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 to vote!

Much love and sexual favours to you all xx

Kinky Deja Vu – Part Two

Aloha Lovers!

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

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

Fast forward to exactly a year later.

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

You have been Super Liked!

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


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

What a bunch of hypocrites.

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

Surprise surprise, it was Stan!

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

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

Ooh, so tempting.

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

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


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

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

Sweet, so things could only get better right?

Yeah, not so much.

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

Talk about foreplay!

His answer was not what I expected.

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


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

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

I was right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the ‘biblical sense.’

Stan liked this sudden frank approach.

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

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

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

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

So sorry princess.

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

I was not looking forward to tomorrow.

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

Yay, what a rocking Saturday.

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


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

Oh yes, I was back with my people.

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

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

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

Can’t wait to try those out.

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

Pfft, where’s the fun in that?

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

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

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

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

And my what a great idea it was!

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

Safe to say I was one happy cookie.

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

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

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

Good god, it tasted like ass!

Awful, herby, medicine like ass!

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

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

And then I ran.

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


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

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

Maybe this love stuff was working.

And then Stan ruined everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Claire xx

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

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

Thanks Lovers!

Kinky Deja Vu

Good morrow Lovers!

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

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

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

Whatever helps her sleep at night I guess.

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

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

Blame the oysters!

Shall I explain Lovers? I think I shall.

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

His name was Stan.

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

And my what an oddball.

Stan suggested we meet at some fancy restaurant for dessert.

Keh? No cheap beers in some seedy bar?

What a wild change of pace!

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

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

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

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

Yep, it was him.

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he barked.

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

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

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

Urgh, worst start to a date ever.

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

He nodded curtly and we headed over the road.

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

Very romantic. Many bonus points for Stan.

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

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

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

This did not please Stan.

Calm down control freak!

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

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

Now that’s a pop I can appreciate.

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

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

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

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

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

What a waste of seventeen bucks.

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

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

I couldn’t afford this!

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

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

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

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

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

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


Not the monumental sum I had hoped for.

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

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

“Ready to go?” asked Stan.

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

“Oh that’s already done.”

And I was in love.

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

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

Why, why do you do this to yourself Claire?

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

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

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

Until the tears started.

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

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

Holy shitwaffles, I broke the oddball!

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

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

Wow, did we look that odd?

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

I know right?

I nodded and thanked them for their concern.

This was turning out to be the weirdest date ever.

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

“So,” he said “back to mine?”

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

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

And then he drove the final nail into the coffin.

“Please don’t leave me alone tonight.”

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

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

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

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

But oh how I had to pay for it afterwards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I had other plans.

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

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

Until yesterday.

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

Stay tuned for the kinky déjà vu!



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

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

Blind date sex ban!

Aloha Lovers!

Just thought I’d check in and reassure you all that I am still alive. Still alive, and still celibate.


Seriously, the most action I’ve had lately was a particularly slippery pap smear.


So due to my complete lack of sex, dates or even sidelong pervy glances, today’s post will probably be a short one. Much like my patience for men who don’t put out.

Don’t hate, fornicate! That’s my motto boys.

A faint glimmer of hope has arisen though Lovers. I have a blind date coming up!

Yay! (The crowd goes wild.)

But the date has conditions.

(The crowd lapses into disappointed silence, a faint ‘boo!’ issuing forth from the back of the arena.)

The friend who set up this date has appointed herself my new dating guru (bless her cotton socks) and let’s just say her dating style is a little… different from mine. A good date for me usually ends up with a blow job or a home run. Woo hoo! A good date for her could easily end with just a kiss on the cheek! Such control, such poise.

I really don’t see me changing my ways any time soon.

However, for this date I have promised to abide by her rules. (Why, why do I agree to these things?) That means no kissing, no sex, no talk about sex, no inappropriate comments and not too much information. I must be mysterious, aloof and above all, virginal.

What the hell are we going to talk about?

He suggested dinner. I quickly whittled that down to drinks. If there was no chemistry or things got awkward at least I could escape drinks easily. If I’m stuck at a restaurant table waiting for my chicken chow mein things are bound to go pear shaped.

So how will it go? Will I crash and burn in the first half hour and discover a detailed history of his sex life, favourite positions, anal preferences and fetishes? Or will I be the ultimate lady, flourishing my neatly turned out ankles for his eyes to feast on whilst engaging in polite conversation about work, day to day life and flower arranging?

I think I know which is more likely…

But you never know Lovers, you never know!

Until then, stay saucy my sexy minxes.

Claire xx

Pickup Line of the week: Damn girl, if you were a fruit, you’d be a FINEapple!



Who wants to fuck the pretty people?

Hey hey Lovers!

Apologies for the long absence, but honestly, things have been so slooow! Now don’t get me wrong Lovers, I’m still getting my daily dose of man wherever I can, it’s just fewer and farther between than I’d like. I particularly enjoy my flirt sessions with my local baker. We don’t say anything out of the ordinary, but the eye fucking is off the charts! We say hello, I ask for my order, which he dutifully grabs in a very speedy and efficient manner, then he tells me the total. And then our hands touch, and we glance into each others eyes. And boom! I can see him naked, covered from head to toe in flour, beckoning me over with a dangerous looking rolling pin. His teeny tiny apron only just covers his own very impressive… utensil. I stroll over to him, slamming an oven door shut as I do so.

“I love the smell of baking bread in the morning.” I say huskily, as the flour has made its way into my throat and I’m attempting to breathe normally.

He whips off the apron, revealing his enticing baguette and simply says

“Wanna bite?”

And then we fuck.

A lot.

Like all night.

No, wait, he’s a baker, so it would be all morning. That’s even better; once we’re done he can make me brunch.

So as you can see Lovers, the sex drought continues and my rampant one-track mind continues to run riot whenever confronted with any half decent male.

I toy with the idea of asking him out, but I love my bread too much to jeopardise the best supplier of cheesymite scrolls in town (for those not in Australia, a cheesymite scroll is a delicious twine of Vegemite, cheese and bread… Sorry, I just drooled on the keyboard.)

But fear not Lovers, I have exciting news! September is sex month! Not officially or anything but my calendar is filling up fast with sexy saucy events! First off there’s Ozkinkfest, which I’m very excited to revisit now that I’m not so much of a ‘newbie.’ I’m keen to check out the latest tools of the trade and add to my collection.

Then there’s the Saints and Sinners Ball! Squee!

As some of you will remember I attended the Disney themed S and S ball last year and it was freaking amazing! (If you’d like to read about it and orgasm vicariously just look for any of my blogs from last year with Disney themes in the title.)

This time the theme is “Oceans of Sin”. Oh yeah baby, I’m going to get me a sailor!

And a pirate!

And a merman!

And all manner of sexy sea creatures!

My costume is almost ready (I’m going as a sexy sailor girl with badass (temporary) tattoos) and the excitement is palpable!

On another note, I’ll tell you one thing I’ve discovered recently Lovers, something that makes me very very mad.

In my search for swingers parties I have come across many different establishments, clubs and seedy men trying to start an orgy. The seedy men you expect, and a few of the clubs seem very cool and more importantly, very legit. But what I found disturbing were the “VIP” clubs.

Urgh it’s rant time Lovers.

These clubs, these ‘special’ establishments apparently ‘pride themselves’ on having the best group of people to have your fun with. They screen everyone who shows interest in their events. The screening I have no problem with, it’s important to have at least a phone conversation with all the attendees at small events so you don’t have massive creeps lining the walls. However, these places go too far.

They want photos.

They want muscles.

They want skinny bitches.

They want everything waxed.

I’m not joking Lovers, these are the requirements!

One club even went so far as to state the dress sizes they accepted! If you are a lady who wants to swing at this establishment, you cannot be any bigger than a size fourteen.


Who are these wankers to decide what is classed as ‘sexy?’ I know many a size sixteen or heavier girl who can outsexy the pants off me and my size twelve frame. But don’t worry ladies, the boys have guidelines too.

This is an actual abstract from one of the establishments.

“Guys must be seen to be “currently” either slim or athletic or muscular, have no love handles and no excessive body hair. Please note: no breathing in.”

The fuck? No love handles? What if I wanted a little jiggly wiggly action with my man’s dangly janglies? What counts as ‘excessive body hair?’ Is there a chart or something?

Inconsiderate bastards.

Oh but it gets worse Lovers. If they don’t think your semi naked photo is legit, they’ll ask you for more.

“If we feel you don’t fit the age or physical requirement, then you will be asked to send us a current full body (briefs on is fine) photo, holding the current days paper with the date showing.”

Does that sound suspiciously like a mug shot to anyone else? I hate this place. It just seems to go against everything I have learnt so far in the swinging community. I slammed my laptop shut when I read the last part of their ‘screening’ process.

“Please remember if a venue doesn’t have a ‘genuine’ screening process, then expect to be confronted by anyone, any age, any size when you turn up at their parties.”

That’s what makes it fun you morons! I don’t know about you Lovers, but I would take the ‘unscreened’ S and S ball any day over some wanky club full of tossers who just want to stare at themselves in the mirror as they fuck you.

The thing I loved about S and S was it’s inclusivity, its absolute disregard for society’s view of what is attractive or not. Women who would normally be judged as ‘fat and unsexy’ were nymph like creatures of the night. Sex goddesses in their natural habitat, some as naked as the day they were born. There were couples in their seventies, their frail bodies grinding so fast and so hot on the dance floor you were afraid they were either going to break a hip or combust! And all I could think was “geez I hope I’m that happy when I’m seventy.”

Screw the fancy pants ‘pretty people’ clubs; us outcasts have got to stick together.

Aye aye captain!



Pickup line of the week: Was your mother a beaver? Cause daaaaaaaamn girl!

Small Penis Humiliation: Method Acting

Ahoy there Lovers!

Ok Lovers, who didn’t cross their fingers? That’s right, teeny tiny penis man bailed at the last minute!


Yes, it was most definitely a saddening blow when I realised there would be no tormenting of the miniscule wang for me. I texted Paul on Friday morning, eager to suss out the details of our meeting so I could squeeze in some more research (and maybe memorise some choice humiliation lines.)

However my eagerness was met with a cold bucket of water, thrown by a man not only in possession of the most microscopic member, but terrible Internet dating scruples.

I asked Pail if he was still ‘up’ for the night (the pun game is strong with this one.) He replied that no, he wasn’t and we would have to reschedule for the weekend.

Keh? Reschedule? Subs aren’t allowed to reschedule bitch!

I informed petite pork sword Paul that I was in fact, busy the entire weekend and only this night would suit.

I smirked to myself as I got into character. Pfft, trying to change nights on me little man? I don’t think so!

Paul’s reply both surprised and enraged me.

“I kind of just want to jump straight into it babe.”

Excuse me? You want me to forgo all my safety procedures and just allow you into my house so we can ‘jump straight into’ golden showers, pegging and chastity cages?

I don’t think so Mr!

I replied as calmly as possible, while my brain screamed at him and his ignorance of my situation. I was doing him a favour by going out on a limb for him, a latex covered, slightly lubed up limb, and he was trying to push me even further?

What a little bitch.

“Sorry babe, but that’s not the way it works. We meet in a bar for a drink so I can screen you for crazy. Then if all goes well we can get into the fun stuff.”

He replied with a sullen “Ok, fine.”

Geez if he wanted me to think he was a pathetic little winky he was certainly hitting all the right buttons. Talk about method acting!

I decided to give him five days to reschedule. If he didn’t, I would delete him.

Of course I deleted him.

The little wiener never talked to me again, just as I suspected.

The truth is, I’m not sure if Paul was an experienced hand at kink and SPH, or if he was just a newbie with big fantasies. The idea that we could just ‘jump straight into it’ makes me think he wasn’t very experienced. In my own limited involvement with kink, the psychological build up is half the fun. Jumping straight in would be like a guy ramming in balls deep without even a kiss!

And we all know how much fun that is…not.

Another disappointment this week was the swingers party. Sadly Lovers I was not able to attend! Trust me, I’m just as devastated as you my lovelies. But unfortunately, one can never predict when the icy hand of the flu will trickle its moist phlegm down your back.

I seriously doubt sixty couples arriving for some sexy time would appreciate me and my sexy cough barking all over them.

But never fear Lovers! We will regroup and sally forth once more into the fray!

But until then I’ll tell you about my most recent of disastrous Tinder dates. Remember Paul? (The other Paul. Not SPH Paul. Yes, I’m aware I need to think of more fake names.) Country boy Paul, the Paul who stood me up three times.

Yeah, that Paul.

Ok so now we’ve established which Paul we’re talking about (wow how many times can I say Paul in one paragraph?) we’ll get to what happened when I actually met him.

What a douche.

A few weeks after I’d deleted him on Tinder, I was flicking through my Bumble account when who should flash up? Paul of course.

I reluctantly started chatting with him again. I just couldn’t pass up meeting someone who knew where my hometown was. Literally nobody knows it so the chance to reminisce about the old place was too much of a temptation to resist.

We arranged to meet at a local pub and the date was set. I was not confidant however, due to his track record of cancelling at the very last minute.

Much to my surprise though, he texted me to tell me he was on his way and should be on time.


I was of course a little late. It was only fair to make him wait just a little after the dick move he’d pulled a few weeks ago.

I walked into the bar and looked around, searching for men sitting alone. Then I saw him. He looked good. Remarkably good actually. Wow, what a cutie.

“Paul?” I asked, excited to get my drank on and touch him inappropriately.


Goddamit! It wasn’t him! The yes came from a hunched figure sitting in the corner opposite him.

I tried to hide my disappointment as Paul butted out his cigarette (eww he smoked) and shambled towards me.

After taking one last glance at the gorgeous man waiting for his incredibly lucky date, I slid into a booth with Paul.

Urgh, it was not good Lovers.

The man looked like a thirty year old but behaved like an eighteen year old. We talked about bad Tinder dates to break the ice and boy he did not come off well! His crowning moment of idiocy would have to be the proud manner in which he announced he had slept with a midget.

“What was her name?” I asked pointedly.

“I dunno, midget girl I guess,” he guffawed idiotically.


Whenever I made a joke that he enjoyed, he would slap both his hands on his thighs and jump up and down like some joyful toddler.

It was quite disconcerting to say the least.

He then went on the tell me all about his favourite game. Insulting women in bars for money.

“Yeah it’s great,” he gushed “ You go up to some random chicks and say something like, did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Good thing you landed on your face!”

Cue his weird laughter and knee slapping.

“That’s horrible.” I said, completely expressionless as I wondered which of the Gods I had pissed off to deserve this date.

“Nah it’s ok, I bought them a drink later.” He said, affronted.

“Did you apologise?”

“Nah no way!” he laughed.

God give me strength, I prayed to myself.

I ordered a pizza so I had something to distract myself with but to my dismay they were ‘out’ of pizzas. Honestly how can you be out of pizzas when that’s the only thing on the menu?

Clearly it was not my night.

Paul suggested we go somewhere else to eat. My brain screamed at me to get out, but my stomach was squealing a different tune.

That tune was dumplings.

We headed towards the dumpling restaurant and as we walked Paul rolled another cigarette. This was my only chance for a slightly smokey free kiss.

Note: I know you’re probably all thinking, “why in God’s name would you want to kiss this wanker?” And you’re right Lovers, he was a complete wanker. But I’m testing a theory. Girls like bad boys right? Aka: Wankers. Why? Maybe it’s because they are the best kissers, the best in bed, the best in all things sexual. Therefore I figure it’s my duty to kiss everyone I go on a date with, whether they be a gentleman or a douche. Then I can prove the theory! Or disprove it, either way. Safe to say Paul fell well and truly into the douche category.

I grabbed him and pinned him to the wall aggressively. I had no time for romantic crap.

“I think we should make out before you light that disgusting thing.” I said

He laughed and I leaned in.

The bastard dodged me!

Huh, that’s a first, I thought. It didn’t really bother me, which was no surprise. If I had actually liked the guy it would have been a sore blow but I was feeling nothing but passive aggressive towards him.

I shrugged and we continued on for dumplings.

After dinner we walked towards home together as we lived in a similar area (such a shame he was a tool. He was perfectly placed for a handy friends with benefits deal.)

We reached the corner and I said jokingly “Well I’d invite you home but you’re clearly not interested.”

He laughed, hard, confirming my hypothesis that he was in fact, not interested.

I stuck my hand out for a handshake and he looked at it quizzically.

“Oh come on, don’t I at least get a hug?”

I sighed inwardly and stepped forward to embrace him. As his arms went around me he truly sunk to a new low, as he squealed “Titties!”

Good god man, how have you ever lured a woman into bed?

If that was what he uttered during a hug, I shudder to imagine what he screams during sex.

I laughed awkwardly and walked fast in the opposite direction, keen to get home and scrub the memory of the night out of my brain.

After a lengthy shower and many many loofahs, I emerged from the bathroom only to find a message from Paul. It read: Hey, thanks for tonight. You know that’s the first time I’ve ever not accepted an invitation home. I’m kind of surprised at myself!”

I deleted him faster than you can say man-child and returned to the shower to continue scrubbing.

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?

Mounting Muhammad

Aloha Lovers!

Wowsa, talk about a week of ups and downs! We’ll get the downs out of the way first so unlike the last blog we can end on a happy note. If I ever write such depressing self-pitying sludge again Lovers, you must take me to task! Honestly, who wants to read that woe is me nonsense when you can read about all the crazy men I meet?

Ok so let’s speed through the downs. Last Monday I was at my local shopping centre when I stumbled across an attractive looking man selling whisks. He was performing his spiel to a small group of mostly senior citizens and I decided to join the crew.

Boy was he enthusiastic about that whisk!

It whisked, it stirred, it frothed milk in an instant! He was very into what he was doing, and a man with ambition, well that’s a man I like.

So I watched and waited like a creepy stalker until he was finished. Then once he announced the price of the magical whisk ($49!) and everyone shook their heads and walked away, I moved in to ‘whisk’ him off his feet.

Pause for laughter.

I led the conversation with, “So, you sell many of these things?”


“Yeah I usually sell about ten but today was a bit rough.” I nodded sympathetically and asked if he worked on commission, which he did.

“Oh, well I’m sorry I couldn’t buy one from you then and help you out.”

Bitch please, I wouldn’t buy a fifty-dollar whisk from Brad Pitt, let alone an averagely attractive fellow.

“That’s ok,” he said with a smile.

It was go time.

“So, weird question, but are you single?”

Fuck yeah, no lumps in my gravy; that’s my level of smooth.

He looked at me confused for a minute before replying that yes in fact he was single.

“ Do you want to catch up for a drink sometime?” I asked, thanking the lord I’d brushed my hair that day and put on my nice deodorant.

He agreed, much to my delight and he took my number. While he was doing that I apologised for being so forward but he said it was nice and he liked it.

Oh I can do so many more ‘nice’ things to you buddy boy.

We smiled at each other and I walked away, with him promising to get in contact soon.

The bitch lied!

I never heard from the bastard again! It’s cool though, I just tell myself I gave him the wrong number.

That way I win!

I’ll save my other disappointing date story for next time, I’m still holding out hope as he hasn’t deleted me from Tinder…Yet.

Ok, now onto the freaking absolutely omg exciting news!

So, as you know Lovers, my chamber of secrets has remained closed for some time now, with no one’s wiggle wand coming within remote proximity of it. Which is why when an old friend with certain benefits suggested I fly over for the weekend to enjoy those long lost benefits, I jumped at the idea. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain!

The only problem was that getting to that mountain involved me flying interstate…

Not easy for a university student who works on weekends.

Luckily my mountain was happy to negotiate and my boy decided to fly to me!

Huzzah for the moveable land mass!

Now, I’m not one to miss an opportunity, so I thought what better time to check out another sex party? I’d attended the largest sex party in Australia, but what about the biggest swingers party? As luck would have it, the very weekend my boy was coming to town, the swingers party was officially scheduled!

Coincidence? I think not!

The party is held at a secret location (someone’s house usually), which has been modified to accommodate all of the lusty ladies and Lotharios that would be descending on it. We’re talking lockers, private and public rooms and the piece de resistance, a spa!

Apparently these guys got up to ninety couples in the summer and usually around seventy in winter. That’s a lot of naked bodies.

My type of party!

Sadly whilst writing this piece, my fly in sex has had to cancel and can’t make it over until September (very large sad face).

But I’ve decided I’m still going, whether I find a partner in crime or not. I’ll probably ask Boris first (if you’re going to a sex party you may as well take someone who serves up some first class sex right?)

However, as of today I may (emphasis on may) have a backup.

A friend on Facebook suggested I join a social network/dating website called Badoo. I’m already on Tinder, Bumble and Plenty of Fish, so I figured why not one more?

For about a week it was a total bust and I almost deleted it several times.

Until today.

His name is Paul and boy is he… different.

He contacted me first, which I found very surprising due to the fact that he was pretty damn gorgeous. I soon found out why he was reaching out though.

Paul is into SPH.

At first I thought he meant Strategically Placed Hole (which refers to plushophiles. It’s basically when they cut a hole into Big Ted so they can fuck him. Or ‘furries’ who dress up in costumes, usually animals or some sort of fluffy character and cut a hole in a ‘strategic area.’)

I wasn’t too keen on that idea, it’s never really been on my ‘to do’ list. However Paul’s profile stated if you weren’t into it you probably shouldn’t talk to him. I was about to delete him when he typed back a quick message and corrected me.

SPH in his case wasn’t Strategically Placed Hole, no no, it was Small Penis Humiliation.

Now that I can do!

After chatting to Paul for a little while I discovered he is deep deep into the humiliation game. We’re meeting up on Friday but we’ve already started with the whole dom/sub talk. I make him call me mistress and tell him what to do.

I’m pretty excited for Friday but I’m also a little nervous. I’ve tied guys up before, whipped them, blindfolded them, dripped hot wax on them whilst smacking them with my riding crop, but I’ve never done cock and ball torture. I’ve never given someone a golden shower or done many of the things Paul is requesting. I asked what ideas he had so I could gauge his level and boy do I need to do some research! His reply to my question went a little something like this… In fact it went exactly like this.

“ I like things like measuring my cock and comparing it to guys you’ve been with. Taking pics and threatening to show your friends or showing me and embarrassing me. Ruining my orgasms or not letting me cum. Making me wear my chastity cage. Make sure I please you and you cum before I’m allowed to cum. Licking out your pussy and ass. If I’m ever allowed to cum I have to lick up my mess wherever it goes. You forcing me to suck a strap on you’re wearing because I’m small and girly. Making me wear girls panties. Maybe me fucking you with a strap on because mine is too small. There’s just an idea of things.”

Holy shit, the dude has a chastity cage?!

I’m all up for humiliating the dude but some stuff is a definite no methinks. We all know where I stand on the ass stuff don’t we?


The good thing is, I’m the dom, so what I say goes. Luckily he seems very obedient, so I’m sure if I’m not liking the vibe and tell him to bugger off and have a wank at home he’ll oblige.

I guess kissing’s out of the question too, as he just sent me a message asking if he can lick me out straight after I’ve peed.

Well I suppose it saves on toilet paper…

Anyways Lovers, the point here is, I have a very exciting, experimental weekend ahead that I cannot wait to tell you all about! Everyone cross your fingers that he doesn’t cancel and I’ll do my best to stay open legged and minded and learn some kinky kink!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: You can call me Nemo, cause I’m never afraid to touch the butt.

Tinder: The Terrifying Truth

If you are reading this Lovers, it means I am dead…

Well, my sex life is anyway.

Oh the pain, the agony of the unsexed muff! “But what about Steve?” I hear you all ask, waiting patiently for explicit details of our erotic tête-à-tête.

Turns out Steve is a bit of a shithead.

After all the pictures, videos and sexy texts, Steve didn’t have the balls to actually meet up. Which is such a shame because he really did have a goldilocks penis. You know the type, not too big, not too small but juuust right. A rare find indeed.

Actually, the weekend I attended the fetish open house I was cancelled on five times Lovers, that’s right FIVE!

I could sense that Steve was getting flakey and his lack of committing to an actual day and time was really starting to piss me off, so I got myself a backup.

His name was Paul.

Paul seemed like a nice country boy, and therefore I liked and trusted him almost immediately. He worked in agriculture but lived just a few suburbs over from me, so he was within perfect proximity for a late night pick me up.

This is how the weekend played out. I had a date scheduled with Steve Thursday night. No time was set as he finished work at different times every day. I told him to message me when he was done and we’d decide exactly where to go then.

At eight o’clock I officially took off my bra and mentally cursed him for making me shave my legs (not to mention my panty hamster) for nothing. He finally texted me at ten pm to let me know he was too tired from work to do anything. I dutifully told him it was fine (it wasn’t) and asked if we could reschedule it for another night. He replied saying Friday was the best night for him. Unfortunately on Friday I already had a date with Paul, and I wasn’t going to cancel on Paul for Captain flakey. I told him I’d let him know.

So Friday night rolled around and once again I was in my sexy undies and date dress, waiting to get a confirmation message from the man. At six pm, an hour before we were supposed to meet, Paul cancelled on me. Apparently work was crazy for him and he couldn’t get away until late. By then he would supposedly be too tired to do anything.

Was I deliberately choosing workaholics??

I sighed and told him it was fine (it wasn’t) and he suggested we catch up for lunch the next day. I agreed and told him to stop texting me and finish his work.

I decided it was still early enough to text Steve and see what he was up to. After all, he had said Friday was the best time for him. Of course he could have and probably had made plans by now, but there was no harm in trying right? Plus I figured if he was out drinking somewhere he’d be totally up for a cheeky catch up followed by some drought breaking sex.

Turns out I was wrong.

The only contact Steve and I had was through Snapchat, and up until this point I rarely had to wait more than five minutes before he opened my snaps. But this night of all nights, he completely ignored me.

Dude, what if that was a picture of my boobs? Surely he’d open it just to check? Nope. I waited until eleven thirty this time before sadly pulling my bra off and reaching for the wine. At twelve-thirty I went to bed, sexless and slighted once more.

The next day I woke up at eleven thirty and showered, using my fancy shower gel that made me smell like strawberry daiquiris. I got out of the shower, freshly washed, shaved and ready for some daytime drinking. My phone blipped and I ran over to it, eager to see what time I would be meeting Paul. Or maybe it was Steve, replying to my Snapchat he completely ignored the night before?

But no, it was Paul, cancelling again. And again it was because of work. He was just so snowed under, there was so much to do, he couldn’t possibly leave his cattle reports the way they were, blah blah blah.

Bitch I shaved my coochie for you! Fucking appreciate it!

I regretfully told him it was fine (it so fucking wasn’t) and suggested maybe we meet up later that night when he finished all his work. This suggestion was greeted with an incredibly eager response.

“Yay!! Sounds awesome can’t wait.”

Ok cool, sounded like we were on for a fun night then. I told him I’d text him as soon as I finished up at the sex dungeon and we’d go from there.

I texted him at around eight thirty, just as we were leaving the incredibly awesome dungeon. I was on a high, and I badly wanted to share that with someone. To my absolute dismay, Paul started to make excuses. The conversation went like this:

Him: I’m not sure if I’ll make it out. Boring I know… I’m torn as I quite like the idea of a pint and seeing what happens.

The fuck? Why was he giving me all this bullshit? If you like the idea of it then just do it you fucktard! I replied with:

Me: Nope you’re coming out, that’s decided (I’m learning how to be bossy from the mistresses) We’ll meet on Graham Street in an hour.

There, that ought to do the trick, I thought. By taking away his choice in the matter he’d hopefully grow a pair and meet up with the girl he’d been talking to for a week. I was bitterly disappointed.

Him: Ha ha I’m afraid you’ve more chance of tying me up and getting the clamps out. Nah I’m going to pike on it. You’ve caught me at probably the worst possible time. I think this’ll be my third weekend I stay in all year… I just know what happens if I go out and realise what I’ve gotta do tomorrow. Sorry… There’s wine here if you want but it will just get out of hand.

Oh how the tears flowed at that moment!

Two men, five cancellations and one dejected little Claire, particularly as Theo, the friend I’d gone to the dungeon with, had just left to go to a party.

I’d said no to his invitation because I was so sure Paul would say yes after his eager message in the afternoon.

But no, he’d fucked me over because he couldn’t be bothered. And to make things worse, he insulted me by assuming things would get ‘out of hand’ if I went over there. Don’t worry stud, I’m sure I can manage to keep myself from lunging onto you; you’re not that charming.

Maybe I was over reacting, but the truth was, I was devastated. I curled up in a little ball on the couch and cried and cried. These two guys were the only two nice, fairly attractive matches I had had on all three of my dating websites in weeks. And both, both had cancelled on me.

I eventually heard back from Steve after a few days. Apparently I was too pushy and had put him off. I didn’t understand how hard he worked and I needed to be more accommodating.

What the fuck? It’s just a drink man!

Honestly you try to be proactive and guys run a mile.

Even as I write this I can feel myself tearing up, just remembering the way these two guys made me feel.

I suppose it was just a case of terrible timing. Lately everyone has been telling me to “stop asking guys out, don’t be so forward, let them come to you.” One friend even went so far as to call me desperate.

That one hurt. A lot.

The truth is I’m in a terrible romantic rut right now. No sex, no dates, no matches on Tinder. I did a little experiment the other day and swiped yes to one hundred men, one after another until I ran out of yes’s.

Not a single match.

It’s hard to stay positive. It’s hard to keep smiling. It’s hard to keep joking about how pathetic your love life is when inside you’re slowly crumbling every time someone rejects you.

I don’t mean to get all serious Lovers, but there are times when you just can’t laugh about it anymore. There are times when it gets too much and you just need to accept the fact that love may not be on the cards for you.

But then you shake your head, uncork that bottle of moscato, throw on the Lion King and eat noodles in bed, knowing there’s no one around to stop you. Then you spread out in your very own queen size bed, legs splayed in every direction (cause you don’t gotta share that bad boy with no one!) and have a guilt free sex dream about your next-door neighbour.

Maybe this single gig isn’t so bad after all.

Plus the cat’s always up for a spoon.

Claire xx

P.S I got this text at 3am Saturday night from Paul after I didn’t reply to his rejection text.

Him: The irony of it is I’ve spent the better part of the evening laying awake in bed… I would’ve been better off going and getting drunk with you…. Bugger. Hopefully you had fun.

Pfft serves you right douche bag!