The Festival of Really Good Sex! – Part Four

Hidey ho Lovers!

I hope you’re all doing well on this, my most favouritist of days, Hump Day! (Yes I know favouritist is not a word and yes, secretly Friday is my actual favourite, but doesn’t Hump day just get you so in the mood for fun?) Well, it certainly works for me Lovers! I’ve just spent the last twenty minutes casting lines on Tinder. Let’s hope someone bites! (Preferably a gentle nibble in that sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder, but I’m not fussy.)

Until then, how about I finish off my tale of super slippery sexiness? (Just a note here Lovers, if you haven’t read the last post yet I advise you to do so before you continue. You will be so confused otherwise! Wait, how did she get naked? Why is everyone slippery? What on Earth is that?)

So, now that we’re all up to date, let’s dive back in!

After I had sufficiently soaked up enough Nuru from my squirming on the tarp I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see both my group members staring off to the side, transfixed.

“Look, just look,” said Darren breathlessly.

I looked up just as he said and the breath was literally stolen from my lungs.

There, right in front of my eyes was a mass of roiling, slippery, entwined bodies. I hadn’t even noticed people begin to clump together, so ensconced in my own little group was I. But now it was all I could do to look away for even a moment!

Shrieks of delight rang out as the group began to slide over each, effortlessly making it from one side of the room to the other atop the churning crowd beneath them.

I watched, mouth agape, as people literally dove into the mass of people as if it were a swimming pool. The most incredible part of it was when they would disappear from sight and resurface metres away, having ridden the slippery wave of people as far as the Nuru would allow.

I began to worry when individuals didn’t resurface for some time, fearing they may have actually drowned in the slick, stirring mass of people (not a bad way to go, as it happens) but then they would always reappear, laughing hysterically (if not a little breathlessly) and preparing to dive back into the fray once more.

Darren readied himself to jump in and I instinctively grabbed his arm and said, “wait, don’t go!”

He looked at me quizzically and asked, “why not?”

I paused, trying to think of some excuse to make him stay on the edge with me.

But that’s when it hit me.

I was holding Darren back because I was too nervous to dive in myself. Pfft, what a wuss!

There was no way I was going to admit I was apprehensive out loud though.

No no Lovers. I have a tendency to think about sexual encounters the same as any dangerous situation. Play it cool, wear lots of deodorant and never, never let them sense your fear.

There was only one thing for it, I had to make the leap myself and hope for the best.

I sent a quick prayer to the sex gods, knowing there was a more than average chance that my slide across the room could well leave me face first in a slippery ass crack, and leapt into the throng.

Only to come to a grinding halt two people in.

That’s the thing about Nuru bodygliding Lovers, you actually have to be coated in the stuff for it to work!

As it turns out, my skin (much like my minge) was ravenously soaking up the Nuru as fast as it was being applied!

Gah! How was I supposed to slide around if the damn gel kept drying up? Luckily my very helpful boys noticed my conundrum and motioned over one of the volunteers doling out the Nuru.

They quickly explained my ‘situation’ and before I knew it I was saturated in an entire bottle of the stuff!

“Go, go!” Cried the boys encouragingly and once more I flung myself into the crowd.

This time was much more successful. I giggled uncontrollably as I effortlessly slid over faces, stomachs, feet and all manner of body parts. My main fear was crushing some poor man’s wang as I flew past, as almost all the boys were raised to at least half mast (it may not have been a ‘sexual’ experience per say, but you show me a straight guy who can stay soft in a room with thirty naked women and I’ll eat my hat!) Luckily no men were injured in my first foray into the crowd, however I landed with a smack against the wall.

It’s ok, I broke the impact with my kneecaps.


Once I recovered somewhat from my little tête-à-tête with the wall I was able to take stock of my situation. I was right in the thick of the action now, and I let my mind go blank as I tried to soak up everything I was seeing and feeling, imprinting the images on my Nuru glazed brain.

It wasn’t long before I was joined by Anna, one of the girls I had gotten to know pretty well over the course of the day. She slid across five or ten people with a grace I envied before coming to rest beside me with a cute little squelch.

“Guess what?” She whispered in a conspiritual voice.

“What?” I asked breathlessly as a middle-aged woman slid shrieking across my stomach.

“I’m wet!” She exclaimed.

For a moment I was puzzled, and opened my mouth to agree that yes we were all indeed, wet, when suddenly I grasped her meaning.

The bitch was completely turned on!

Of course I didn’t blame her, the guy she had met at the festival was basically every woman’s wet dream and he had been slithering his gorgeous bod all over her for the past hour. I was just jealous of her abilities.

A quick check of my own lady garden revealed not a hint of salad dressing betwixt my leaves, even with the crazy amount of penis being thrust into my face.

Unintentionally of course, the intentional thrusting was to be saved for other classes later in the day.

But there wasn’t much time to dwell on lubricant inadequacies, as the surging crowd quickly enveloped me once more.

I lay there, doing as everyone else did, (which basically meant just stroking everything in front of me as it appeared then disappeared,) when suddenly the smoothest pair of legs I had ever laid hands on came within my grasp.

“Good god woman,” I gasped, “how did your legs get so smooth?”

As it turned out, the follicly challenged pins belonged to Anna, but in the knot of people they could have belonged to anyone.

Damn, was there nothing this girl couldn’t do?

As I continued to stroke the hairless unicorn’s legs I questioned her about how she achieved such a magnificent result.

We were chatting about the wonders of laser hair removal when suddenly a voice issued from the other side of the room, “but how many sessions did you do?”

Before we knew it the voice was closely followed by an extremely excited woman, eagerly clawing her way across five men in order to join the conversation.

Geez, even in a room full of fifty naked people; boobs, butts and wangs in every direction, you can always trust girls to chat about beauty regimes.

It’s clearly a built in quality.

By the time the conversation drew to a close we realised we had monopolised a good portion of the women in the room, much to the chagrin of the waiting naked men.


We all giggled and pushed ourselves outwards, allowing the Nuru to redistribute us wherever it saw fit.

I ended up sliding right into a scene from Dante’s Inferno, as one of the more adventurous men stood, raised his arms and cried, “come to me, Devil children!”

You just had to laugh; the situation was so absurd!

However, my laughing soon stopped when I realised the predicament I was in. I had let myself become so loose, so relaxed, that my limbs simply flailed where they liked.

Usually they slid off other body parts with ease, but this time, the heel of my foot was… stuck.

And warm.

I realised what had happened the same time the unfortunate woman did, and I slowly and carefully retracted my foot from her vagina, issuing heartfelt apologies as I did so.

I wouldn’t say the act of penetrating someone with my foot was on my sexual bucket list, but I guess I can officially tick it off now.

Huzzah for new experiences!

Although seriously though if the woman involved ever reads this I am really very sorry and hopefully my heel didn’t cause damage or incite an intense foot fetish.

I’ll say this at the end now Lovers, if you’re planning on partaking in bodygliding, prepare yourself.

Have a shower, cut your nails and if there’s time, rub your feet in coconut oil. You never know where they’ll end up…

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: If I flip this coin, what are the chances of me getting head tonight?





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

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!

Where have all the good men gone?

Hidey Ho Lovers!

The key word there my friends, is hoe. I have been the complete opposite for the past several months and it is legitimately killing me! Not to mention my honey pot, which is starting to get that film around it that the tomato sauce bottle gets after you haven’t used it in a while.

Gah, what a situation!

Luckily Lovers, I pulled on my big girl pants and went hammer and tongs at every dating website I could find. And after days and days and goddam days I finally found myself a bloke who was attractive, could string a sentence together and didn’t set my creepometer senses off the charts.

His name is Steve Lovers, and boy have I slutted it up with old Stevo! I haven’t even met the guy yet and he’s seen me completely naked! We’re talking X-rated stuff here peeps, like almost every hole!

I’m normally very against sending naked pics before meeting a guy. What if I get myself all turned on and then I meet him and he’s a total freak? It’s happened before sadly, and trying to talk yourself out of that one can be hard!

“So, you want to come back to my place?”

“Uh, no sorry, I’ve got… stuff I need to… things that need my attention.”

“What? I’ve seen you naked, you’ve seen me naked, whats not to like here?”

It’s very difficult to tell a person they have a godawful personality and not hurt their feelings. I had to fall back on the centuries old, always trustworthy,

” Sorry mate, it’s that time of the month. I’m surfing the crimson wave and this board wasn’t made for two.”

That being said, when in a relationship I have gladly had sex whilst Aunt Flo was in the vicinity. It’s so much fun to pretend you’re a virgin again! Ooh be gentle with me sir, I’m a delicate flower!

Good times.

Anyways, shark week aside, I am just going crazy with Steve! I have literally seen his penis more times than I can count!

It’s great.

(Omg, as I was typing this, Steve video called and gave me a wonderful one man performance! Great to watch but now I want sex and there’s no one home but the cat and my gay house mate, neither of which are keen to satisfy my needs. Selfish bastards.)

The thing is, I tried to play it straight with Steve, pretending I was just some normal chick who studied during the day and worked at a random chicken shop at night.

But no, he totally called me on it (I think I overdid it by telling him not to send dic pics about seven times.) He basically told me not to be such a prude. If he did indeed send a dic pic and I was uncomfortable with it, I could just delete him. This was true, but I found myself liking Steve more and more with each conversation and I didn’t want to ruin it with an ill-timed penis.

Still, I decided to throw caution to the wind and tell him about the real me. A girl with sex on the brain 24/7 with the sex drive to match.

And once I started, oh God I couldn’t stop Lovers!

I let my saucy side take the reins and before I knew it I was blatantly asking for dic pics, agreeing whole heartedly to receive cum shot videos and sending my own saucy snaps back.

I must say,being sexy is so much harder in winter, so many layers to take off! And once those layers have been peeled off, the goosebumps swarming all over your skin tend to mar the smooth complexion you once had. Although, handily enough the cold makes your nipples so hard you could split rocks with them. Guys see hard nipples and they see a turned on girl!

Luckily I was already turned on, so the cold was just an extra nipple nudge.

I’ve arranged to meet up with him on Thursday (hopefully anyways, he’s kind of hard to pin down) and I can’t wait!

I’m finally going to have sex Lovers!


Anyways I’m going to go and attempt a creative shave of my pubes (star, lightning bolt or love heart? Oh the choices!) But stay tuned to hear all about what will hopefully be a fantastic fuck! (Or three.)


Claire xx

Instead of the usual pickup line of bonking song,I thought I’d let you in on what I’m doing this Saturday Lovers. I’m going to an open house dungeon! So excited! It’s basically an event where regular peeps get shown around all the awesome different rooms of said dungeon. I’m so looking forward to seeing the medical room! Don’t worry Lovers, I’ll take many notes and report back to you ASAP!



Return of Strangling Jack

Alrighteyroo Lovers!

I promised you one day I would eventually get back to Jack the Strangler, did I not? Well today is that day! Excited much? Don’t worry, it’s Monday. I know how hard it is to get particularly enthused about anything on Monday’s. But let’s get through it together shall we?

Now where did we leave off? Ah that’s right, I was on the couch with Yanky McHairpull attempting to keep my hair attached to my scalp.

“Argh!” I cried, pulling back from Jack abruptly and pushing him hard in the chest as I did so.

“Back up the truck dude!” I said angrily “ There’s quite a difference between a sexy tug of the hair and your crazy man hand grip!”

Jack laughed.

“You’re so cute.” He cooed patronisingly.

I simmered inwardly with a deep unrelenting rage, imagining all the different ways I could separate his balls from his body in sixty seconds.

However, as most of those options would have resulted in jail time and possibly a place on the sex offenders register, I decided to do the complete opposite.

“I think it’s time for dessert!”

I sprang off the couch faster than his meaty hands could catch me and ran to the freezer. The deal was that he cooked dinner and I would supply dessert.

Chocolate ice-cream and rice! Rice-cream!

Don’t knock it till you try it Lovers, it’s delicious and filling!

Make sure you cook the rice first though, that’s a big one.

I stirred up a massive bowl of my dessert concoction and proudly placed it before Jack, expecting him to grab a spoon betwixt the hairy sausages he called fingers and dig in.

Not the case at all.

I was instead met with a sentence that will forever and always be a deal breaker for me.

“Sorry, I don’t eat carbs after six.”

Christ on a bicycle! Could this guy get any worse?

I refrained from stabbing him in the eye with my spoon and instead sat next to him and attempted to eat my weight in rice-cream.

Let’s just say by the end of that marathon dessert I was not feeling in the least bit sexy.

So when Jack suggested we go for a walk I was more than happy to oblige. All that milk in my stomach was not cooperating so well with the three beers I’d had before hand.

We walked slowly (thank god, as I could feel the splish sploshing of milk in my stomach with every step) and he told me about his life interstate.

At least, I think he did, I wasn’t really paying that much attention as the milk was now making its final decision whether to head north or south.

When we stopped walking I realised with a start that we were in front of a chinese restaurant.


I looked at Jack, non-plussed and queasy.

“It’s ten o’clock.” He said, as if that explained everything.

When I stared at him blankly he explained that he had to eat every four hours to help him bulk up.

Urgh, I was with a total meat head. Kill me now.

No, wait, he actually might.

I waited patiently, happy to be sitting down as he ordered. (Garlic chicken. No rice obviously.)

The food took about twenty minutes, which luckily gave me enough time to digest the rest of my dessert in peace without any untimely milk explosions.

We headed back home and Rambo bolted down his chicken before I could say prawn cracker.

I thought about leaving. I really wanted to, but those damn beers had put me over the limit.

There was nothing for it.

I was staying the night.

Once Jack realised I was his for the night he went total cave man on me, picking me up and slinging me over his shoulder before striding confidently towards the bedroom.

Luckily for me my spidery arms and legs were able to latch onto any nearby object, slowing his progress considerably as he pried me off the couch, the fridge, the door frame, the linen cupboard and countless lamps.

Honestly, you’d think the guy would’ve got the message.

But no, it was a fantastic (if not incredibly one sided) game of wrestling for him, and when he finally flung me onto the bed he let out a manly hoot of victory.

Dude, you’re literally three times the size of me, I wouldn’t call it much of a win.

After I’d been unceremoniously flopped onto his mattress, Jack leapt onto the bed beside me.

He gave me another lip-bruising kiss before pulling back and saying “It’s cool, we’ll just do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I was comfortable with sleep sir, sleep.

“By the way I think your bra just fell off.”

Oh dear.

It was time to bring the actress out. I sat up and stretched, yawning over-dramatically.
“Gosh, it’s late isn’t it?” I asked, blinking sleepily.

“No, not really.”

“Oh, I must be a morning person then, I’m always asleep by now.”

He was yet to know that this was a blatant lie, but by the time morning came and he witnessed the demon snot monster next to him, it would be too late.

It must have been my lucky night, because he bought my outrageous lie and with a sigh began pulling the covers up around us.

Once he was settled I cosied up next to him and readied myself for my reward; spooning!

To my surprise though, every time I got close to him, he would shimmy away. Finally, when he was so close to the wall he was practically humping it, I asked what was up.

“I don’t like touching people when I sleep.” He said bluntly.


Well that was a bugger.

I batted my eyelashes at him and slowly traced my finger up his arm. “You don’t even like this?” I asked seductively.


I stopped abruptly, surprised by his brusque tone.

“I don’t cuddle.”

No shit Sherlock.

“I hate being tickled.”

That’s pretty clear Captain No Fun.

“I can’t sleep with anyone touching me.”

This guy has issues.

“Actually, I can’t sleep when there are other people in the house.”

What the actual fuck dude?

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

“So… do you want me to sleep in the other room?” I asked, half hoping he would say yes.

“No,” he said regretfully “I guess I can put up with it.”

Put up with it? Put up with it? You have a half naked girl in your bed and you’re just, PUTTING UP WITH IT?

That’s fucked up on so many levels.

I glared at him in the darkness, silently mouthing all the things I wanted to do to him once he fell asleep, none of them particularly pretty.

Just as I had finished my soundless monologue the monolith next to me decided to pipe up with, “By the way, don’t surprise me in the night.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“You should stay on your side of the bed. Don’t ever surprise me. I mean it.”

I laughed, “Isn’t that a little bit over the top? I mean what if I just-“ I went to boop him lightly on the nose but he grabbed my arm in that now familiar iron tight grip and hissed “Don’t fucking touch me.”

This is it, I’m going to die. In the bed of a hulk with a stomach full of beer, milk and lamb cutlets.

What would my Mother say? Hell, what would the coroner say?

Jack’s grip loosened and he apologised.

“The army, it makes you super sensitive, you know?”

I nodded mutely. I mean I didn’t know, not at all, but I clearly got the message.

Ok, no touchy.

To ease the uncomfortable tension I asked about the first thing that came to my mind, other than the multiple ways he could kill me and make it look like an accident.

“ So when was your last relationship?”

Turns out old Jacky boy had just come out of a long-term relationship about six months ago.

Huh, I wonder where she slept when they were together; must have had a bloody comfortable couch.

I asked why it didn’t work out and Jack replied, explaining that she wanted to get married and have kids. Things were getting really serious really quickly.

“Oh wow, so how long did you date?” I asked, guestimating a year or so.

“Four and a half years.” He replied nonchalantly.

I was shocked.

“And you weren’t even thinking of getting married?”

“Nah. No way. I never want to get married. Plus I hate kids.”

Well there’s a shocker. Chokey McViolent didn’t like kids. Who would have thought?

After that wonderful conversation I decided I had to either sleep or smother him, so I called it a night and rolled over.

Or at least I tried to.

Those damn cutlets he cooked had been so tasty, so well basted in herbs and garlic that I ate them all without question.

But I forgot to ask my butt.

Lord the smells that were coming out of me!

Every time I moved another fart would squeeze its way out, sidling easily past my tightly clenched butt cheeks.

I lay flat on my back for hours, squishing my ass into the bed in an attempt to crush my fluffs into submission.

I had to do this all the while making sure I didn’t make physical contact with the snoring pillar next to me, a difficult task when the bastard insisted on sleeping diagonally across the bed.

Suddenly, with a snort and a grunt, said pillar shot upright in bed.

I yelped with surprise, emitting another air biscuit in my shock.

“What is it?” I asked.

Jack got up and walked out of the room without a word. Was he sleepwalking? Did he need to pee? Was it time for carbs?

Turns out my last guess was pretty accurate, as a few minutes later Jack returned with a bowl of yogurt.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

“I told you,” he replied “I have to eat every few hours.”

“It’s four am!” I cried

“Yogurt time.”

Fucking crazy bastard.

I rolled over and went to sleep. He could marinate in my farts for all I cared at that point.

The next morning I was awoken by the gentle tinkling of the ensuite shower.

I blinked sleepily in the sunlight, praying last night had all been a dream.

Then I heard a colossal honking from the shower and I knew it was all too real. Oh my God, the guy was hacking up a hairball in there!

I covered my head with a pillow as I tried not to listen to his constant guttural, phlegm filled heavings and gaggings, followed by insistent snortings as he cleared his nose with the old bushmans blow technique.

When he finally finished and turned the shower off I was about as unattracted to him as I had ever been to any human being.

Like ever ever.

Jack entered the bedroom in nothing more than a towel. I assume it was an attempt to  show off his ‘rig.’ I groaned inwardly, unimpressed by the gun show.

“I’m going to make some soup. Want some?” he asked.

“Ah, no thanks. I’m not really a breakfast soup type of girl.” I replied

“Pfft, breakfast was hours ago!” And he laughed and laughed at his own fabulousness as he walked off down the hallway.

I feel very sorry for the pillow he’d lent me, which took the brunt of my vicious attack. Once I was done pummeling his poor pillow into submission (wishing the whole time it was his head of course) I realised I was alone.

Perfect time for an unfettered fluff!

Ah the joy of not having to hold the old bottom burp in! I lay back and let a cheeky one rip, safe in the knowledge that soup man was still preoccupied with his breakfast, lunch, brunch whatever.

And thank God he wasn’t around! Turns out a nights sleep had intensified my anal salutes! Phoar! What a stinker!

I giggled to myself maniacally, secretly wishing I’d had the foresight to fart on his pillow instead of wasting my ammo in the air.

Then I heard a sound that sent a cold chill of dread running straight down my spine to the source of said fluff.


He was coming back!

No no no! This wasn’t happening! With the stench of my tepid ass musk still hanging thick in the air and only seconds to spare, I did the only thing I could.

I flung myself off the bed, ripping the top sheet off with me as I did, before flying into a crazy windswept whirling dance, trying desperately to dissipate the smell with deft flaps of the sheet.

Then when his footsteps were mere centimetres away, I threw myself back onto the bed so hard I flew straight past my intended landing spot and slammed head first into the opposite wall.

Just as he walked into the room.

Nailed it.

His reaction was not unwarranted, as returning to one’s bedroom one rarely expects to see a bedraggled, out of breath, slightly smelly girl ruefully rubbing her head and glaring intently at the wall.

Let’s just say he stepped out of the room and gave me a few minutes to collect myself.

Which I did in record time I must say. Dress on, zip done up, hair pulled back and shoes in hand, I was ready to go!

When I walked back out Jack looked up suprised. “You’re leaving?” he asked dolefully.

“Yeah,” I sighed ruefully “lots of stuff to do today like… Well you know, just stuff.”

“You want to go home and play with your toys?” he said angrily.

Wait, what? I hadn’t told him about my vibrator last night had I?

“What?” I asked, completely blind sided.

“Well you’re acting like a child, so you may as well just go home and play with your dollies.”

I could have done many things at this moment. I could have yelled at him. I could have told him what a complete and utter head case he was. I could have kicked him in the balls for being such an arrogant self absorbed fuck face. But instead I did something which to this day I am still proud of.

I looked him dead in the eye for a moment, then sarcastically saluted him and said

“Good day sir.”

And I never saw Strangling Jack again.

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: I want our love to be like pi, irrational and never ending.




“Argh! That’s my ass!”

Guten Tag Lovers!

Why am I greeting you in this most formal of German salutations? Because last night I got down to my German roots. Or rather, my German root went down on me. Shall we take a little break from the Callum saga and focus on the now for a moment?

I knew you’d say yes. That’s why I love you.

So, the Tinder pool has been a little shallow lately. Even when I do meet guys I like, they’re either still hung up on past girlfriends (blech,) live over an hour away (no car means no good,) or are only living in Australia until their visa runs out (and I’m not looking for an insta-husband, that’s for sure.)

So when I met Marcus last night, I had little hope that anything would come of it. Especially as while I was walking to the date I had just been called a slut by one of my other Tinder matches. After all the “hi, how are you chit chat, the conversation went a little like this:

Me: So how are you finding Tinder?

Douche: Tinder is crap.

Me: How so?

Douche: Too many fake sluts.

Me: That’s a bugger, met anyone nice yet?

Douche: Nah. Prove me wrong?

Me: Challenge accepted! Want to catch up for a beer sometime?

Douche: Sure, come to mine.

Me: One thing I’ve learned from Tinder and CSI is never meet at someone’s house! I could meet you out sometime.

Douche: How did you learn that?

Me: Very creepy men.

Douche: But I’m not up for some friendly meeting only.

Me: What do you mean?

Douche: I want to have sex with you.

Me: Well cheers for that, I enjoy sex too but I’m looking for a bit more. Plus I thought you didn’t like sluts? Bit confused aren’t you?

Douche: So am I. Sluts I refer to as selfish girls, girls who have sex with a new guy every week or those who wear revealing skirts at clubs. Not girls who have sex with one guy every few months.

I didn’t reply to this, as the guy was coming across as not only a complete ass-hat, but somebody who really didn’t seem to grasp the meaning of the word slut. The next day I got this.

Douche: Fuck you slut.

Me: Excuse me?

Douche: Sorry, auto correct. Are you a slut?

Me: Probably yes in your warped definition. Me and every other girl who doesn’t come running to your house to sleep with you.

Douche: Do you like anal?

And that’s the point I not only deleted him but reported his delusional ass to Tinder. You’re welcome ladies.

So you can understand how low my expectations were of this newest date. Did all men on Tinder come with terms and conditions that seemed impossible to follow?

I steeled myself, cleared my mind of Sir Douche-Bag and walked into the bar to meet Marcus.

Huh, not too shabby Mr Marcus, not too shabby at all.

Marcus was blond, lean and about my height. I mentally high fived myself for deciding not to wear heels. We grabbed a drink and got to chatting. Marcus was a country boy who had just moved to the big city for a bit more excitement.

Enter me.

After the usual boring talk about family, jobs and all the other mundane topics, it was time to get down to my favourite topic. Let’s all say it together now Lovers,


I knew pretty quickly that as nice as Marcus was, he wasn’t dating material as he was still pining for his ex. As a rule I never get romantically involved with boys who pine. It always ends badly, and usually just for me. However, I never said anything about not getting involved sexually…

Marcus was a fairly innocent boy, having only pounded the punani pavement with four girls before me. I shocked and awed him with tales of what goes on in the big city, from my sex party shenanigans to the kinkiest kink I discovered at Kinkfest. Needless to say he was terrified.

But very intrigued.

I decided the usual bar crawl was not the way I wanted to run this particular night. He had paid for the last two beers and as usual I didn’t want him to think I was just using him to get my daily yeast infusion. So I got him up and walked him to my local park, stopping at the bottle shop on the way for a cheeky six pack. We sat in the park, drinking beer and talking sex, watching as night owls walked their excited dogs round and round the path.

That’s when I decided to test out his kissing skills.

Oh dear, no no no.

Sadly he was all suction! As soon as our mouths locked he had my bottom lip between his teeth and there was no escape! I couldn’t twist my head to angle out of it or even use my tongue to kiss back.

Luckily Marcus was gracious in defeat as I informed him of his less than perfect kissing style. I showed him a much more enjoyable method for both parties, and to my delight the student picked it up almost instantly.

After a fairly lengthy snog session we resumed the sex chats, and that is when things got interesting. Marcus was regaling one of his sexploits, and to demonstrate his chosen point, he put his hand on my stomach to show ‘just how far it was in.’

He had put his hand above my bellybutton! How big was this dude?

Never one to leave any pants mystery unsolved, I whisked him home so we could ‘watch a movie.’

Hot Fuzz actually, great film.

Twenty minutes in, I couldn’t take it anymore and let my hand casually slip to his trouser snake.

Whoa, this guy might mean business!

I quickly had him de-pantsed and laying there only in his underwear. It was reveal time! Honestly the feeling you get whipping off a man’s undies for the first time is just like when you peel the plastic off your new phone. Deliciously satisfying and with full knowledge that once they’re off, you can’t unsee what has been observed.

Dear God in heaven, I’ve unearthed a monster!

My mouth went dry as I contemplated how in the hell I was going to fit that whopper into my mouth. No wonder he had such problems with girls using teeth on him! Unless you could pop them out there was never going to be enough room in one woman’s mouth for both teeth and that gargantuan cock!

I shook my head and set my jaw. I had never been intimidated by a todger before, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let this one put me off my game now. Even if it did look like it needed it’s own phone number. Jesus!

So we began the foreplay, a little for him, and a lot for me. Granted at that point Marcus probably thought I was a bit of a selfish lover, but I knew if he didn’t preheat this oven good and proper he would barely fit a carrot in, let alone the whole roast.

Finally the time came, and after choosing a condom from my box of fun (generic and unflavoured, aw how boring,) Marcus slipped it on and began his plundering of my dungeon.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

To start with.

He slid the great dane that was his cock into my lunch box and his first words were “Ooh, you’re so nice and tight baby.”

Yeah well that happens when you’re trying to squeeze a watermelon into a fruit loop buddy.

He started off fairly slow, (thank god) so I could get used to the feel of a giant Toblerone being inserted into my pink canoe (turns out it takes a while to get used to.) Eventually I got into the rhythm and started enjoying myself. But then he would change angles without warning. Each time I had to not only hide my shock but start all over again as he rearranged my internal organs.

All this had taken place on the couch in the lounge room before Marcus decided it was time to take it to the bedroom. I was a little reluctant as that meant he had to take it out and put it back in again, a process that I had only just managed to survive the first time, but I eventually agreed.

What could go wrong in the bedroom?

I dimmed the lights and we jumped into bed, immediately picking up where we left off. Once I was laying fairly flat it was quite nice. It’s just an acquired taste, I told myself, eager to enjoy the experience as much as possible. Marcus started to speed up, and I kissed him hard, enjoying his pump action motion.

Until disaster struck.

In the midst of the his furious thrusting Marcus made the fatal error of pulling out a little too far before re-inserting. And he missed.

Oh yes Lovers, he missed.

And what else is in the general facility of the old bearded clam? What would you generally run into if you took a wrong turn out of the tampon tunnel?

That’s right, ass town, population one.


Oh my god Lovers the pain, the agony! He slammed into my poor little patooty with all the force of a runaway freight train! I yelped in agony and Marcus quickly rolled off me.

“Ooh that would have hurt.” he said sympathetically.

I just nodded, unable to form words as my tattered ass screamed for mercy. There was only one thing for it. I ran out and sought refuge in the toilet. Two tears slipped out as I stuffed toilet paper up my butt to numb the incredibly intense pain (from my eyes, not my butt obviously. That would be another problem entirely.)

I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for the stinging to subside and cursing all men to hell. Once I took the toilet paper off my ass I wasn’t shocked at all to see blood. In fact I would have been suprised if there hadn’t been blood, after the walloping my poor badonkadonk had suffered.

Staggering back to the bedroom, I confirmed Marcus’ fears that ‘no there would not be any more sex tonight’ and we returned to the lounge to finish the movie.

Argh even sitting down was painful! So when Marcus tried to put the moves on again in the hope that I had magically healed within the hour, I sent him a withering glare that was enough to shrivel his balls back into his body.

As I am a benevolent lover however, I did grant him a blowjob of the finest quality and he ended his night sponging sprog from his shoulders.

I ended the night contemplating how much toilet paper I could stuff in my underwear before he noticed.

Turns out not much.

So there you go Lovers, sex injuries happen to the best of us!

This will be my last post for a little while as I’m off on holidays tomorrow. Hopefully my ‘injury’ doesn’t hamper my ability to have fun. Although I may have to rethink going horse riding (shudder.)

But as usual the Facebook page is always there for you to peruse, and if I meet any holiday potentials, I’ll definitely be updating it 😉 Just visit to get your daily dose of frogs!

Until next time Lovers

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Does that stain have a story?


















Happy weekend Lovers!

Sex is a bad thing because it rumples the bedclothes.”

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

Thank God those days are over right? I’m so glad we get to live in a day and age where sex is celebrated and partaken in as often as possible instead of hidden behind closed doors (although honestly, some couples really need to get a room.) No longer do girls have to ‘lie back and think of England’ as they are ‘penetrated.’ No no, sex is so much more these days, or at least it should be. If you’re in a relationship and the most foreplay you get is ‘brace yourself Effie,” then I think it’s time you shake things up a little.

But sometimes it’s not as simple as all that, is it?

Lovers, I know we all aspire to be complete Lothario’s in the boudoir don’t we? Pull those boys into bed, give em a grind and send them away with stars in their eyes? Or perhaps seduce the senoritas into the sauna before sexing the life out of them, concluding in multiple orgasms for all?

Ah the dream…

Of course unless we’re very lucky, good sex must be learned, worked for and of course maintained (if it works the first twenty times great, but chances are you’ll have to change your repertoire before long kiddo.) Yes that’s right, we all have issues in that sexiest of rooms. Maybe you’re like me and cum shoots through you faster than a bullet train. Or maybe it’s your mind that’s the enemy and you can’t seem to get the thought of what to buy Aunty May for her 47th wedding anniversary out of your head whilst your lover whispers sweet nothings into your nether regions. (Dude, why are you even getting her an anniversary present? It’s not like you’re married to her. I really think a card is all that’s necessary in this situation.) Or perhaps it’s the thought of old Aunty May that gets you going far too quickly for anyone’s liking? (Think what you want during sex people, but poor May doesn’t want to hear the news of her nieces breakup due to the fact her man couldn’t stop yelling out certain months of the year in bed… Eyes open, mouth shut if that’s the case.)

So what to do in situations like this? Some things you can’t fix, just alter slightly. I can’t swallow after blowjobs these days (a cruel irony as I really do enjoy dishing them out) but I always make sure I have a tissue or some form of spit receptacle handy so I can deal with the situation in my mouth as quickly and painlessly as possible. After all, nobody wants to see their woman running frantically around the room with her hand clamped over her mouth, eyes bulging wide, desperately searching for a way to rid her mouth of your babymakers. Kind of kills the mood.

But luckily there are a few situations we can work on! With just a few changes, a little practice and some trial and error, almost no sexual issue is insurmountable! So let’s start with one of mine shall we?

I was once talking to a colleague after a particularly thorough lesson on blowjobs involving a cucumber and some grapes           ( props; one of the few perks of working in a salad bar) when she asked the question I’m sure quite a few of them had been pondering for quite some time.

“Have you ever considered becoming a prostitute?”

Now Lovers, most people would be aghast, confronted, even insulted by a comment such as this. But not me. Because actually, the thought occasionally did cross my mind. Why not work in the industry I just so happened to love passionately and knew quite a bit about? There were a few things stopping me from pulling out the thigh highs and dialing 1800PIMP-YO-ASS, but it was mainly one in particular. So without missing a beat, I turned to my workmate and said,

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it, but my vajayjay just dries up way too quick.”

After she’d picked her jaw up off the floor from the shock of my complete equanimity to the situation, we spoke for quite some time about the issue of the old rusty juicebox.

Am I the only one Lovers? That would be a negative. So many of us struggle keeping the swamp at just the right muddiness. It’s either too dry for anything to survive, let alone thrive, or the tsunami hits and it’s every man for himself trying to feel any sort of sensation through the watery folds. I have much more trouble with the former, as basically I’m a twenty seven year old nymphomaniac stuck in the body of a menopausal nun. But never fear Lovers! I have done the hard yards and researched the shit out of this issue, and today is the day I unleash this most crucial of information.

So let’s giddy up and get moist!

What to do first.

Ok Lovers, we’ve all got a very close relationship with our beef curtains, but have we really appreciated them lately? Have we taken the time to take a good look and really check out the real estate down below? I can sense already a lot of you shaking your heads, and I haven’t even posted this yet. Well don’t feel too bad Lovers, I myself was guilty of this crime, not having had a sneaky peek since my teenage years when curiousity overtook me and I took the plunge down south with my Mother’s hand mirror.  I decided after my sexual foray with Boris that it was time to have another look-see and see if I couldn’t fix this situation with a little TLC of the coochie.

Huh, wasn’t expecting that.

Maybe I should have had a freshening up session first with the help of a razor, but I figured seeing the beast in it’s natural state would be best. The first thing I thought when I looked down there was “Wow, that looks a lot like Homer Simpson’s mouth.”

Yeah should have shaved.

Seriously ladies, you have two or three days growth on the old honeypot and all of a sudden you’ve got a channel ten animated character staring back at you! Crazy times. Once I got past the Homer situation I delved a little deeper, and I was suprised at what my main thought was.

“Naw, isn’t it cute?”

Honestly Lover’s, it kind of was! I have a special vagina calender my mates bought me for Christmas with a different close up vag pic for every month, but seeing the inside of one, especially your own, is quite the cathartic experience! And then something crazy happened.

I was doing my one woman exploration during the day in bed (ah uni student life) with the radio on my favourite station, Pure Gold Nineties. As I was peering into all the crazy nooks and crannies of my bits and pieces, Backstreet boys came on.

And I honestly couldn’t control what came next.

I took hold of my pink bits and made them sing! Together we mouthed the words as the Backstreet Boys lamented about the way they wanted things. She even took on a different personality with each of the boys, being cheeky and a little sexy when singing Nick’s part, but then adorable and lovely when Brian was crooning the words. It was so much fun! Talk about a bonding session! In fact it was so great we rewarded each other by finally trialling the newest vibrator in our collection.

See Lover’s? Fun for everyone!

So now that you’re familiar with what’s taken up residence between your legs, it’s time to get that bad boy on side!

Option One: Before sex, engage in AT LEAST fifteen minutes of foreplay.

I struggle with this one personally. As soon as a guy heads down south I’m ready to go. Well, my brain is at least. More often than not it’s me dragging them up from the lunchbox to wack on a condom and get down to it. But because of this my poor lady garden hasn’t had enough time to acclimatise to the presence of penis in her midst. And before I know it I’m all out of juice and left either asking the guy if he’s close (girl code for “hurry the fuck up, I’m dying here!”) or offering to finish him off with a well timed blow job. So, according to my google, yahoo and plentiful sex journals, foreplay is super important for the lady to enjoy sex. Start with the guy going down on you, before sliding one finger in, upgrading to two when you’re ready and then if you’re, keen go for a third, just to make sure the hanger is definitely ready for the aircraft to land. If you don’t like the oral aspect just ask him to do a lot more handy work, or grab his hand and play puppet-master. Hopefully this should get you ready to last at least twenty minutes or so without lube.

Option Two: Lubey Lubey Lube Lube!

We all know about lube yes? It can be great, it can be self heating (very dangerous) and it can be the death of a great session between the sheets. Too little and you may as well have not used any, too much and nobody feels a thing (although the sound factor increases with all that extra squelching. If that’s what you’re into. No judgement people.) But what lube is best? Well if you have a sensitive coochie like myself, it’s best to go for a lube that’s glycerine, propylene, glycol and paraben free. You’re probably thinking “Keh? Why is she saying these big annoying words? I just want to read my sex blog in peace!” It’s very important you know these words though Lovers, because they can apparently make all the difference. If in doubt, just go for the organic stuff, it’s usually free of all the nasties. But don’t take my word for it, try a few different ones out. You might be sensitive to one and not to another, or one might burn like a mofo whereas the other soothes and supplicates like a dream. Experiment is key here lovers, so let’s get wet!

Option Three: Ribbed, studded or regular?

Condoms; they can be a godsend or the devil incarnate. Sure they protect us from those scary STI’s and the even more terrifying consequence of unprotected sex; babies (cue shudder here) but why do they have to be so damn annoying? They stick, they chafe, they tear, they come off inside you! What type of evil mastermind invented these tiny devices of sexual torture? The answer I’m sure is someone who very much cared about the human race and wanted us to remain safe and healthy, but I’m pretty sure he had a mean streak in there too. A big problem I have in bed when having sex with a condom is that the damn thing just dries me out like nobody’s business! Lube isn’t as viable an option as oil based lubes can damage the latex and potentially weaken them. So unless you’re certain that your lubricant isn’t oil based and your condoms aren’t latex, it’s best to steer clear of the lube/condom combo. But how to solve this problem? It’s all about shopping around! Here are a few condoms that are for one latex free and also cater to the more sensitive among us.

SKYN: This condom is made from polyisoprene, which is basically a synthetic model of latex but without the allergy component. They’re thicker which means less rips and tears (yay!) but to the touch are super soft and quite nice. Although I don’t recommend throwing out your facial flannel and replacing it with one of these bad boys. Soft and nice for sex only people.

Trojan: Polyurethane is the main player in this cock sock, which means they last longer than the regular latex model, and again no annoying latex allergy issues! The other upside of this condom is heat is transferred remarkably well through the material, so you’ll be able to feel the warmth of your man’s passion all night long!

You don’t have to go for these two exact brands Lovers, I’m just giving you an idea. Simply look for condoms made from either polyisoprene or polyurethane and you should be on to a winner.

Well I know what I’ll be doing next time I have sex! Don’t worry Lovers, I intend to practice what I preach and will personally try all these methods and let you know which ones work and which ones fail miserably.

Ooh the tension is killing me! 😉

Until next time Lovers, think slippery thoughts!

Claire xx

Shameful plug time: Hey Lovers! You know I love writing for you and I hope you enjoy reading my posts just as much. I’d like to spread the word to as many Lovers out there as possible though and I need your help! If you love reading about my crazy sexcapades then vote for me in Kinkly’s Sex Blogging Superheroes of 2015! All you need to do is click on the link and vote for my blog (and yes I suppose you can vote for others too, there’s some really good one’s trust me! ;-)) Let’s see if I can get into the top 100 eh? Love you long time Lovers!