When one muff just isn’t enough!

Aloha Lovers!

Ermagerd my Lovingtons, so much has happened in the past few weeks! Where to begin? Ooh, I know, let’s start with my very first date with a poly guy. Poly guy? I hear you inquisitive little imps inquire, what do you mean poly guy? Well it’s not some dude who likes to dress like Pollyanna and spank anyone within a five metre radius, I can tell you that! No no Lovers, poly is short for poly-amorous, or in other words, people who date more than one person at a time.

Why would you go on a date with a guy who already has a girlfriend? Slow your roll with the questions Lovers, all will be explained I promise!

So, about a month ago I matched  with a guy on Tinder, lets call him Ainsley. I wasn’t especially attracted to Ainsley at the outset but what drew me to him instantly was his desire to become a sex therapist.

Hark! A kindred spirit!

I was tickled pink when we matched and instantly began talking about deep sexual theories and kinks. It was so nice to discuss this type of stuff without having to explain what sploshing or BBW or CAT techniques were.

We chatted almost every day until last night when we decided to finally meet. I wasn’t nervous at all to meet Ainsley, as unlike regular Tinder dates there was no pressure to form an instant connection. I knew it wouldn’t be awkward because if we ever lapsed into silence I could just bring the conversation back to our favourite topic; sex! I wanted to meet him, that was for sure. What I wasn’t sure of was the etiquette of the situation. Could I kiss him if I wanted to? Did I need to ask permission from his girlfriend? What if I really liked him and wanted him for my own? And even more pressingly, if I couldn’t have him for myself, could I become a secondary and be happy?

I decided the best thing to do with all these questions swirling around my head was to take a nap.

Naps solve everything. Feeling tired? Take a nap. Feeling sick? Take a nap. Feeling horny? Well maybe flick the bean first and then take a nap.

The only downfall of the sacred nap is the age-old issue of not setting that damn alarm. Safe to say all those pesky questions flew right out of my head as I whipped around the house, attempting to brush my teeth and button my dress at the same time.

Turns out I’m not multi-dexterous. I found that out the hard way.

So after switching out of my toothpaste stained dress and grabbing my keys, I ran to the bus stop, shoes in hand and eyebrows decidedly unplucked.

And missed my bus by about three and a half seconds.

Fuck fuckity fuck.

After ten minutes pacing back and forth at the bus stop, willing the bus into existence, I gave up and ran down to the closest tram stop. Luckily for my sweaty self, I was just in time to jump on and catch my breath.

Eventually I made it to the bar and dragged myself up the stairs and into the blessed air conditioning. Due to my lateness I had promised Ainsley the first drink on me. What I hadn’t expected was for him to choose a bloody $23 drink!

What a bugger.

Add to that the bartenders apologetic explanation of charging an extra dollar on all EFTPOS transactions and I ended up footing the bill for a $35 round (and all I got was a Heineken!)

Safe to say this was going to be a one round date.

Apart from his expensive taste in drinks, Ainsley was a nice enough dude. He was chatty, interesting and had his fair share of Dad jokes he was eager to share. Plus of course there was the devoted interest in sex without the gross sleaziness that often accompanied such conversations.

However, as often happens with people who are experts (or hoping to become experts in the future) he was a little high handed. It was at times difficult to get my opinion across. Every time I said something he could call on all sorts of academic information I didn’t know or even understand to rebuff me. I kind of expected this though, as most intellectual guys I meet like to display their knowledgeable prowess. So I indulged him and didn’t press my points too much.

What I really didn’t like though,was when he scoffed at my career ambitions. Ainsley had asked what I wanted to do in the future and of course I answered that I would absolutely love to be an established author or sex columnist. To this he replied “what, so you want to be the next Carrie from Sex and the City?”

It wasn’t even the words that stung that much, it was the dismissive way he said them. To have someone I saw as a sexual peer of sorts pish tosh my dream was pretty hurtful. Just because I didn’t want to write some scientific thesis didn’t mean I was any less. When I tried to explain this blog to him he assumed it was just some hobby, some tiny side project to fill my spare time.

What a little bitch.

However, bitch status aside, Ainsley really was very nice when he wasn’t on his high horse. I loved how passionate he was about his honours degree and that fact that we could chat about anything without the shocked faces or embarrassment. (Although I must say the couple next to us were certainly getting red-faced whenever I blurted out questions such as ‘yeah but was there actual ejaculation?’ or Ainsley would say ‘oh yeah porn can totally be helpful in learning how to go down on a girl!’ I think their date was much more pg rated.)

The one thing I had to get used to was the fact Ainsley was texting his girlfriend throughout the date. It wasn’t super overt but it was definitely an obstacle. It was just like when I arrived, there was no compliment of how nice I looked or anything like that. Why? because he didn’t need too. He already has a girlfriend, or in the poly world he already has a primary. At most all I will ever be is a secondary.

Kind of takes the romance out of it doesn’t it?

Normally I might be a bit miffed if a guy is texting and taking calls on a date, but in this situation it was basically like it or lump it.

The weirdest part of the date? That would probably be when his girlfriend called and offered to pick us up from the bar and drop me home.

Woah, that’s a first.

It was super nice of her but unfortunately it did cut the date short, to the point where I had to skull my half full glass of wine.

I don’t like rushing my wine.

But it wasn’t up to me, she was parked outside and we didn’t want to keep her waiting.

It was at this point I started to see the pro’s and con’s of a poly relationship. Most of all I realised a very important factor that seemed critical to success in the poly world. You really need to have a primary. Ainsley and his girlfriend had been together for five years and were rock strong. They could go back to each other after every bad date, every fight with a secondary and completely be there for each other. If the secondary doesn’t have a primary, who do they go back to?

It’s kind of lonely to be a secondary.

The primary’s have all the power and as Ainsley recollected, at times the secondary is left by the wayside if the primary needs more.

I think poly could be great, but I would rather be a primary searching for secondary’s rather than a single secondary.

After I was very kindly dropped off by my date’s girlfriend (still sounds so weird to say that) I felt a sense of unease. I felt as though I had just been entertainment for a happy couple.It’s like they bought tickets to an Adele concert and I was the Pussycat Dolls warm up act. Pussycat dolls are fun, but everyone’s just waiting for Adele to come on stage already and blow them away.

This was demonstrated even more vividly when there was no follow up text that night. Even on my very worst dates there has always been the obligatory “thanks for the meetup, I had fun” or something along those lines.

But my date was busy with his girlfriend, so why would he bother?

Now Lovers, if any of you are secondary’s I would love love love to hear how you feel about it, especially if you don’t have a primary. Am I taking it all wrong? Am I being too conventional? Or is it really as shitty as it feels?

I look forward to your stories my sexy beasts!

Claire xx

Best bonking song: Not Above Love

By: Aluna George

Best Used: If sex is getting boring and you want a giggle halfway through, pop this on your playlist. I don’t know about you Lovers, but when she sings the chorus “I’m not above love” it totally sounds like she’s singing “I’m not a butt plug”

Juvenile? Yes

Giggle inducing for me every time? Double yes!







Two hands, three vibrators and a butt plug

Well now, that title sounds like quite the fun filled romp, doesn’t it Lovers?

But alas and alack my Lovelies, ‘twas not. ‘Twas very much not!

I suppose it all centres around the quite disturbing trend I’m discovering amongst my gentlemen callers of late.

We meet on Tinder (of course) and said gentlemen appear normal, attractive and able to string a sentence together.

Good start.

The date is arranged and they arrive, all puffed up and full of confidence, strutting around like tipsy peacocks, occasionally flashing me the odd fancy feather (although lately all the flashing has usually taken place days beforehand on Snapchat.)

Up to this point everything is trucking along fine, or if not fine, at least manageable.

It’s when I take them home that the problems start.

Take Ryan for instance; yummy yummy Ryan. We went on a date over a year ago and it went well. Unfortunately, Ryan lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere and was a class A workaholic. As hard as we texted there was no way of keeping anything alive and the date was soon forgotten.

So you can imagine my surprise when out of nowhere Ryan texts me to say he was in town and he’d like to catch up.

Happy days!

Sexy farmer for one? Yes please!

I hastily agreed and asked what he had in mind activity wise.

What I hadn’t expected from my quaint country boy was the phrase “let’s get kinky!”

I won’t lie Lovers, I was genuinely disappointed with his answer. A huge part of me thought that maybe our connection, the tiny spark between us (a spark I may have very well dreamed into existence,) was what had spurred him into texting me for a genuine date.

You know, dinner, beers and sex. It’s the perfect combo!

But sadly he was just interested in sex, and kinky sex at that. He knew of my passion surrounding all things sex so I suppose he thought there was no need for flirty repartee or any semblance of subtlety.


Oh well, I thought with a sigh, kinky sex with farm boy had to be better than my regular Tuesday afternoon.

Nope. Wrong again.

Ryan arrived at my place around one in the afternoon. As I went to buzz him up I thought I heard him talking to someone through the speaker.

Good God had he brought a playmate with him or something?

I waited tentatively by my door as he climbed the stairs to my apartment.

And that’s when I heard it.


Holy fudge-monkeys! He’d brought a dog! If there’s anything I love more than farm boys its farm dogs.

I watched with glee as a gorgeous little jack russell bounded up the stairs behind Ryan.

Screw kinky sex, I could happily sit and play with the dog for hours!

After getting over my shock and excitement, I greeted Ryan and ushered him inside. Then, much to Ryan’s dismay, I greeted the dog with much more enthusiasm.

Hey if you don’t want to be overshadowed don’t bring an adorable ball of fluff with you dude.

Eventually, after much patting and belly scratching, I tore myself away from the dog and finally gave Ryan some attention.

We sat on the couch and chatted amiably for about an hour. I was really enjoying getting to know him and sex was the farthest thing from my mind. So when Ryan piped up and asked if I had nipple clamps it was quite the unexpected segue.

However, I did in fact have nipple clamps, (an essential for any girls top drawer don’t you think ladies?) and proceeded to fetch them for him. By the time I came back into the lounge room he was shirtless and ready to be clamped.

Tasty, very tasty.

He had just a smattering of dark chest hair that trailed down to his belly button before disappearing beneath his belt. Oh yes, I could definitely work some magic here, that was for sure.

After jokingly playing around with the clamps for a few minutes, Ryan suddenly grabbed me and said huskily “let’s go to the bedroom.”

Again with the subtlety.

We headed to my room and made out standing in front of my bed. Ryan could kiss, that was for sure, and that was usually a sure fire sign of bedroom prowess.

I felt a tingle of excitement issue forth from my panty hamster as she prepared for a good time.

Then Ryan said something that was enough to send said hamster scurrying back from whence she came.

“Let’s get nakey.”


Dude what are you, twelve? I shuddered as I contemplated an afternoon of baby talk. Was he going to call me Mummy and try to suck on my titty witties?

Kill me now.

Thankfully, after my less that positive reaction to the phrase, Ryan quickly reassured me that he just said it because he was nervous.


I decided to believe him and so we did indeed ‘get nakey.’

Ryan was blessed with a Goldilocks penis (not too big, not too small, but just right) so I immediately initiated some A grade fellatio. He was loving it, sure, but things weren’t… as firm as they could be.

I massaged his balls, stuck them in my mouth and sucked seductively, switched between balls and wang and a whole other myriad of techniques, but nothing was really working.

I needed some help.

Enter vibrator number one.

I whipped out my small purple vibrator I had picked up in a show bag at Sexpo. The thing only had one speed and was fairly weak, but I thought it might have been enough to get Ryan up to scratch.

After a few moments with small purple I realised I needed more power, more speed.

Out came medium pink, my slightly more expensive and always dependable vibrator. Old faithful was usually good in situations such as these, so with the combination of pink and purple, there was no way I could lose.

But still no movement!

I asked Ryan if he was ok, was I overstimulating him? Did he like what I was doing?

He loved it all apparently, but sadly wanted more!

By this stage I was seriously running out of hands, not to mention the strain on my wrists trying to coordinate everything concurrently.

I delved deep into my drawer and found one of my silicone vibrating cock rings. I looked at it for a moment and shrugged. Couldn’t hurt to throw another vibrator in there could it?

After fastening the cock ring around Ryan’s semi flaccid penis, I went hard with my hands and vibrators. Good god, it was like trying to play three instruments all at once!

Still nothing.

I was about to give up when Ryan piped up.

“Got any butt plugs?”

Ah, he was a butt guy, maybe that’s why we weren’t achieving lift-off.

I wasn’t super pleased with this turn of events. I knew he’d been out running errands all day, so it would be safe to assume that the area was not going to be particularly fresh.

But I’d come this far (pun intended) so I may as well give it a crack…

I dug out a fairly intricate looking red butt plug and proceeded to probe the area.

But guys have so much hair down there I couldn’t find the bloody hole! I didn’t just want to jam it in and hope for the best, as this particular plug was quite knobbly and could be quite painful if not eased in nicely.

Eventually I found what I assumed to be an entry point, (certainly smelled like one anyways) and stuck just the tip of the plug in. Then it was on for young and old Lovers. For a solid ten minutes I did the work of three women! Hands here, mouth over there, rub this vibrator on that, clutch the balls now, butt plug in and out, in and out.

It was exhausting!

But finally we had success! The beef bayonet was standing to attention proud and tall, ready to lay waste to any beaver misfortunate enough to get in its way.

There was only one problem.

I’d spent over an hour attempting to jump-start his cucumber, but he hadn’t even touched my honeypot.

Time for some payback!

I lay on the bed and relaxed as the tongue that had showed such great prowess in my mouth now displayed its other talents betwixt my thighs.

It only took two minutes and I was good to go. I grabbed Ryan by the hair and dragged him up to meet me.

It was go time.

But we must always remember Lovers, that life is cruel and God needs a good laugh from time to time. Yes, in the two minutes spent on someone other than himself, Ryan had completely lost his boner.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

Ropable Lovers, I was absolutely ropable!

All that work for nothing? You’ve got to be shitting me.

The worst part is, after the wind left his sails, Ryan decided that that was the perfect time for him to head back to the farm.

So with a kiss on the cheek and a ‘thanks, I had fun,’ Ryan left me, naked and unsatisfied on a Tuesday afternoon.

Not happy Jan!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Do you like my pearl earrings? I’m looking for the necklace to match.


The terrible tale of the mistreated muff


I did the unthinkable this morning Lovers! No, I didn’t turn a condom inside out and attempt to use it again. No, I didn’t wax a man’s initials into my lady garden, or my own initials for that matter (it’s not a business card people.) No, I didn’t purchase a shewee and a snuggy in order to experience a completely uninterrupted ten hour marathon of Outlander. No no Lovers, I did something far worse.

I cried during sex!

Oh god the shame of it all! This is exactly the reason I don’t relish the idea of morning sex, I’m not a morning person! So many emotions at 7 in the god dam am!

But surely it was more than the fact that the moon was still up that made you blubber like a baby Claire? I hear your question loud and clear Lovers, and as usual, your astute observations are spot on! I didn’t merely descend into tears at the sight, sound and smell of a man and his wang attempting to pry my legs open before my eyes. No no, it was much more than that.

Back story!

Ok Lovers, I’ll fill you in on this particular fellow in detail in further posts, but what you need to know right now is that I was suffering from one of the sexual maladies most people choose not to discuss.

Over and over I hear friends and colleagues cry out in frustration that their main man comes too soon. Often far too soon. And as girls we have incredible amounts of sympathy for these women. How awful to have that pivotal moment of orgasm ripped away from you as your man comes to a shuddering halt and collapses on top of you, sated and sleepy. This issue is one of the many women and men experience and talk about regularly, but what happens when you have completely the opposite problem?

There is no sympathy out there for girls like me Lovers!

Next time your swapping shag stories with your girlfriends, take a moment to appreciate the girl who moans about her chafed vag and aching thighs. Show her a little pity as she goes into detail about her marathon session, complete with multiple position switches, leg cramps and copious amounts of lube. Because I can tell you now Lovers, chances are, as jealous as you may be of her long time Lothario, if she’s anything like me, she only enjoyed the first twenty minutes or so. The rest… well that’s where the tears come in.

So I’ve been having sex with this fellow for about six weeks now, lets call him…Spencer. Spencer is a great guy, another lucky Tinder find, but to say we’ve been having some issues in the bedroom is putting it lightly.

The boy just never comes! Like ever. Never ever. Like times never by infinite and you still wouldn’t be close to it. We’re talking hours of P in V action with no finale.

We’ve had sex at least thirty times and not once has he popped his cork. Do you know how frustrating that is Lovers? The worst part is he absolutely adores blowjobs. Now, don;t get me wrong, I love giving a good bj when the occasion calls for it, and that occasion occurs often, but blowjobs have a time limit. I am not a bobblehead!

Argh the pain, the agony of the never-ending head job! Sometimes I have to do inconspicuous stretches during foreplay to prepare my body for whats about to come. Woe betide the girl who attempts this mission. First comes the subtle ache in the back of your neck as you mosh relentlessly up and down on his yogurt slinger. Next is the throbbing of your knees, elbows or whatever unfortunate limb you happen to be supporting yourself on. Finally, and what usually brings said job to a conclusion (or at least a downgrade to a simple handjob) is the tender muscles of your pleasure inducing mouth giving up the ghost and you either can’t stop gagging or you begin to seriously fear a case of lockjaw occurring. Nobody wants to rock up to the emergency room with the words ” gave too much head” emblazoned across their patient form.

So anyways, I think you get the idea Lovers, I’ve been matched by the scientists at Tinder with a marathon runner when I’m much more of a sprinter. The most frustrating thing about my sessions with Spencer however, is not their lengthy duration, but the utterly infuriating phrase he utters immediately after every romp.

“Gah, I was so close that time.”

Then fucking come already! Ooh the amount of times I have almost screamed this right at his sweaty face is becoming too high to count. The problem is Lovers, it’s always me who has to call time on our activities. I’ll go for as long as I can, but my poor little juicebox is just in tatters by the time he’s halfway done! I’ll wriggle and squirm, trying to find a comfortable position to wait out his pounding, but before long another layer of my flaps will have been thrusted vigorously away and I’m back to grinding bone against bone. I’m not proud of this Lovers, and as an avid sex lover it truly upsets me that I can’t pull a Survivor and outwit, outplay and outlast his randy shaft. I’ve tried cock rings (three different types of varying price), oral sex popping candy, pelvic floor exercises, ball slings and more. But I still can’t ride out that never-ending wave of copulation!

So you can imagine just how crap I feel when after trying everything I can, after continuing on long after all feeling has left my lower extremities and after giving as much encouragement and help as I can humanly give, when he sighs and says,

“That time, that time I was so close. Just a few more minutes and you would’ve had me.”

This is after two full hours of balls deep, pound the duck, solid boinking.

My little whisker biscuit can only take so much Spencer!

So, the crying, how did all of this equate to me ending up in a big old pile of tears?

As I said Lovers, I’m not a huge fan of morning sex, but I had promised Spencer a good time the night before so I let him do his thing while I lay there and fantasised about going back to sleep as soon as he left.

After a while we switched to doggie, a suprise new favourite position of mine. Normally things can feel a little uncomfortable with doggie, but with Spence something just clicks and it feels great; which is useful because he likes to stay in this position for ages. Anyways whilst in doggy Spencer has developed a bad habit of pressing down on my spine. Grab my  hips? Fine. Shoulders? Fine. Waist? Fine. Middle of my spine? Hands off dude!

It seriously feels like he’s going to snap me in two when he leans on my frigging spine and I tell him time and time again to get the hell off me. His excuse is always that he’s so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t notice.

Yeah, well I do buddy.

So this morning he starts doing the spine thing. I tell him not to. He does it again, this time while he’s pounding into me super hard. I tried and I tried to hold my position but I just couldn’t take it any more. Sex shouldn’t be painful!

I collapsed on the bed and felt his wang fall out of me.

“Damn! You would not believe how close I was that time!”

Aaaand that was it. I was gone. The combination of all the effort I had gone to, time and time again to satisfy him, coupled with the obvious failure time and time again plus the fact it was 7am and the fact that he had ignored my words and hurt me once again was just all too much.

The worst part of it all was that Spencer didn’t realise I was crying and simply shifted me onto my side and kept going!

Oh it was so humiliating Lovers. I just closed my eyes and waited for it to be over.

Luckily Spencer isn’t a total asshole and noticed pretty soon after that I was crying and stopped having very one way sex with me.

He wiped away my tears and asked what was wrong but I didn’t have much time to tell him as he had to get to work.

It was a very, very awkward way to leave things.

Never a dull moment in the sex life of Claire hey Lovers? I’ll fill you in on more next week!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Want to have sex? Breathe for yes, lick your elbow for no.

Fuck it, go down on me lizard tongue

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and Many Humpy returns Lovers!

What a whirlwind of a time the past few weeks has been! No I’m retracting that, what a whirlwind the past few months have been! You have no idea how much I have been up to Lovers. Between a budding relationship that I sadly had to pull the plug on yesterday, a kinky sex request from a Tinder man I was keen to disrobe and a very G rated Christmas with the family, things have just been wild (not to mention at times confusing! Note to self, do not attempt to sext a man whilst your two and three year old nephews are in the same room. Oh and on that note Claire, always always always lock your phone!)

Anyways, awkward family moments aside, we have a lot to catch up on don’t we Lovers? Now where did we leave off? Ah that’s right, I was right in the middle of only the largest gathering of like minded sexual deviants in Australia! The Saints and Sinners Ball! Ok, so I’d just finished having sex with Jake (with varying degrees of success) and I was feeling alive and slightly pungent.

After my aforementioned trip to the toilets to sponge off the remnants of my sexual tryst, I returned to Jake and plopped down beside him on our freshly christened beanbag. However we were promptly thrown off that freshly christened bean bag, due to the amorous couple eager to mark said beanbag as their own. Following our less than graceful dismount, we headed to the bar. Jake didn’t drink so we ordered a water (the dude wouldn’t even order a bloody coke! This is why I will never date a body builder, I need my sugar!) As we waited for our freshly squeezed tap water, Jake reiterated to me just how much he had enjoyed our session. I agreed with him and complimented him on his fine penis finesse, tactfully leaving out the part where he almost smothered me in a beanbag chock full of body fluids. Jake grabbed a card from the stack on the bar advertising local swingers parties and wrote down his number before handing it to me, a hopeful look on his face.

“I really had fun with you.” he said sincerely, “and I hope we can be friends. Call me and we’ll see a movie ok?”

I stared at him non-plussed.


Normally once a guy has journeyed to the centre of the Claire things tend to move in a more… sexual direction. You know you tend to get requests like, “That was awesome, can we try the butt now?” or ” Wow what a ride, can you tie me up next time?” I must say I’ve never had a movie request, that was a definite first. I smiled at Jake and tucked the card into the top of my thigh highs.

Would I call him? Would this ‘movie’ lead to more? Did I really want to see him again? Would he try and smother me in a movie theatre seat? God knows what fluids those things have seen.

I never called him. Some things are just best left unknown, unsaid and unseen.

After I parted ways with Jake I circulated the three floors, taking in the myriad sights, sounds and of course smells wafting through the rooms. From the undulating mass of bodies writhing together in a unison known only to themselves on the bottom floor, to the satisfying smacks and thuds issuing forth from the third floor rooftop scene, there was no shortage of intriguing images.

However, this year felt different, wrong almost. After being a single lady for almost three years I have mastered the art of attending events solo, from the “I’m fine” smiles given to concerned strangers to the occasional conversation with a pool cue to pass time until an actual person shows any sign of interest.

But of course this was no ordinary event. I’d order a drink from the bar and strike up a conversation with the closest moving object, only to have them stare at me with shock, or worse, pity when I informed them I was on my own. I tried to allay their fears, assuring them that I was in no way bored, hadn’t been stood up and was definitely enjoying myself, but the looks remained.

It irritated me.

The complete freedom and lack of judgement I had experienced last time around seemed tainted this time. It was as if I needed to bring a man to enjoy myself; not a question but a statement.

I tried to shrug the feeling off and even rushed the stage when they called for volunteers to take part in the best dressed competition. Sadly I was hip and shouldered out of the way by the Kracken, but I suppose it just wasn’t meant to be. I mosied on over to the grope box which was obviously inhabited by a girl as no less than ten horny salivating men were shoulder deep in the grope holes, furiously grabbing at any piece of flesh they could reach. I flinched and clutched my honey pot in sympathy, imaging the the manic finger-blasting that girl must have been experiencing.


Still, some people would do anything for that type of rogering, so I comforted myself with the thought of said lady screaming with pleasure rather than squirming away from a stray fingernail.

Absentmindedly I reached for the bowl of chips next to me, unaware I was being watched. As I crunched on my much needed sustenance, a sixty something lady leaned towards me and asked, “Do you dare?”

I looked at her blankly for a moment, not registering what she meant before realising she was warning me about the potent mix of food and the mass amount of body fluids flying about. Cross contamination was never a more real fear.

After I twigged to her meaning I laughed and replied, “Oh don’t worry, I’m so hungry I could eat anything right now.”

Bad choice of words at a sex party Claire.

The ladies eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and she quickly scurried away, mumbling something about how I just had to meet her husband.

I beat a hasty retreat down to the bottom floor and hid amongst the mass of bodies on the dance floor. Once I was sure the coast was clear I extricated myself (with some difficulty) and found a quiet wall to lean against. As I looked around I realised something startling. I was one of the youngest there, which meant most of the guys wanted me (so ageist I know, those forty year old birds knew tricks I couldn’t even dream of in my current state.) Because of this, there was no challenge. I could literally walk up to practically anyone, proposition them and find myself face down ass up in a matter of minutes.

But isn’t that what you came for Claire?!

It was, it really was, but now something had changed. I wanted the challenge, the chase, the fear of being rejected. Damn it, I think I wanted a boring old normal bar scene.

You’ve got issues Claire.

I nodded solemnly to myself, agreeing wholeheartedly with this observation. As I did, a guy coming off the dance floor noticed my nod and thought I was giving him affirmation for his sick dance moves. He smiled at me and performed a little show for me while I smiled encouragingly and bopped along. I wasn’t interested at all but I certainly wasn’t going to hurt his feelings by just walking off or something.

Unfortunately the dance show turned into him leaping onto me and sticking his tongue down my throat.

Urgh, lizard tongue.

When he came up for air he pointed downwards towards my juice box. I sighed and just nodded, anything to get that tongue away from my mouth.

So that was how I ended up leaning against a wall in a sex club, drink clutched in each hand, with an eager lizard tongue going to town on my lady garden.

God I was bored.

It was only when the photographer for the night strolled past and murmured “Dude, that does not look fun,” did I realise just how much I wanted to leave. Well first I wanted to get the photographers phone number, but then I wanted to leave.

However the photographer had melted away into the crowd like some sexy guardian angel, so I took it as a sign and filed him away in my spank bank. I tapped lizard tongue lightly on the head to get his attention.

“That was lovely, thanks!” I said as enthusiastically as I could muster. “Must dash though.”

And I ran before the lizard could ensnare me in his clutches.

I picked up my clothes from the locker room lads and put my ‘civilian clothes’ on with a smile on my face and hope in my heart, not to mention a slight tingle in the pink canoe.

So I left Saints and Sinners, freshly fucked once by a body builder and looking forward to returning to the normal dating scene, full of rejection, humiliation and sadly lacking in blowjobs on the dance floor.

Can’t win them all I guess!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: If I was an octopus, all three of my hearts would beat for you.







Not tonight Honey, I’ve pulled my ass!

Yes you read that correct Lovers, the other night I actually managed to pull my ass cheek.

But how is this achieved Claire? I hear you ask with wonder and awe. Well the truth is Lovers, I have no bloody idea!

I was hanging out with a dude I’d kind of being seeing for a few weeks (details about him coming in the next few posts I promise) when I had the sudden urge to pee. Nothing amiss there, I have the bladder of a seventy year old pregnant woman after all. So off I toddled to the porcelain throne, thinking nothing was amiss… until I sat down.

You know the twang a guitar string makes when it snaps Lovers? Yeah that’s the feeling I experienced as I dropped my daks and sat down.

Ooh sweet Lordy lord that smarts!

I finished peeing and gave my affronted butt cheek a good rub, assuming I had just sat down weirdly and all would be fine. But no, the pain did not leave my poor posterior. Oh dear, I was going to have to do something quite unheard of in the dating game; ask for help!

I flushed with dread in my heart and discomfort in my derriere.

Peeking around the lounge room door I spotted my date sitting on the couch, totally unawares of what was about to be asked of him. I took a deep breath and sauntered into the room, trying to look casual and not limp at the same time.

“So…” I started nervously “This is going to sound kind of odd, but I need to ask you a favour.”

He looked at me quizzically for a moment before nodding. There was nothing for it, I just had to come out with it.

“Can you massage my left ass cheek?” I blurted out, shame apparent in every syllable.

Gah the humiliation of it all!

Luckily my date just laughed and agreed. Thank god really, as my tush was really starting to twitch.

I hopped gingerly onto the couch and backed my ass up into his face, lifting my skirt as I did so. This was so not the action I was expecting tonight.

I flinched and squirmed as my date probed my rump (yes probed, I went there!) uttering advice like ” a little to the left, up a bit, further, further, ooh yeah that’s the spot.”

As saucy as it sounds Lovers, I do not recommend working this method into your foreplay. So ouchy!

In the end my date refused to massage me for more than a few minutes as he said I’d probably be better off icing it due to the fact it was soft tissue or whatever. He’s a sporty dude so I assume he knows what he’s talking about, I just didn’t want to tell him I’d taken all my ice trays out of the freezer so I could fit more party pies in…

I contemplated rubbing some deep heat on there, but my date assured me this would just numb the pain not fix it. Pfft, numbing sounded pretty bloody good right at that moment. However, the thought of accidentally misplacing my hand and getting deep heat on my putty tat was enough for me to dismiss the idea.

So we headed to bed with sex on the brain and soreness on the butt. Needless to say, sex was not had that night, nor the next morning.

Damn my ass to hell!

Anyways must dash Lovers, just thought I’d fill you in on that juicy tidbit before I carried on with the sex party antics. More on that night next time!

Claire xx

P.S the ass has recovered fully and is perfectly spankable once more. Huzzah!

Pickup line of the week (butt related of course): If I were a squirrel and you were a tree, I’d store my nuts in your hole.



Sex Sisters Unite!

Hey Hey Lovers!

Wow so much has happened since we last talked! Still, I promised to tell you all about my latest sex party conquest, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do! Strap yourself in Lovers, this could be a long post!

So, cast your mind back to the end of October. Picture a cool, slightly breezy Friday night, you know the one, windy enough to throw a few stray leaves your way but calm enough for you to safely wear a g-banger under your skirt without the world knowing about it. Now picture me, naked in my living room, applying fake nautical tattoos to various parts of my freshly scrubbed and shaved bodice while sucking down three dollar moscato.

Classy image eh?

Well that was the scene playing out in my living room that fateful October night. My housemate was at work so I decided the best way to prepare for the night was to stay naked most of the time. After all, if I couldn’t strut around naked in my kitchen, what hope did I have in a crowd of 1500 people?

Next time however, I will have to remember to shut the blinds. I’m afraid my new neighbours got a touch more than they bargained for.

Welcome to the neighbourhood people!

So, after applying what can only be described as copious amounts of anchor, skull and cross bone, tall ship and treasure chest tattoo’s, I finally slipped into some clothes and headed out the door, ready and excited for my solo sexual adventure.

Nothing quashes that excitement quite like catching a bus to your incredibly sexy destination.

After my twenty five minute journey I stepped off the bus smelling strongly of urine and the ‘medicinal’ cigarette one of the passengers insisted on smoking.

Oh yeah, sex on legs right there.

I shook myself off and after a quick trip to the Macca’s toilets I was also officially washed off. I redid my lipstick, plumped up my less than ample decolletage and gave myself a wink before heading back out into the world and on my way to the party.

The Saints and Sinners ball is officially Australia’s biggest sex party, and my my my does it deliver! Often held in a popular three story club with different ‘activities’ on each level, there is enough action and excitement to keep even the most randy of Lotharios sated. Last year (my first foray into the world of sex parties) was incredible, and would have to have been one of the best nights of the year, including my birthday and new years! So this time around I was hoping for another show stopping night.

However, this time I knew it would be different. For one thing, I was going solo. Yes, in the mysterious swinging lifestyle I was attending the party as a ‘unicorn’ (a single under 30 female). Last year I had had company. Sure he pissed me off a little and I ended up spending most of the night on my own meeting new people and making friend’s, but it was nice to have someone to come back to, someone to compare stories with and of course, talk to you/have sex with you on command.

As much as I had tried to convince many a man to attend the ball with me, this year everyone just seemed so unadventurous, so cautious about ‘feelings that may arise in such a situation’.


When the hell did anyone think about feelings when a girl was asking you to attend a sex party? What a bunch of pussies.

I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, that I was better off going without some nancy-boy who was going to cry as soon as he saw a leather clad grandmother as it secretly turned him on and he was now forever changed, but I knew deep down it wasn’t going to be quite the same.

Still, the sex drought had made me strong, so I pulled on my big girl pants (or rather pulled them off) and headed up the steps of the club and into the lion’s sexy den.

Straight away I was hit with that now all too familiar smell of beer, latex and sex. Ah yes, Claire was home. I smiled at the doorman as he secured my wristband and sent me on through to the dressing room. I winked at the coat room boys as they handed me my plastic bag to put my ‘real world clothes in’ and I laughed as the bartender attempted a joke while he opened my beer. This was good, this was easy, I didn’t need no man!

Until about half an hour later, when I stood leaning against the wall of the dance-floor, wistfully staring at the scantily clad couples doing their finest impressions of that bar scene in dirty dancing.

I had made the rounds, stopping for some time at the grope box and teasing its occupants mercilessly, but now I was left with not much to do but drink my beer and look approachable.

And boom, that’s how I met Jake.

Jake was a monster of a man, towering over many of his male counterparts, his shaved head glistening under the club’s strobe lights. But what was most eye-catching about Jake was his body. The dude was a tank! Muscles sat atop even bigger muscles, rippling and flexing as he moved. Sticking to the theme, Jake was dressed only in Speedo’s with a race number painted on his shoulder. So that bod of his was on full display.

I was admiring his saucy glutes when suddenly he turned around and caught me staring.

Oops, total Peeping Tina.

Luckily for me Jake quite enjoyed my perusal and mosied on over for a chat. We introduced ourselves and Jake informed me that he was incredibly happy tonight, as he had just won some big body building competition the night before.

Ah, that would explain the giant rig.

I have never been a huge fan of massive muscles, preferring my men lean or even wiry (probably why so many of my men have turned out to have serious drugs issues) but Jake was such a nice guy that I decided to just go with it and see what happened. Plus I was super curious to see if the rumours about body builders were true.

Did he really have tiny balls? Only one way to find out!

Jake and I chatted for some time, and Jake revealed his lust for all things BDSM and his ample supply of toys stored at home. However all through this chat he kept assuring me that he wasn’t just some dominant meat head, that he was actually a really sensitive guy and he had ‘super deep feelings’.

Who was this guy?!

I had to admit it was refreshing to be able to talk so freely with someone I had just met, and he bared his soul to me about what he wanted from women but just never received because of his appearance. I felt bad for the guy, but I also knew I could definitely make him feel a whole lot better.

After we talked about the serious stuff, I asked him to do some poses for me, and we had a giggle as he showed me the moves that won him the competition, explaining in great detail how ‘this muscle has to flex so that you can show off this other muscle here, most guys don’t do that, so they don’t win.’

Hmm modest bugger aren’t you?

Then it was time to dance!

Jake led me onto the dance-floor and we began that awkward phase of dancing where neither of you knows what the other is doing so you just kind of bop around in uncoordinated circles.

That’s when I realised, “Claire woman, you’re at a sex party! The rules don’t apply here!” If Jake was some guy I had met in a club then yes, we would dance awkwardly for a while before moving into more grindy dirty dancing, then kissing and then if all went well, home to bed.

But this was no ordinary club.

I grinned devilishly at Jake and without a word dove my hand straight into his tight little Speedo’s.

I’ve never felt a man get so hard so quickly! It was great! After all my recent sexual disasters, finally here was a man who seemed to have full control of his well-sized and active wang.


Jake groaned in delight as I moved my hand in time to the music. Oh yeah, now we were dancing alright.

Before I knew it Jake had backed me up into the stage where all the beanbags were situated. Yes, for those of you who didn’t read last year’s blog, the stage next to the dance floor gets turned into a beanbag sexfest. Couples lay strewn among the bags, giving head, getting head, having sex and just basking in the afterglow of coital awesomeness. I had to giggle as I imagined what band or dj would be playing on that stage next week. If only they knew what had taken place on it just a week before.

Mind the wet spot!

I was keen to snag a beanbag and clap my eyes on these tiny (or not so tiny) balls of Jake’s, but all the bags were… occupied. So I did what you do when you’re waiting in line for a sex beanbag, I sat on the edge of the stage and gave Jake ferocious head.

Ooh the moans of delight that boy made! I grinned as I continued my assault on his yogurt slinger, reveling in the fact that many a couple on the beanbags behind had started cheering us on.

Finally Jake couldn’t take it anymore and he popped his peen out of my mouth before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. I squealed like a little girl and laughed uproariously as Jake carried me over to a bean bag.

The only problem was, this bean bag was already occupied. Jake slung me down onto the bag next to a saucy looking wench. I smiled at her before apologising for the invasion of her bean bag island. To my suprise she smiled back and slid her hand slowly up my leg.

Well, well, well, this was getting interesting!

Jake reached over and grabbed a condom from the bowl placed handily nearby and ripped into it with his teeth. I watched with bated breath as he took his pants off. Would the balls be teeny weeny? Would they be massive? Would he only have one? Would he have three? And then they were revealed…

Not too shabby Jakey Boy.

They were lovely, normal size, shaved nuts.

Nawww how cute.

His wang was not what I would describe as cute however. More like an angry, throbbing love machine!

Jake got into position on top of me, poised at the cusp of my honey pot. Remembering my last experience with Boris I redelivered my line, whispering to Jake, “ooh, be gentle with me sir, I’m a virgin.”

Better safe than sorry right? I’d prefer he went easy rather than slamming into me like a freight train!

And I’m so glad I did, because when Jake slid into me all smooth and silky, oh boy did it turn me on! I didn’t realise just how wet I already was! Maybe it was Jake, or maybe it was the soft leg stroking I was still receiving from my bean buddy.

Jake started to speed up and I did my best to meet him thrust for thrust, although the bean bag didn’t provide much support and he was in danger of falling out a few times. Suddenly I felt a bounce as a new couple descended on the bean bag on the other side of us. In a split second the guy descended between her legs and was quickly making her elicit quite the amorous screams. I turned my attention back to Jake and the sounds he was provoking from me. Phoar he was really starting to pound down now!

I squirmed and groaned in delight, ever conscious of the delicate hand on my leg. What I wasn’t aware of, was that that delicate hand was now getting her own bean bag orgasm, as her partner had returned and was eagerly exploring the depths of her panty hamster.  Suddenly the girl on the other side of me grabbed my hand and clasped it tight. Oh my god, she was coming! I squeezed her hand and tried to osmotically absorb part of her orgasm as Jake ploughed away. The experience was so overwhelming! I was getting it from all sides! From Jake’s pounding thrusts, to the stroking hand on my left and the relentless grip on my right, a sort of sexy handshake if you will, I was surrounded by my sex sisters!

One of these sisters tried to include Jake in the sister action by stroking his chest, but Jake was having none of it. He angrily swatted her hand away, growling “nobody touches me but you.”

I didn’t really have time to reply as Jake decided it was the perfect time to flip me onto my stomach and try a bit of doggy style.

Oh dear Lovers, that’s when things went downhill. Jake’s dominant side really came out then and before I knew it he had shoved my face into the bean bag and twisted my arm behind my back.

It’s a very odd experience, having your face mashed into a beanbag. I struggled for air as Jake drove my head into the slightly moist beanbag (can you get STD’s on your face?) All thoughts of my sex sisters disappeared as I attempted to glean some enjoyment from Jake’s savage ministrations.

My attempt failed miserably.

This definitely was not fun anymore. I turned my head to the side and gasped out “Hey! I need to take a piss!”

Maybe if I grossed him out with toilet talk he’d get off me.

“It’s ok!” Jake grunted, “I’m almost done!”

Thank the lord! Within a few more pelvic jarring thrusts, Jake came hard and collapsed onto me.


I left him to collect himself and went to pee as promised. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror I flinched. Turns out I had left most of my makeup on the beanbag. My face was a smeared bloody mess.

Luckily I wasn’t the only one cleaning myself up, as I was in between a sailor cleaning copious amounts of cum off her chest and a mermaid attempting a quickie douche in the sink.

Ah the joy of sex!

I’ll let you know how Jake and I finished the night next week Lovers!

Claire xx

Quote of the day: “Sexy is using a feather; kinky is using the whole chicken.” – Unknown







Sex is Nigh!

Ermahgerd Lovers!

It’s happened! It’s finally happened! The sex gods have smiled upon me and sent a penis my way! And a working penis to boot! I would have told you about this momentous occasion earlier, but I discovered this show called Outlander and I’ve been binge watching for the past couple of days. Picture this, Scottish, red headed, kilt wearing god of a man, falls in love and has copious amounts of sex with a girl who travels back in time.

And the girls name is Claire!!

Need I say more? Epic story lines are just the erotic and slightly moist icing on the cake! I tend to watch it just before bed in the hope that my brain can retain all the deliciousness and furnish me with dirty Scottish dreams all night.

So far my brain has not been cooperating…

But enough about my television fetishes, lets get onto the real life sex!

After all this time, all this waiting and hoping, all the maddeningly frustrating nights alone, the final result was so… anti-climactic.

Yes Lovers, my first time in seven months was lacklustre as fuck.


You’re probably wondering though, who is this mystery man? What did he do that was so terrible? How did he land in Claire’s creaky old bed?

Well that’s just the thing Lovers, he was no stranger. It was Boris!

That’s right, my usually tryst-worthy saucy man fell far far short of his usual performance this time around.

It wasn’t entirely his fault Lovers, I’m not about to pin all the blame on him! But it was pretty shitty timing on his part; I’ll say that for sure.

The problem was, I had no warning, no time to prepare myself for some sexy time. You know how sometimes you just need a few hours to think about the ensuing romp fest so you can get yourself into a complete orgasmic tizzy? Maybe have a saucy pre-sex shower? Or is that just me?

Anyways, it was literally the night after Noodle man, so I was feeling incredibly unsexy. Not only had I just come off the back of one of my worst (attempted) one night stands, but all those vodka and cokes were still making my life miserable almost twelve hours later, no matter how many pieces of pizza I stuffed in my mouth. So when I received a text from Boris at 12.30am, my excitement was tinged with quite a large slice of ‘can I really be bothered?’

But bothered I became, as I realised this could be my last chance for another seven months. I had to be proactive and take the todgers when they were offered! So I replied and Boris stumbled his way to my place.

Yes Lovers, Boris was completely blootered! (Blotto, bombed, bladdered, any way you want to describe incredibly drunk really.)

Oh great, I thought, just what I needed, another drunken fumble that ended in a blowjob for him and no sex for me.

But no, I had to be positive. Boris was usually pretty consistent with his wang so I just had to trust that the penis gods were on my side tonight.

Boris and I chatted for a little while as he dined on some greasy Hungry Jacks and I stole his chips. That’s what I enjoy most about Boris, we can chat, we can have a laugh, and then he can fuck me good and hard. What’s not to like?

But tonight was a bit different. Boris seemed… withdrawn, uninterested and just not really himself. My god, when I mentioned he had popped up on my Facebook page you’d think I’d donned a trench coat and discovered his entire identity including shoe size and address.

Dude, you’ve been inside me, I think it’s ok if we’re Facebook friends.

But apparently not. In fact, Boris had told me his last name was Crisp, but that certainly wasn’t his name on the old book of face. When I asked him about it he just laughed nervously and said something like “Where’s the fun in telling the truth?”


I was legitimately hurt. Did he think so little of me that he couldn’t even tell me his real name? Did he think after the first time we slept together I was going to go all Basic Instinct on him? That I was so desperate I had nothing better to do than stalk his ass?

What a bastard!

So it was after that little discussion that Boris decided to jump into bed with me. Urgh, don’t touch me Sensitive Sally, I might fall in love with you and follow you home.

Safe to say I was not in the sexiest frame of mind, so when Boris snaked his hand down towards my panties, I did absolutely nothing to encourage him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” I asked bluntly.

Boris mumbled something unintelligible as he sloppily kissed my neck. I sighed in defeat. Oh well, he may have pissed me off, but his yogurt slinger was pressing into my leg and it seemed a real shame to waste a perfectly good erection.

So I turned to him and started stoking the fires of his flesh flute, although truth be told the fires were already fairly ablaze when I got there.

Boris took this as his cue to amp up the foreplay (which up until now was surprisingly uninspiring) and drove his fingers right into the driveway at speed. I squinched up my face as my teenie weenie vagenie struggled to get used to the two-fingered intruder at the gates, but I didn’t have long to acclimatise, as Boris was already on top of me.

I giggled and said “Be gentle, I’m a virgin.” Obviously it was a joke (obviously not a very good one) but the main reason I said it was to remind him to go easy on me to start with. It had been seven months after all and I’d practically re-hymanated.

Sadly, in the throes of passion, men do not heed subtle hints or listen to lame jokes; they just plough forward and hope to hit the right hole.

And good God did he plough!

Holy shitwaffles!

I bit my lip hard to keep from swearing out loud and clenched my fists so I wouldn’t slap Boris out of reflex.

The dude charged into my snake ranch with that bender of a beaver basher at a rate of knots you would not believe! Thanks to the piss poor foreplay my poor little love muffin had zero time to warm up and I felt the scrape of condom against my dry, dry walls like nails on a black board.

So not what I was hoping for.

I wriggled and squirmed around under Boris until I finally felt my love juices begin to soften up the joint and I could enjoy the thrusting a little. Unfortunately, it was at that point that both of us remembered why we usually had sex on the couch.

My bed was screaming like a banshee!

Any time either of us moved the whole frame squealed in protest. My cat huddled in the corner; terrified of this new and petrifying beast we had awoken. Maybe we would have continued, but both of us were very aware of my housemate and just how close our rooms were.

“Get on the floor.” I breathed from underneath Boris.

He shrugged and we moved to the carpet at the foot of my bed. As soon as he was lying down, I pounced on him. Ah the sweet sweet feeling of being on top!

I eased myself onto him (very carefully) and after a few test canters I broke into a gallop!

Woo hoo! I’m back baby!

I bounced up and down faster and faster, ignoring the carpet burn I was fast obtaining on my knees, focused only on that orgasmic end goal.

Sadly, the old sexual fitness isn’t what she used to be and instead of an orgasm I got a leg cramp.


Boris rolled back on top of me, and this time it was his turn to go hell for leather. I loved how deep he was going and how fast; what I didn’t love was the carpet burn on my ass.

Inevitably though, my sticky purse gave up the ghost and I just couldn’t take any more of Boris’s thrusting without a butt tonne of lube.

But by that time we’d be going at it for quite some time, and even though there were parts that had been enjoyable, something was missing this time. That’s when I realised; Boris hadn’t kissed me. Not once. That was what made our sexy sex sexy! The kissing! No wonder I wasn’t enjoying it as much, no mouth connection!

I decided I was done for the night and offered Boris a blowjob to finish off. (No surprise he accepted.) However, my heart wasn’t in it and after five minutes I gave up, knowing making drunk Boris cum was an almost impossible task.

I threw on some undies and trekked to the toilet for the obligatory ‘pee so you don’t get a urinary tract infection’ pee and my what a shock I got!

Blood! Blood on the toilet paper! Sweet Jesus I really was a virgin!

I trudged back to the bedroom and got into bed, shoving Boris aside none too gently. He was suffering already however, as that boner of his really was going to waste. It wasn’t going down, but it wasn’t going anywhere near me anytime soon.

So there you go Lovers, I did it! I finally did it! I guess I just need a bit more practise to dust off all that rust eh? Well, next week I’ll tell you all about the sex party I went to! Sailors ahoy!

Claire xx

Just thought I’d use this section to send a massive thank you out to all the Lovers who voted for How Many Frogs in the Kinkly sex blogging competition! Thanks to you guys we made it into the top 100 sex bloggers for the second year in a row, maintaining number 83 on the list! I couldn’t have done it without you Lovers, and your continued support, love and comments is what makes me proud to write about my disastrously hilarious (and often depressingly inactive) love life. Love you long time Lovers!!





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  https://www.kinkly.com/top-sex-bloggers/howmanyfrogs 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 Kinkly.com 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!