Use Your Noodle!

Ok, Lovers,

Have you ever had one of those experiences that are just so crazy, so odd and so cringe worthy that the next day you can almost convince yourself it was all a dream?

Well this is mine…

I’ll set the scene as best as I can Lovers. Picture this; it’s a Friday night, the first Friday night I had been out on the town since my birthday in June. So it was safe to say I was fairly climbing the walls for a good pint and some banter. The occasion was Theo’s thirtieth birthday, so I was super excited to get a few dozen beers into him, but I was also on the prowl big time.

Seven months Lovers, seven months of celibacy.

It was all ending tonight; that was the plan.

So, dressed to the nine’s, I tottered into Theo’s chosen bar and started scouting the room.

Not bad, not bad at all. There was definitely some talent there.

I ordered a beer from the smoking Scottish bartender, (who hastily informed me of his girlfriend once he noticed my eyes glazing over at the sound of his accent) and headed out to join Theo and his mates in the beer garden.

I didn’t really know anyone so I downed my beer quickly, hoping it would instill some Dutch courage. Unfortunately I just succeeded in giving myself a stomach ache.

Tonight was not a beer night, that was for sure.

I switched up my order to a vodka and coke (only seven fifty a pop, happy days!) and the night really began.

Infused with copious amounts of vodka I became the social butterfly my boring sober self yearned to mimic.

Before long I was having deep, insightful chats with Theo’s friends and thoroughly enjoying myself. However, I hadn’t had any contact with the single male of the species, so when Theo suggested we move the party to a club, I was all for it!

As soon as reached our destination, I ordered my tenth vodka coke, not wanting to lose the awesome buzz I’d worked up.

Then I spotted the pool table.

Come at me pool cue!

I made a beeline straight for the table, accidentally knocking the guy trying to take his shot in the process.

Luckily he was a nice guy and my bump didn’t bother him. Instead he introduced me to his brother (probably to distract me long enough so he could take his shot.)

Let’s call this brother… Nigel.

Nigel was in his early forties and after chatting to him for a while I suddenly realised who he reminded me of.

Any of you Lovers seen the Vicar of Dibley?

Well, there’s a character on that particular show called Hugo Horton and my god this guy was like his twin! If you haven’t seen Vicar of Dibley he also played Tom in Four Weddings and A Funeral.

So this guy was much much older than me, not super attractive and fairly bumbly in his manner. But just like Hugo or Tom, he was well meaning, sweet and kind.

I was still trying to get over how much this guy looked, not to mention acted like Hugo when he asked if I’d like to play doubles with him.

Hell yes! There’s nothing I love more than a bit of tipsy pool!

So we played pool for the better part of an hour, drawing quite a crowd too, as Theo brought his party over to chill around the table and watch the sporting prowess of the pool masters.

Ok, so maybe he just brought them over because I was bending over in a skirt a lot, but who am I to decide?

The fun had to end though, as the manager gruffly padlocked the pool table shut around midnight, much to the chagrin of all involved.

Theo decided to head home (as clubs don’t really appreciate customers projectile vomiting on the premises) so I was left with Nigel.

The night was winding down. Nobody else was making any moves on me. Nigel was obviously interested. Should I just go for it?

I excused myself for a quick pee break and as I sat there I ruminated on my choices.

What was the worst that could happen? Sure I wasn’t super attracted to him, but the vodka was helping with that. He was older yes, but that just meant more experience right?

Seven months Claire, seven months.

That’s it, I was doing it.

I swept out of the bathroom and sat back down next to Nigel, twirling a lock of hair between my fingers.

“You have such beautiful hair,” Nigel began, “ why do you tie it back so tightly?”

Pfft, clearly Nigel had never seen the effects of humidity on curly hair.

We chatted for a few more minutes before Nigel dropped the big question.

“So, want to come home with me?”

Now or never Claire, now or never.

“Sure, why not?”

And my fate was sealed.

Just as we were getting up to leave I noticed a fairly attractive younger man giving me the eye (when I say younger I mean not forty five.)

Dammit! Where had he been all night? As we left he gave me a wink and a smile and it was all I could do not to rip myself away from Nigel and throw myself at him.

No no, I’d made my decision; the honourable thing to do was stick with it.

Never again will I honour anything!

Nigel and I hopped in a taxi and chatted about nothing much as the miles flew by. Good god, why did I always pick guys who lived on the outskirts of nowhere??

Finally though, we pulled up to a neat little townhouse.

I checked it out as Nigel paid the taxi driver. It looked fairly normal, no signs of a secret serial killer lair, but then again, what are the signs of that?

Nigel came up behind me and gave me a hug from behind before we headed inside.

Once inside, my stomach sank.

Books, books and more books. They lined the walls, sat on the table and were wedged behind the television.

“So you like to read huh?” I asked tentatively.

“I’m a school teacher.” He replied.

No! Damn it, why couldn’t I escape these bloody school teachers? I have no problem with teachers Lovers, but both my parents are teachers, so I don’t really like to be reminded of that when I’m about to straddle someone.

Urgh, if I was face to face with the times tables as I was being fucked doggy style this wasn’t going to be an enjoyable experience.

Don’t think Claire, just do!

My libido screamed at me to get things started, so I played the twenty eight year old card.

This dude was in his forties, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen a body in its twenties for some time. This gave me unlimited confidence. I was a sex goddess, and he would bend to my will!

In one movement I slipped my dress over my head (luckily I wasn’t wearing a bra so nothing got awkwardly caught up as so often happens when I’m attempting to be sexy.) Then in the space of two seconds I slid my underwear off and kicked it to the side.

I stood in front of Nigel in nothing but my high heels, and boy did it feel good.

His mouth hung open, as if he’d never seen a naked woman before (oh god, what if he’d never seen a naked woman before? No Claire, stop thinking!)

I shimmied over to him, feeling my perky boobs wibble wobble like delicious jelly on a plate, then slid my body up the length of his.

The dude could barely breathe!

Excellent, I thought to myself, mentally drumming my fingers together like Mr Burns. He’s right where I want him.

I looked Nigel dead in the eye and I whipped off his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. He was panting like a rabid dog the whole time. Well it was safe to assume he was excited then.

I bent over and tugged his jeans down to his ankles. There was only one obstacle between me and the peen. My seven months was coming to an end, this was it!

I took a deep breath and slid his undies off.


No no no!

Why, why god? What did I do to deserve this?

Staring squarely at me, was the smallest penis I have ever seen in my life.


I’ve seen a fair few custard launchers in my time Lovers, so it’s safe to say I know what is average and what is most definitely below average.

This guy was even smaller than Callum. (Ex-boyfriend) At least Callum had some girth to work with, Nigel was short and skinny! It was a skinny, limp little noodle.

I felt kind if bad for the guy actually. He was such a nice dude, but a lot of girls would judge him completely on his flesh flute alone.

Well, I thought to myself, not me. It’s not the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean, isn’t that what they say? Nigel could have amazing moves, he might be the best sex of my life!

Nothing ventured, nothing gained I say.

So I went in for the blowjob.

Oh dear me.

I could deep throat the guy without gagging even a little. He only made it like halfway into my mouth! I persevered, getting a face full of pubes every time I mashed his limp peen into my mouth.

Oh yeah did I mention that? All this sexiness from my side and the dude wasn’t even hard!

I’m sure he’s just nervous, I said to myself, as I cupped his balls for extra pleasure.

Nigel was certainly enjoying himself, I could tell from the noises and the way he cupped the back of my head. Most guys do that when they want you do go harder or deeper, or both, but with Nigel there was nothing left to put in my mouth!

When I decided to experiment and see if I could fit his balls and the joystick in my mouth he stopped me.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom.” He said sultrily.

Really? I thought. What are we going to do in there if you can’t get the pork sword functioning?

Still, I acquiesced without a fight and followed him into his bedroom, where there were thankfully fewer books.

We climbed under the covers and before I knew it I had two digits straight up my jam clam.

Huh, he wasn’t messing around now, that was for sure.

I grabbed onto his meat thermometer, hoping to get a slighter hotter temperature than before, but still nothing!

Nigel probed around in my banana basket for a while, what he was searching for I have no idea, but he definitely didn’t find it.

Why, why am I here? I thought to myself glumly. Maybe the sex gods were trying to teach me that no sex is better than god-awful sex.

I was pulled from my sex god reverie by Nigel climbing on top of me and kissing me hard.

I guess he was ready then.

I traced my way down to his baloney pony and wrapped my hand around it. Good god, I could wrap my entire hand around it and it was as if I was holding nothing! Would I even feel it? I may have a teeny tiny panty hamster, but would that even touch the sides?

“Do you have a condom?” I whispered.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” he mumbled, and rolled off me before heading to the bathroom.

I heard him rummaging around for a while before a string of curse words that I’m sure he wasn’t allowed to use during school hours echoed from the bathroom.

“Wait, the car!” he cried.

And with that he bolted out the front door, completely starkers.

Whoa, this guy really wanted to have sex.

I shrugged to myself and decided to bask in the glory of a man so desperate to have me he was willing to run stark bollock naked outside just for the chance.

A few minutes later Nigel returned, a condom clasped in his hand and a triumphant look on his face.

Naw, how cute.

He climbed back into bed and stuck his fingers straight back into the sausage wallet and drove his tongue deeply into his mouth.

Geez, give me some warning dude!

Nigel withdrew from the penis flytrap just long enough to put the condom on.

No wait, correction. He attempted to put the condom on.

All I could think was “I wonder what size he wears? God I hope it doesn’t come off inside me! Is it ribbed for my pleasure?”

Long story short Nigel could not get the condom on, as Nigel Junior failed to rise to the occasion.

The weird thing is that Nigel didn’t seem too perturbed by this. Maybe it was because he was a little tipsy, or maybe it happened all the time, I guess I’ll never know.

“Well, I’ve got work in the morning. I better go.” I said, jumping up and searching for my undies, eager to leave the land of books.

“No, you can’t go, come back to bed,” pleaded Nigel as he held out his hand to me.

I sighed, trying not to look at his puppy dog eyes. I’d tried my best hadn’t I? I hadn’t let his teeny weeny frighten me off. I’d tried to show him a good time with no judgement on age or looks or wang width, but I just couldn’t do any more! The noodle was not meeting my needs.

Still, I was pretty tired, and it would be a bitch to get a taxi at that time of night. So I decided to stay the night and leave early in the morning instead.

I jumped back into bed and let Nigel spoon me. It was the first time I’d had a guy snuggle me without having to stay five or six inches apart at the waist. He just smushed his crotch into my ass and left it there.

And then he started to talk.

For fucks sake, could this night get any worse?

As Nigel drifted somewhere between awake and asleep, in his drunken stupor he began to murmur with every breath out.

“You’re so beautiful.” He would breathe. That was ok, compliments before sleep were fine. Then things got weird.

“Your hair is so beautiful… It’s like… life… You’re like Venus… And Venus…Is life…Life is beautiful…bountiful…”

The fuck dude?

It’s safe to say I left very very early the next day. Nigel was sweet enough to drive me home (thank god because a taxi would have cost me a weeks wage.) I nursed a hangover as we chatted about the upcoming footy grand final.

Finally we reached my house. I wanted to spare his feelings, so I blurted out “So, can I have your number?”

The idea was if I got his then he wouldn’t need to get mine. He put his number in my phone and then just as I was getting out he said “Ok and now yours?”

My heart sank.

I gave Nigel a number. It wasn’t mine, but it was still a number.

I just couldn’t go through the process of rejecting him. I know I know Lovers, totally the cowards’ way out. But hey, a girls got to do what a girls got to do.

I crawled up the stairs to my apartment and stumbled into my bedroom, almost crying with relief as my head hit the pillow.

I slept for six hours and when I woke up Nigel was just a strange, very realistic dream.

Except he wasn’t.

So the seven month celibacy drags on Lovers! But what will next week bring? Hopefully a mid size penis that gets rock hard at the touch of my hand, but who knows?

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I think I see myself in them!

Don’t forget to vote Lovers! Only a few days left until the top 100 sex bloggers is decided! Go to to vote!

Much love and sexual favours to you all xx

Kinky Deja Vu – Part Two

Aloha Lovers!

I totally forgot to explain about the oysters last time didn’t I? Well let’s wrap Stan up nice and quick because I have so much more to tell you Lovers!

Ok so where did we leave off last time? Ah, that’s right, I’d given Stan an unappreciated blow job (some of my best work I might add, the dude popped like a champagne cork) and we had parted ways on the day of Kinkfest 2015.

Fast forward to exactly a year later.

I was sitting in class at uni, pretending to listen and swiping through Tinder to ease my boredom, when suddenly my screen flashed those super exciting words:

You have been Super Liked!

Damn right I have, I thought smugly, congratulating myself for taking down my previous profile picture of an attempt to fit an entire cheeseburger in my mouth.


Sure, guys want you to deep throat them but when it’s any other type of meat in your mouth suddenly its not “sexy.”

What a bunch of hypocrites.

So anyway, I excitedly swiped until I finally reached my super fan.

Surprise surprise, it was Stan!

I was genuinely shocked at first. We hadn’t spoken since that date a year ago, apart from the odd drunken rambling text from him late at night.

I usually didn’t reply as most of the time they culminated in Stan sending many crying emoji’s and asking me to pop round to share some drugs.

Ooh, so tempting.

So it was with a fair amount of surprise and curiosity that I swiped yes.

Maybe he was over all his emotional stuff? Maybe he wanted to try dating me again? Oh my god what if he wanted to have sex?


It was coming up to seven months on my involuntary chastity, so the idea of a date with no annoying small talk and just straight up sex sounded ideal!

We tapped out a few hello messages to each other, and he sounded much better than he did a year ago. He even said I had met him at possibly ‘the worst time in his life.”

Sweet, so things could only get better right?

Yeah, not so much.

After all the ‘hi how’s life’ chat was out of the way, I jumped straight in the deep end and invited him to Kinkfest. What better way to warm him up for some hot sex than a hall full of toys, leather and titties?

Talk about foreplay!

His answer was not what I expected.

Apparently Stan ‘wasn’t so great around crowds anymore.’


One year later and he’s suddenly become agoraphobic? How did that happen?

I didn’t want to pry so I didn’t ask, even though the curiosity was killing me. Instead I invited him for drinks after Kinkfest. He was a bit of an alcoholic last time I’d met him so I was pretty sure a few people weren’t going to scare him off from a nice scotch.

I was right.

We agreed to meet up on the main drag around five and have a few drinks.

And then I’ll have my wicked way with you, I thought devilishly.

The night before our catch up Stan texted me and we had a nice little chat. That chat turned sour when I found out that he was only staying for one or two drinks before buggering off to a beach house for the weekend.

How was I supposed to screw him into submission if he wasn’t mine for the night?

I felt jipped, cheated, completely deflated that my afternoon delight had suddenly turned from kinky passion to a few warm beers and a chat.

Was I destined to be a sexless spinster for the rest of my life?

I decided to drop the coy act and talk straight. I told Stan in no uncertain terms that I was disappointed we would not have longer to spend together as I was hoping to get to know him better.

In the ‘biblical sense.’

Stan liked this sudden frank approach.

He wanted me to come over that night, but I told him repeatedly I had work until 9pm. As he lived in the middle bumfuck nowhere, it would take me hours to get there by public transport.

This did not please Stan, (did I mention he’s a bossy control freak?)

I floated the idea of him coming to me as he actually had a car and/or the money for a taxi.

But no, Stan was not leaving his house apparently. Too much effort. He couldn’t possibly travel after the week he had had. He was so tired that he would probably be in bed by 8pm.

So sorry princess.

I sighed in frustration and ended the conversation with a quick ‘looking forward to tomorrow!’

I was not looking forward to tomorrow.

No sex, no fun and apparently Stan was excited to tell me all about his crazy ex-girlfriend.

Yay, what a rocking Saturday.

The next morning I bounced out of bed bright and early. Today was the day! The highlight of the kinky calendar! I could barely contain my excitement as I sat on the tram, eager to reach my destination. Finally though, I arrived.


I charged up the stairs and inside the building, eyes wide, taking in every leather clad, spandex wearing, nipple exposing individual as I did.

Oh yes, I was back with my people.

The event was much the same as last year, with a few small changes. Even the location of the stalls was almost identical.

I was slightly disappointed, as I’d hoped to discover some new treats, but as I looked closer, I realised there was quite a lot I had missed last year!

So the first thing I’ll say Lovers, is that puppy play is out and pussies are in. That’s right, cats seemed to be the star of this years festival, from the stalls dedicated to kitten costumes to the bountiful amount of patrons leading their ‘cat’s’ around on leashes. I got into the spirit of things and bought some metal claws you pop on the end of your fingers and scratch down someone’s back.

Can’t wait to try those out.

I checked out a candle stall selling safe sex candles (at first I thought they were selling wax condoms or something. Luckily I was wrong.) They were simply candles that burnt at a lower temperature so there was less chance of getting burnt.

Pfft, where’s the fun in that?

I did buy my first paddle from that stall though, a handy little wooden number that set me back five bucks.

I oohed and aahed at some awesome fantasy wear, especially the metal bra and panty sets moulded into coloured scales so you looked like some sort of mermaid or exotic fish creature.

Then I found my favourite stall of the day. It was just a regular sex stall selling a variety of dildos and other play equipment, but they also had something amazing… A lucky dip!

I’ve always been a sucker for lucky dips, and the thought of a surprise sexual toy excited me so much that I bought three straight away.

And my what a great idea it was!

For five dollars a pop I got a vibrating cock ring, geisha balls and a tickler vibrator. All really good quality stuff and after a quick Google I discovered they all would have set me back over twenty dollars each!

Safe to say I was one happy cookie.

So when a lady approached me trying to sell ‘love potion’ I was in such a good mood that I decided to humour her and buy a taster.

I figured if I was high on some love potion I might be able to persuade Stan to drop trough and have a quickie in the toilets or something.

I paid my five dollars and cheersed the lady before downing the shot.

Good god, it tasted like ass!

Awful, herby, medicine like ass!

The lady was watching me expectantly, and asked, “So, what do you think?”

I forced my lips into a smile and managed to unclench my jaw enough to say, “Mmm, s’good!”

And then I ran.

Thank god I had a Mars Bar handy to relieve my poor taste buds. It was as if I’d just rimmed a hippie doused in patchouli.


Apparently I was supposed to feel light, breezy and loved up. But all I felt was queasy.

I decided now was the time to text Stan and ask what bar we would meet at. After such a nice day I was actually looking forward to sitting in the sunshine and downing a few beers. Even if it didn’t end with sex.

Maybe this love stuff was working.

And then Stan ruined everything.

My phone beeped at me and I got a whingey little text from Stan.

“I only just woke up (sad emoji) I’ve got food poisoning (gun to head emoji) I can’t make it today.”

Keh? How did he have food poisoning? I thought he was in bed by eight? I put this question to him and was not impressed with his answer.

“I went out to dinner with friends. We had bad oysters… It’s true, the restaurant refunded our meal and gave us free drinks and everything.”

My jaw was all clenched up again and this time it had nothing to do with that damn potion.

I sighed sadly and texted him back, telling him it was ok and that we’d catch up another time.

What I wasn’t expecting was for him to fire back with, “I’m not lying Claire! (Angry emoji face) I had to go to the doctor and get two packets of this medication last night! (picture of some anti-vom medication.)


Ok this dude had issues! I had to send two more messages telling him I believed him and it was all fine before he stopped with all the crazy angry texts.

Then he refused to speak to me for the rest of the day.

It’s safe to say we have not caught up since.

Thinking about it now it’s probably best we didn’t meet up after all…

Bullet dodged? I’d have to say that’s affirmative.

So that’s the anti-climax that was Stan Lovers, but boy have I got a story for you next week! I shall call him Noodle Man, and I shall regale you of his exploits in great detail as soon as possible!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Is your name Wi-Fi? Cause I’m feeling a connection!

P.S Don’t forget to vote for How Many Frogs in Kinkly’s Blogging Superheroes competition, there’s only a few days left! Just visit the website and search for your favourite blog.  (Obviously it’s this one but I don’t mind if you throw in a few cheeky votes for other blogs too 😉

Thanks Lovers!

Kinky Deja Vu

Good morrow Lovers!

And my sincere apologies for leaving you for such a long period of time!

You see, my Internet connection has been playing silly buggers and every time I typed something up for your viewing pleasure, I either couldn’t upload the bloody thing or it would straight out get deleted! Very traumatising stuff Lovers, many bottles of wine suffered a tragic end after said deleting’s.

But, never fear! I’ve hopped an early train into uni and I’m here three hours earlier than my class to abuse the free wifi and cheap coffee. Plus one of my teachers just spotted me and she is of the opinion that I’m ‘getting an early start on my assignments.’

Whatever helps her sleep at night I guess.

So, here we are; another year, another Kinkfest, another wasted opportunity for wild sex…

However Lovers, I’ll be the first to admit that that last factor was not my fault in the least!

Blame the oysters!

Shall I explain Lovers? I think I shall.

Exactly one year ago I connected with a fellow on the wonderful world of Tinder.

His name was Stan.

Stan seemed different, eclectic, eccentric if you will. He wasn’t particularly my type but I figured what the hell, let’s try an oddball on for size.

And my what an oddball.

Stan suggested we meet at some fancy restaurant for dessert.

Keh? No cheap beers in some seedy bar?

What a wild change of pace!

I happily agreed. And that was how I found myself sauntering down a swanky street towards a succulent strawberry tart at 9pm on a Friday night.

I ended up arriving a touch early, such was my eagerness for the sweet treats I’d been promised, so I popped into the bar next door for a cheeky solo bevvy.

After I’d finished up my exorbitantly priced drink, (note to self: never drink with the fancy people unless they’re buying!) I was about to head back over to the restaurant, confidant that Stan would have arrived by now.

Just as I was looking both ways to cross the road (it takes more than one beer for me to forget my road safety rules!) I noticed a solitary figure standing directly across from our appointed meeting place. He hadn’t spotted me so I pulled out my phone and had a quick glance at Stan’s Tinder profile once more.

Yep, it was him.

But why was he standing there in the shadows like some creepy stalker? Must have been his eclectic side coming out.

I decided to beat him at his own game and darted into the shadows myself, sliding along the building beside me until I was right behind him.

Here we go, I giggled to myself, now or never.

“Surprise!” I cried, as I flung my hands in the air for mass surprise effect.

Yeah I surprised him all right, and the grumpy bastard was not happy about it.

“What are you doing?” he barked.

I was startled at the amount of anger in his voice, but I decided to try and keep things light.

“I could ask you the same thing.” I said coyly, throwing in a cheeky grin for good measure.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He sniffed, having the audacity to look affronted.

Urgh, worst start to a date ever.

“Well,” I started, desperately flailing for any way to get things back on track. “We’re both here now, so why don’t we go in?”

He nodded curtly and we headed over the road.

Once inside, Stan steered me towards a table by the window.

Very romantic. Many bonus points for Stan.

These bonus points were quickly diminished however, when Stan tried to persuade me that everything I ordered was wrong. I opted for a strawberry tart and dessert wine.

No no no, I would be having the crème brule and French champagne.

I laughed politely at Stan’s bossy command and decided to meet him in the middle with a dessert wine and crème brule.

This did not please Stan.

Calm down control freak!

I had to listen to a half an hour lecture about how real French champagne is not only the best accompaniment for dessert, but the only one. I sat, listlessly waiting for my dessert as I was schooled on the perfect pop of a champagne bubble as it disintegrates in ones mouth.

If only the dude knew that my favourite wine was anything under five dollars a bottle.

Now that’s a pop I can appreciate.

Finally I was saved as my flaming crème brule was served to the table.

I squealed inwardly as the molten sugar melted in front of me. It looked amazing!

Without any preamble I grabbed my fork and dug in, delighting in the crackle of toffee as I broke through the surface.

Then I remembered I was on a date and I really should be paying attention to the man opposite.

Reluctantly I dragged my gaze away from my true love and over to Stan. Luckily he was too busy swirling his expensive scotch to notice my preoccupation. Once the swirling had ceased and the scotch was sufficiently ‘aerated’ for sir to commence drinking it, he quaffed it in one mouthful.

What a waste of seventeen bucks.

The night continued in this awkward fashion for quite some time, punctuated by waiters flitting past and bringing more drinks (sadly only one dessert though.)

I had glanced at the menu earlier and as the drinks flowed I started to sweat a little.

I couldn’t afford this!

Bloody Stan pushed and pushed me until I caved and ordered a French champagne (which tasted like ass by the way, and cost twenty two dollars for a thimble sized glass.)

I had to put a stop to the spending before Stan went totally wild and ordered a bottle of some crazy shit.

Luckily for me the restaurant was closing. I breathed a sigh of relief as the waiter placed the bill on the table.

My relief turned to horror when I saw that dessert and a few drinks had amounted to over one hundred and fifty dollars!

I excused myself and swept off to the fancy bathrooms, feeling very ill indeed. I couldn’t throw up though, that was seventy-five dollars worth of brule and wine in my stomach!

I took a few deep breaths before checking my bank account.


Not the monumental sum I had hoped for.

With a sigh I transferred money from my rent account, cursing the amount of two-minute noodles I would have to eat to make up for this date.

I pasted a smile onto my face and returned to the table, ready to go Dutch on dessert.

“Ready to go?” asked Stan.

“Sure,” I replied, “Where do we settle up?”

“Oh that’s already done.”

And I was in love.

Ok, maybe not, but the relief that swept through me was palpable. I wasn’t going to be living on noodles and carrots for the next month!

My joy was so overwhelming that when Stan suggested we go somewhere for another drink, I obliged immediately.

Why, why do you do this to yourself Claire?

We settled in at a mercifully cheap pub and I bought us pints. (It was the least I could do after dessert really.)

What I didn’t realise was what that pint would unleash.

The whole night Stan had been stoic, stiff, and fairly arrogant really. But with that pint everything about him changed. He was still incredibly intimidating, but he was looser, more open and less of a penetrating gaze dude.

Until the tears started.

That’s right Lovers, I made the man cry on our first date!

We had been talking about family, and all of a sudden he was opening up and disclosing huge revelations. They literally just spilled out of him. He didn’t even stop and take a breath half the time. He sobbed as he recounted how his parents had moved to Fiji a year ago and left him all alone in the big empty house and he was so depressed and he tried to kill himself and look here’s the scars from that attempt and oh yeah he was engaged but she left him because he’s so messed up and hey let’s go find some drugs and get messed up.

Holy shitwaffles, I broke the oddball!

I soothed him as best I could, wondering what I did to deserve such a tirade when first dates were supposed to be all about small talk and sexy innuendo.

Stan eventually went to wash his face and two middle-aged ladies approached me to ask if I was all right.

Wow, did we look that odd?

“He just looks very intense dear.” Said one of the ladies as she patted my shoulder gently.

I know right?

I nodded and thanked them for their concern.

This was turning out to be the weirdest date ever.

Stan returned soon after, looking a little better, but still decidedly soggy.

“So,” he said “back to mine?”

Keh? He wanted sex after all that? When did tears become foreplay? I started to make my excuses but then the bastard got emotional on me again and started breaking down my resolve.

“I can just really talk to you, you know?” he sniffled at me. “I think we have a real connection. I want to explore that.”

And then he drove the final nail into the coffin.

“Please don’t leave me alone tonight.”

Gah! Bloody men with their puppy dog eyes and suicidal tendencies!

I finally agreed, and we hopped into a taxi towards the ass end of nowhere. The dude lived soo far away!

By the time we got back to his place we were so tired we literally passed out straight away with no funny business and thankfully no talking.

The next morning was kind of nice. Stan was a solid cuddler, and I was happy to smush myself into his frame and soak up the spoonage. We took a shower soon afterwards (my suggestion, partly because I really needed a shower but also I was keen to see the goods.) And the goods were good, no crazy piercings or genetic misfortunes. Much to Stan’s surprise, I decided to be all spontaneous and give him a cheeky shower blowjob.

But oh how I had to pay for it afterwards.

“I’m the dominant one here. I should be doing that to you.” He sulked. Yes people, he was actually upset about me going down on him.

Dude, just accept the blowjob and be happy about it! But no no, I had to hear all about how he was a dom and he’d never had a girl initiate something and all the crap that followed.

I pretended to listen as I got dressed, steeling myself for the big question I had to ask him. When Stan finally finished his unfair blowjob tirade, I walked up to him and gave him a big kiss. Better to butter him up before I asked him.

“So, can you drive me home?” I asked sweetly.

Honestly, you’d think I’d asked him to watch porn with his Grandma. The groans, the complaints, the procrastinating!

“Why? Can’t you just get a taxi? I’m so tired. I shouldn’t be driving. You should stay.”

But I had other plans.

That was exactly one year ago, and on that day was Ozkinkfest 2015. No way I was missing that.

Stan finally agreed to drive me home and after a quick kiss and a smile I jumped out of his car and never saw him again.

Until yesterday.

So what happened this time Lovers? Did I unfairly have sex with him? Did I emasculate him once more by taking charge? Or did I take him to Ozkinkfest 2016 and scare the bejeesus out of him?

Stay tuned for the kinky déjà vu!



So Lovers, instead of the usual pickup line I’m asking for your support instead. It’s that time of year again when holds their annual Sex Blogging Superheroes competition. Last year we made it into the top 100! So if you like what you read and you want to support this little old blog, head to

to vote! I appreciate all your support Lovers, and I am so grateful to have an audience, however small, to share my crazy love life with!