations when Callum returned.

“We’re getting it tomorrow night.” He said glumly.

“Well that’s good news right?” I asked

Callum looked at me for a beat before saying “We have to go and get it from her boyfriend in the city. She doesn’t have it.”

Well of course not babe, she’s a crack whore, I thought, but wisely kept that comment to myself.

I couldn’t understand why he was so bummed. Sure it was a pain in the ass having to go and get it but at least he was safe for another month right?

The next evening I rocked up to Callum’s and beeped the horn. He came out and hopped in the car, a look of impending doom stamped across his face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, about to pull away from the curb.

“Wait, “ he said, grabbing my hand “Neil’s coming too.”

Keh?

Neil was Callum’s dopey ass pothead friend who I had never really warmed to, as he liked to throw furniture in the communal pool whilst people were in it. I think he also had some serious mental issues, as the guy would lose his marbles over the smallest things. But Callum liked him because he brought over beer occasionally.

Honestly. Men.

So the three of us headed into the city, a strange feeling of tension radiating through the car.

Geez we were just going to pick up some cash, what was the big deal?

When we pulled up to the address I whistled through my teeth. It was one of the newest and fanciest apartment blocks in town.

Huh, looked like Gretchen was a bitch and a gold digger.

I slapped Callum on the leg and motioned inside.

“So, we going in?” I asked, eager to get this done so I could head home and devour the box of paddlepops I had stashed at Callum’s.

Callum nodded mutely and we hopped out of the car. Neil started to get out but Callum shook his head tersely.

“Just let me know if you need me in there man.” Neil said solemnly.

The fuck? What on earth was I walking into?

I grabbed Callum’s hand and headed inside. Why was he shaking?

We texted ‘the boyfriend’ and waited by the lifts nervously.

Finally the lift doors slid open and he stepped out.

The first thing I noticed were his shoes. Polished to a glossy sheen they clicked ever so slightly on the tiled floor of the foyer as he swaggered towards us. His tailored suit was impeccably clean and shimmered subtly from navy blue to black as the light bounced off it. His hair was as shiny as his shoes, slicked back behind his ears with what looked like half a tub of wax.

No, wait. Make that a full tub.

But what struck me the most was his cane.

Yes, the man had a cane!

It was a black walking cane with an intricately carved dragon head on top of it. It looked exactly like the canes Jet Li pulled swords out of in his movies.

No no, I chided myself. I was being ridiculous.

Wasn’t I?

As he finally came to a stop in front of us I noticed a small gold necklace poking out the top of his shirt.

On the necklace was a small golden scimitar…

Cane sword’s not sounding so crazy now, right?

He looked at Callum with a condescending sneer and immediately I felt my hackles rise like some angry attack dog.

Ok, attack rabbit maybe.

“You’ve been causing my girl some problems lately.” He drawled.

Callum gulped audibly and said “I’ve just come for the rent, I don’t want any trouble.”

“No,” the asshole said softly “you don’t.”

Urgh, my stomach did backflips as I tried to restrain myself from snapping at him. It wouldn’t do any good to interfere with Callum’s business. Still, if I could effectively utilise my stomach gymnastics I just may be able to lay a fart on the douchebag.

I watched as ‘the boyfriend’ pulled out a huge wad of fifty’s from his pocket. He counted them into Callum’s hand slowly, never taking his eyes off Callum as he did so. If the situation weren’t so serious I would have thought they were having a little moment; but no, things were far too tense for bromance.

When all the money was counted out ‘the boyfriend’ leant in close to Callum (again, I was thinking ‘boys boys! Get a room!’) and he said in a menacingly soft voice “Now it’s done ok? You don’t come back here, you don’t bother my girl again. If you do, there’ll be problems. Understand?”

Callum nodded mutely while I silently fumed next to him. How dare he speak to my man like that?

‘The boyfriend’ chucked Callum on the shoulder, stuffed the wad of cash back into his pocket and walked back to the elevator.

We walked back out to the car in silence. I was shocked but wasn’t sure why. I didn’t know who the guy was but he was obviously a powerful man. I felt unnerved, like I’d stepped into a world that wasn’t mine.

Neil hooted and shouted the whole way home, assuring Callum that if he had been there the guy would be on the floor in pieces.

Sure Neil, I thought, you can barely climb one flight of stairs but you can ‘fully lay that guy out flat.’

Right.

I parked the car and left Neil and Callum to work off their testosterone together. I needed time to process what the hell had just happened. I needed answers.

When Callum finally entered the bedroom and sat down next to me I couldn’t help but explode.

“Who the hell was that?” I screeched. ”Why were you so afraid of him? Why did you let him treat you like that? Don’t you have any pride?”

“Stop!” Callum yelled back, and I was shocked to see him so distressed. This was high emotion coming from the guy who didn’t even mist up in Titanic.

“He’s not just some guy.” Said Callum

“Who is he then?” I asked, this time a little more gently.

Callum sighed, ran his hand through his hair and said “He’s part of a gang. You know the Sword Boys?”

Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! The Sword Boys? They were like one of the biggest drug gangs in the city! No wonder Callum was afraid of the guy, they had a history of carrying out some pretty nasty stuff!

I sat for a moment, completely stunned. Finally I opened my mouth to say,

“Did you know he was part of a gang?”

Callum nodded.
“How?”

“He’s been in contact with me before.” he said.

“When?” I asked.

Callum sighed and looked down.

“When?” I asked again, this time much firmer.

“He, well he’s bee threatening me for the last month or so.”

WHAT?

I asked him to explain and oh did the words flow then. Turns out as soon as Callum started asking Gretchen for money, bitch face ran straight to ‘the boyfriend.’ And if bitch face wasn’t happy, ‘the boyfriend’ wasn’t happy either.

“How was he threatening you?” I asked, dread seeping into my voice.

“He said he was going to come over and beat me up and stuff at night.”

“Well, good luck getting in,” I scoffed “he doesn’t have a key and the door is deadlocked.”

Then Callum looked me dead in the eye and I felt a shudder slip down my spine.

“He has a key?” I cried

Callum hung his head and nodded.

“How could you not tell me? I sleep over here every second night! I’m here alone all the time! What if something had happened?”
“That’s why I sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door!” he cried “To protect you!”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do when there’s crazy men traipsing through the house!”

“I’m sorry ok? I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Well consider me freaked!” I roared.

I had never been so angry in my life. Sure he was in a shit situation but the fact that he dumped me in it right along with him? Shitty move bro.

We broke up two days later.

In the end my relationship with Callum taught me many things. Honesty is always the best policy; Mother knows best; drug lords are always assholes and their girlfriends are slutty whorebags; and when the sex dies, so you do a little, on the inside at least.

As I said previously though, Callum was not a bad guy, he was just going through a really crappy period. He eventually paid me back all the money he owed me and even gave me a ticket to the cinema that was expiring in a day, so that was nice.

And what happened to Callum? Well after extensive Facebook stalking I can confirm he is living happily with his new (annoyingly attractive) girlfriend in a new home devoid of drug whores.

Huzzah!

Hope you enjoyed Lovers, I’m off to the shops for some more paddlepops 😉

Claire xx

Best bonking song: Sex and Candy

By: Marcy Playground

Best Used: Sex? Candy? Lounging in chairs? What’s not to like? This little piece is    perfect when it’s too bloody hot to do much but have slow lazy sex on any cold surface you can find. I recommend washing machines, fridges or bathroom tiles. Go get some!

Crack Attack!

Aloha my Lovely Loversons!

Honestly Lovers, you know the monetary situation is dire when you need to take batteries out of another device to power your electric toothbrush. You know the situation is catastrophic when literally the only device left is your vibrator!

It brings a whole new appreciation for brushing my teeth, I can tell you that!

But aside from my cavity and mechanical technical difficulties, things seem to be looking up. Therefore  it’s the perfect time to fill you in on the second last installment of the Callum files…

The end is nigh! But just how did I extricate myself from the situation that was Callum? That, my lovely Lovers, is where the story gets interesting…

I was eight months into my tumultuous relationship with Mr No-Job and Christmas was fast approaching. The stress of paying not only my own rent but also my slack ass boyfriends’ was really starting to take its toll on me and I did attempt to break up with Callum a few times.

But each and every time he would talk me out of it, promising everything whilst doing almost nothing.

Note: Callum is not a bad guy, just the opposite actually. I just happened to be unlucky enough to be dating him during probably one of the worst periods of his life.

So I ploughed through, sneaking around whilst Gretchen was home and silently cursing her every moment of the day.

One afternoon I got a call from Callum asking me to pop round after work and help him out with something. He didn’t mention exactly what he needed help with and when I arrived I knew exactly why he hadn’t.

Callum led me to the bedroom, sat me down and starting taking off his pants.

“Uh, you needed help with your buttons?” I asked, nonplussed.

“No no,” he replied, “I can’t reach something.”

Oh God, what the hell am I going to have to do here?

Callum took off his underwear and lay face down on the bed.

Seriously, what the fuck did he want me to do?

“Can you see it?” Came a muffled voice from between the pillows.

I was afraid to even ask but eventually uttered “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“The pimple.”

A wave of relief rushed over me.

Just a pimple? That was easy done! I’d popped many a back pimple in my time and was quite the expert at it.

That’s when I remembered he’d taken off his pants.

Fuck a duck, it was a butt pimple!

It was lucky Callum couldn’t see my face at that moment; the look of horror and disgust may have upset him just a little.

“C’mon, “ he urged “It’s really annoying me.”

I’ll bet it was, much like his request was annoying me. How did a romantic relationship dilute down to pimple popping duties? I took a deep breath, pictured myself on a sandy beach somewhere, anywhere (because let’s face it, anywhere had to better than where I was at that moment,) and went in for the kill.

But where was it? I scanned one hairy butt cheek, then the next, but found nothing. Well, nothing that looked like a pimple anyway.

Maybe it had gone down by itself like one of those phantom pimples? I closed my eyes and said a little prayer to the pimple powers and suggested this to Callum.

“No babe, it’s in between.”

Jesus motherfucking Christ!

I backed up so fast I fell off the bed and slammed into the cupboard behind me. He wanted me to go in between?

Into… the abyss?

I shook my head profusely until I felt like a malfunctional bobble head, but as usual, Callum managed to talk me into it.

The boy didn’t even have any gloves so I had to go in bareback.

Urgh.

I slowly parted his furry cheeks and searched for the bane of my existence. That goddamn pimple.

“It’s right in there.” Advised Callum.

Of course it was.

No point making this disgusting task simple and easy after all.

Finally I found the offending pus parcel and spread Callum’s cheeks wider to gain access.

And then the smell hit me.

Good God, he could have at least sanitised the area first!

I gagged silently, trying not to look as my fingers dug into my boyfriends disgusting ass crack.

Within moments I had the pimple in my grasp and none too gently I popped it. Callum let out a squeal and I grinned savagely.

Serves you right you dirty bastard.

After that particular episode the sex kind of died out of our relationship (surprise surprise.) But on Christmas Day we decided to have a crack at it (it’s what Jesus would want, right?)

It was fine, but I felt like something was missing. We’d lost something in the last month or two and although I didn’t know exactly what it was, I knew it wasn’t coming back.

After some Christmas cunnilingus, we got dressed and headed to his parent’s house for a festive lunch.

I felt supremely out of place and awkward, as I had only met his Mother once and the entire extended family was there. After the fifth aunty or uncle you just accept the fact that you’ll never remember any of them.

It was particularly awkward as they all seemed to know who I was and had even brought presents!

Imagine this situation, accepting a present from somebody you’ve never met and can’t for the life of you remember the name of. Then opening said present to discover some awful tea towel set or something similar before having to feign delight and thank said stranger profusely.

Not fun folks.

On the bright side though I got some bloody useful tea towels.

At one point during the festivities Callum’s Mum beckoned me over. She gave me a Christmas hug before whispering in my ear, “It’s ok.”

My mind raced with possibilities. What was ok? Had she seen me double dip my corn chip? Had she noticed me shoving tea towels under the couch cushions? Or was she letting me know it was in fact ok to perve on Callum’s slightly more attractive cousin?

I looked at her, confusion clearly stamped across my features. She sighed and took hold of my shoulders.

“If you leave him, I understand completely.”

Whoa! What? I opened my mouth to reply but Callum’s mother silenced me.

“ Things have been very unfortunate lately. You’ve been strong for him, but everybody has their limits. I just wanted you to know that it’s ok to leave.”

And with that she gave me another hug and moved away.

What the hell had just happened? I’d been given permission to dump her son? Did I look that unhappy? I walked to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and caught sight of my reflection.

Wow, I did look like shit.

I shook my head sternly to rid the conversation from my head and went back to the party, but it never fully left me after that, not during the rest of the night or the next few days that followed.

The exciting conclusion is only one weeks away Lovers! How does it end?

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Kissing burns 6.4 calories a minute… Wanna work out?