What’s crackalacking Lovers?
I know its been a while so let’s skip the formalities, stretch out our pelvic floor muscles and get straight into the banging details!
Because yes Lovers, you guessed it, Claire has been getting sex on tap. Otherwise known to regular people as a relationship.
But how Claire, how did this happen? The last we heard from you, you were recounting the most horrible of horrible dates to us! Surely you didn’t turn all that around and begin a relationship with the bastard that is now a beautiful flourishing thing?
I sure did Lovers!
Yes, Chester and I resolved our many many differences and I’m happy to say that he is now my future baby daddy…
Just kidding Lovers! Good god it was hard enough kissing Chester let alone entertaining the idea of allowing him to flop around on top of me!
No no, my main man is a whole different breed of man to Chester, that’s for sure. The only thing they have in common is the way we met, which was of course online.
Who is the mystery man? Well here’s the kicker Lover’s, he’s decided that he doesn’t want a fake name to protect his identity (and trust me I had a few awesome one’s lined up, Martinez, Manfred and Mario just to name a few!) So drum roll please, his name is…
Michael! (Oh the urge to name him Michelangelo was so strong Lovers, imagine dating a ninja turtle!)
So let me tell you a bit about the new man. He’s fit, super fit, like so fit he just ran a marathon a few weeks ago (I sat in the stands eating Mars Bars like a dutiful girlfriend. To be fair though I shared the last one with him, so I think it was a pretty big day of achievements for both of us.)
He’s got abs you could grate cheese on (and we eat burritos together so much that the thought often crosses my mind whilst dicing tomatoes.) And he has cute little chicken legs. You know me Lovers, I like my men lean and wiry, and how much more wiry can you get than a dude who runs marathons?
Of course, this level of fitness has its pros and cons, most notably when we do any sort of physical activity outside. I am, as you know Lovers, what the Oxford Dictionary would define as ‘a sweaty bitch.’ Normally this level of sweatiness does not bother me too much. It gives me a nice circumference of free space on public transport (cause ain’t nobody want to rub up against an SB) as well as giving my skin a sweaty sheen that no moisturiser could dream of achieving.
However, this sweaty sheen and scintillating scent, although useful at times, is incredibly annoying when one is trying to both impress and seduce one’s special man friend.
Oh the sweaty mess that is me when I exercise. While on a little trip, Michael decided it would be a great idea to go and see some of the local scenery. Perfect, I thought, we can take some romantic photos, do a little kissy kissy in the sand dunes and then that would lead to some naked activities soon after.
What I did not count on was the 45 minute uphill walk I would have to conquer before getting to said scenery. Oh and did I mention I had a cold at the time?
Picture this Lovers, Michael: the athletic prowess of a god, surging forwards down the path, every stride eating up metres of distance, powering him towards his destination.
Claire: Sweaty, slimy, snotty, every step leaving great puddles on the bitumen as butt sweat cascaded down my legs and overflowed out of my drenched socks. Eyes watering from flu and yet more sweat that had run down from my straggly hair, I blearily tried to keep the man disappearing into the distance in my sights, aware that I would be unable to call out to him if I lose him, so ragged was my breathing.
Ok so maybe I wasn’t that bad, but still it’s definitely demoralising to witness such a gap in fitness capabilities.
But cardiovascular jealousy’s aside, Michael is great. He treats me like I’ve never ever been treated before (he certainly put Chester’s efforts to shame, that’s for sure) and buys me chocolate whenever I’m the least bit upset (so it’s safe to say my own abs won’t be coming in any time soon.) He’s always keen to chat about anything, even girly emotional crap, and the sex is most very pleasing.
I know what you’re thinking Lovers.
Gross, right? I’ve become one of those disgusting couples that holds hands and coochie coo’s each other in the street while innocent people nearby attempt to drink their coffee’s in peace without snorting it back out their nose through sheer disgust at our antics.
But no Lovers, I’m not there yet, even though sometimes I’d like to be! But what’s holding me back? Well I just gave you the answer right there.
Seriously Lovers, nothing ruins a romantic moment more than an ill-timed fluff monkey. Long time readers will know that I have struggled with my, shall we say, rectal turbulence for years, navigating my way through the dark depths of the great brown cloud with some difficulty. The only upside of my constant trouser coughs was the fabulous ass I have managed to attain due to holding said air biscuits in through sheer force of will and butt muscle.
It’s not so hard to hide these issues from dates, you only hang out with them for a night here and there. With a little practice and planning you can usually avoiding eating the danger foods or sneak off to another less populated room to release a little back blast when you need to.
But with a boyfriend…
He’s there all the time! Worst of all is that sometimes Michael walks behind me, the worst spot he could possibly choose! It’s like he wants to get crop dusted! There’s been many a time when we’ve been taking a nice stroll down to a park or through the shops or wherever and suddenly I’ll just grab him and pull him into me for a passionate kiss. He thinks I’ve been overcome with need for him and simply must have him now. The reality is if I kept walking I’d almost certainly let something slip out. And what other reason is there for suddenly stopping dead in your tracks?
This relationship is fraught with danger and lies Lovers, danger and lies.
Supposedly I will grow out of this need to shield Michael from my cheek squeaks, and will one day unabashedly and gloriously let my butt trumpet roar out for all to hear. But somehow I don’t think that will happen with me.
Why? Well, for one thing the boy never farts! And I mean never Lovers. He’s some sort of genetic freak! I guess it’s true that opposites attract, it’s certainly so in this case. The other reason? And this is definitely where the danger element comes into play again… With my IBS tendencies there’s just way too much chance of follow through.
And there ain’t no kiss that can bring you back from that Lovers.
Until next time!
So Lovers, like what you read? (If you didn’t then don’t read on. Actually if you didn’t then how did you get this far in the first place? Methinks someone is lying to themselves eh?) Anyways there are a few days left of the biggest sex blogging competition in the land and How Many Frogs is a part of it! So by proxy, that means you lovely readers are also a part of it! All you have to do is vote for HMF and see how we stack up against the big boys! Follow the link and vote if you’re a keen bean who likes to read about my bean! You rock my world Lovers.