tinder

Small Penis Humiliation: Method Acting

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

Ahoy there Lovers!

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

Blast!

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.

Sweet!

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.

“Yes?”

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.

Wow.

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?

Tinder: The Terrifying Truth

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

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!

Where have all the good men gone?

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

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!

(Applause)

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.)

Squee!

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

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

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.

What?

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.

Oh.

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.

“No.”

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.

Footsteps.

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.

 

 

 

Termination of my Tinder Takedown

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

Hello hello Lovers!

As it’s officially the last day of Masturbation month I hope you’ve all been furiously flicking, rapidly rubbing and willingly wanking yourselves into blissful oblivion! Sadly I had work today and general health and safety rules frown upon cheeky acts of self-loving in the cool room.

Sigh, we live in such a tyrannical society!

Now Lovers, as the title of this blog suggests, the Tinder experiment did not go down well. Neither did I for that matter, not on a single person.

Why you ask? Well my curious Lovesters, that is what I hope to explain to you.

So in the crazy world of Tinder, I seem to be quite the exotic specimen to foreign gentlemen, particularly Asian and Indian fellows. Maybe it’s due to my pasty white skin, double jointed thumbs and child bearing hips.

Who knows?

Aussie and European men seem to not appreciate my unique… Style quite so much. So my Tinder match list usually read as follows: Ashish, Nishit, Pramith, Sumit, Navroz, Yari, Manil, Saad…. And Dave.

I discovered Asian men especially are very much like my first boyfriend, Cambodian Charlie.

Fast. Very fast.

Honestly, I would type one message and they would shoot four over before I could even hit send on mine! Then of course I’d have to change my message to answer their new questions, which takes even longer. So just as I’m about to send that one I get smashed with another five! If I didn’t reply in thirty seconds or less I would get an instant “hello? Are you still there?” Just as I was explaining that yes I was indeed still there I would receive “Have I upset you? Did I ask the wrong question?”

I had to delete about ten guys just because I couldn’t bloody well keep up with them!

As I mentioned in the previous post however, I had two dates set up.

And both of them bailed.

One guy was super keen beans the whole time leading up the date. Then on the night there was complete radio silence. We hadn’t organised a place or time to meet so I suppose I was lucky I didn’t get all dressed up only to drink by myself at some romantically lit bar.

I mean, I certainly did drink that night, but it was a bottle of five dollar moscato and I was in my pyjamas, so no preparation was needed.

The other dude who asked me out was bang up for a coffee date. But then a few days beforehand he got all weird and down on himself. If I didn’t answer within five minutes (heaven forbid I was at work and didn’t answer for five hours) he would say things like “you’ve gone haven’t you? I knew it was only a matter of time.”

Keh?

When I finished whatever I was doing and texted him back he was always so weirdly grateful that I had deemed him worthy of my attention. He would say things like “Why did you swipe yes to me? I’m nothing special. You’re going to get rid of me soon, I can tell. “

Now I know self confidence is hard people, but there’s nothing more unattractive than a guy who constantly puts himself down and keeps asking why you bothered to talk to him.

I had to delete him. The sad sack was just depressing me.

After those two failures I just didn’t really have the heart or will to continue. It was such hard work. I’d come to dread the sound of my phone, which at the peak of the experiment was going off at least fifty times a day.

The truth of the matter is, I hate myself for judging these men on such superficial factors. I didn’t look closely at their photos but I could always tell just from a glance if they were Indian, Asian, European etc. Or if they were obese, hairy, insanely tattooed or had any other physical imperfections.

And I judged them.

As hard as I tried not to, there was just no excitement having a conversation with someone I was so clearly not attracted to. I felt relief when my two dates cancelled because I knew just from a glance that I was in no way attracted to them, and therefore didn’t want to go on a date with them.

And that’s the part I hated the most, my inability to see them as more than their outward appearance.

I suppose I’ve learnt some painful truths about myself through this experiment. If someone is very overweight, isn’t fluent in English, is much older than me or doesn’t fit with my particular ‘beauty standards’ then I don’t talk to them.

What a bitch.

But on the other hand, what’s the point in spending all my time talking to people I’m not remotely interested in, when the online world is so strongly appearance orientated?

What a conundrum!

I guess the thing to remember, is that everyone finds different people attractive. So instead of forcing myself to go on dates with people I’m clearly not into, I should leave them free for the person who thinks they are the sexiest thing since flavoured condoms. After all, they do say there’s someone special out there for everyone. Heaven forbid I took someone’s special person and missed out on my own!

At the end of the day it’s easy to say “don’t judge people” but when you’re giving that person permission to let his purple headed warrior invade your sausage wallet, I say judge just a little.

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Nice pants, can I test the zipper?

Tinder Turmoil!

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

Wassup my Lovely Lovertons?

Ok Lovers, you’ll have to forgive me. Three days into the experiment I cheated.

I never knew it would be so hard!

I’m currently having conversations with sixteen men and good god it’s exhausting!

Small talk gets mighty tiring mighty fast, I can tell you that now. Just keeping up at times such dull conversation makes me want to smack my head into a wall (or a doughnut, whichevers closer.)

Plus my brilliant plan to not looking at profile pictures is being foiled by Tinder’s incessant need to flash my sixteen men before my eyes at every possible juncture. Also, to make matters even more difficult I foolishly decided to incorporate my Plenty of Fish men into the experiment. Anyone who messages me now gets a reply, and man are they talkative little squirrels!

I’m now the ultimate internet dating multi-tasker, one minute chatting to Johnny from Tinder before supplying some witty repartee to my conversation with Mike through POF before flicking a few emoji’s and lol’s over to Ashish back on Tinder.

God help me if I decide to add my Bumble account to this calamity!

So, you’re probably wondering how and why I cheated, aren’t you Lovers? Well, for starters, this experiment is fatally flawed. As I mentioned earlier, the main problem is I can still see who I’m talking to. It’s not as if I flick through their profile pictures or even click on their photos at all, but they still show up next to every message they send.

Goddamit Tinder, you’re standing in the way of science!

Hence how I committed my first offence.

His name was Dlrious (so he already sounded like a douche bag before we even started chatting.) He owned his own business but wouldn’t disclose what exactly he did; only saying, “business is good.”

Hmmm, dodgy.

Then after two more messages he said he wanted to take me out and buy me drinks.

Again with the dodginess. The way he worded it basically sounded like he was going to sit there watching me get drunk until he could find just the right moment to slip something into my cocktail.

Something that rhymes with bloblipnol.

Yes I know Lovers, very judgey judge, but I just had a really icky feeling towards this guy. And you should always trust your instincts.

Dlrious’ profile picture did nothing to waylay my fears. He was an Indian dude with gangster looking sunglasses that shielded much of his face.

I never trust guys wearing sunglasses in their profile pictures. Eyes are like the nipples of the face in my opinion. If you’re going to whip the bra off I want to see everything, none of this side boob nonsense or fancy nipple tassels.

Show me the boob and nothing but the boob!

The same thing goes with faces. No one ever exclaims, “oh what a beautiful set of nostrils! So large yet clean! And just look how they flare!”

No no, the eyes are where it’s at.

Completing his Indian gangster look (does India have gangsters? Surely), his beard was trimmed in that geometric “I spend seventy dollars at the barbers every week” way, perfectly trimmed into submission.

There was nothing for it, I had to delete him.

I felt awful, but in the end it was a toss up between what was polite and whether I dedicated an entire night of my precious uni holidays to entertaining this dude.

Gah, what to do?

I have a date tomorrow night and the night after that, which should be… interesting.

I’ll let you know how they go!

Claire xx

Best Bonking Song: If You Like Pina Coladas

By: Jimmy Buffet

Best Used: Get some excitement back and play the stranger game!

“Oh you like pina coladas? Why, I do too! Quick take my shirt off! You like getting caught in the rain? Dear God take me now you sexy mansicle before I lick you into submission!

 

Tickle Me Tinder

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

Ahoy Lovers!

And a thousand apologies for the lateness of this fresh new blog! Sadly I’ve been balls deep in uni work for the last two weeks. But hurrah, now I’m free!

For one and a half weeks.

So lets make the most of our precious time together Lovers!

I know I promised to finish up Jack the Strangler in this post but I wanted to let you in on a little experiment I’m conducting over my uni holidays!

So, I’m having very little luck with dating these days and I haven’t had sex fairies haven’t gifted me with their sultry presence since March!

Dire circumstances indeed.

So I decided to change it up. I literally have nothing to lose; my virginity’s long gone and my dignity followed pretty soon after, so I’m free to run amok as I please!

I’m sure you’ve all heard single friends or colleagues lament “Why can’t people like me for my personality? Why does it have to be all about looks?” Or something of that nature.

Well, this experiment is all about personality!

The terms are these; every day I blindly swipe right to twenty or more lucky fellows on Tinder. If we match, it’s up to them to make contact. If they do, I have to reply (in a timely fashion as well, I can’t wait until I’m drunk off my tits to fumble out some crappy message.)

However, if they don’t make contact within three days, into the delete basket they go.

Quick game’s a good game people!

Once the bold boys have made contact, they have five days to ask me out. If they do in fact grow a pair and ask me out I must accept.

I have to go to the chosen location (somewhere very public of course, I would like to live through this particular experiment) and only once I’m there can I look at their picture and discover who I’m meeting!

I have a one drink minimum (has to be beer or wine, no cheeky five second shots) and no matter what my date may look like, I have to give every date a real crack. This doesn’t mean they’ll be exploring my cave of wonders ten minutes in, but it does mean I’ll be looking deeper than appearances and just trying to find really nice dudes.

Of course every man who makes contact with me won’t make it through to the date stage.

No no, there are far too many men out there whose conversation skills let them down miserably.

If said gentlemen do not adhere to polite conversation and jump straight into talk of inches and pearl necklaces, they will be out of the game and instantly deleted.

I only started the experiment yesterday and I’ve had to delete three already. One potential suitor messaged me at 3am asking if I was still awake and up for it.

Negative.

If there’s one thing I like better than sex it’s sleep.

As it turns out his profile picture was just his bottom half in crappy grey jocks, so no loss there.

The next suitor to strike out was a lovely Indian fellow, who I’m sure had great intentions. However, starting a conversation with “I is looking for marry” is not really the way to a girls heart.

Maybe try a little conversational foreplay before jumping into the heavy stuff big guy.

The third unlucky in love Lothario was just plain icky. Not to mention abrupt!

 

Him: Where do you live?

Me: Uh, hello. I’m in Prahran, you?

Him: Oakleigh. What time are you free?

Me: I’m pretty busy all today actually. What did you have in mind?

Him: Oh I can think of a few things hehe. I’ll come over now. Give me your address.

 

22 Get-Fucked Road. Corner of Bugger Off Way and Pushy Bastard Place, that’s where.

Honestly people, let’s bring back just a touch of romance, could we?

There are some boys who make it through my rigorous experiment though. I have a date booked in on Monday night. I have no idea how it’s going to go but hey, we only live once right?

I’ll keep you updated on my progress Lovers, wish me luck!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week:Boy if you were a vegetable you’d be a cutecumber!

“Argh! That’s my ass!”

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

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,

SEX!

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.

FUUUUUUUAAAAAARRRRRRKKKKK!

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

https://www.facebook.com/howmanyfrogs/ to get your daily dose of frogs!

Until next time Lovers

Claire xx

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are flamingos sexy?

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

Good evening Lovers!

And a happy Saturday to y’all!

Boy, I tell you Lovers, it has been slim pickings lately! Honestly, I’m on three dating websites and I barely get a bite! Well actually no that would be a lie. I do get a lot of attention but it’s usually from guys like Hornyindian69 and ThePenetrator4U. Not exactly the type of guy you want to bring home to the family, that’s for sure. I stooped to am all time low the other day though, when the saddest of all sad sacks tried to add me as a favourite. His profile name was Whatsthepoint86, (that’s enough to get any girl moist in the panty area for sure) and his opening line to his profile was “Love is dead… I give up.” I couldn’t even get a look at this obvious stud because the only pictures he had put up were either of cartoon men standing next to broken hearts crying or wilting roses that are on the edge of death.

That shit is like cat nip to the ladies.

Not! Good god who was this guy? When I scrolled down to the question “What would be your idea of a dream date?” he had just written “nobody cares.”

And he was right.

So as the online dating isn’t going gangbusters at the moment, I thought we’d take another trip down memory lane and I’d tell you all about my second serious boyfriend. It took me a while to get over Rick (because let’s face it, being deprived of amazing sex can leave a real gap in your life.) but eventually I got back on that horse and went searching for a new cowboy.

The night I met Callum was very much like any other. I do remember it was hot though, very hot. That type of heat that makes you picture sweaty boys with their shirts off playing badminton or baking a fresh loaf of bread. (Ok the bread thing is a little random but seriously what could be better than bread and boys? It’s a man sandwich that you can work off with the guy after you’re done!) I was working up a sweat myself that night, sadly sans bread. The girls and I were on yet another ladies night out, an occurrence that wasn’t so much a special occasion but more of a Friday night ritual that could not be ignored. Our Friday’s had become the night to rate the weekend by. Who picked up, who fell asleep in the men’s toilets, who tried to pole dance and ended up flashing the world? But most importantly, who was buying?

We stumbled into the newest club in town, eager to see what it had in store for us and more pressingly, to use the toilets. Let’s just say the seal had been broken about an hour ago and white dresses just don’t go with yellow these days.

After surveying the plumbing and playing with the sensor taps for a good twenty minutes we emerged, lips freshly glossed and cheeks pinched and powdered. And that was when I saw him.

Standing behind the bar like some shot pouring Adonis, he was perfection itself. Adorable short brown hair that cut off just after his temple in a sharp line, framing a face so gorgeous you couldn’t take him home for fear your Mum would seduce him. He possessed a body that frustratingly was covered in a loose shirt but hinted at being quite the visual treat underneath and shoulders that stood back and proud like a peacock showing his plumage, and my what plumage. He was just….

Delicious.

I hadn’t noticed I was staring with my mouth open until an eager young man stood in front of me and pointed at my mouth, slurring

“Well, if you’re offering…”

I wrinkled my nose at him and stepped away, drawn to my pretty peacock boy. He was just so damn gorgeous! It was like staring at a mirage. After a while my eyes started to smart, although that could have been from the neon lights behind him. I dithered about, fumbling for my purse and wondering what to say when he finally came over and took my order. Would he notice the connection? Would he compare me to a bird as well? I thanked god he hadn’t been working at the karaoke bar we had just visited or the only bird that would be coming to his mind would be a seagull. A dying seagull with bronchitis. I shook myself off and tried to visualise something sexy.

A sexy bird.

A sexy bird that all the dude birds wanted.

Got it!

Turns out trying to be a flamingo whilst standing at a bar is not the best way to snag a man.

In my tipsy state I think I took assuming the role of flamingo a little too far, trying to elongate my neck and stick my butt out so my legs would look longer and thinner. Take a moment and just picture how that might look, a girl with her neck craning over the bar, ass out behind her with her legs fully straightened, a beak-like expression painted on her face.

Oh yeah, sex on legs.

He avoided me for a good five minutes, and I don’t blame him, as I was still trying to perfect that beady eyed look that birds give you when they catch you in their sights. Finally he literally had no more customers to serve and he warily approached me.

“What’ll it be?” he asked

I laughed and replied “I bet that’s what you say to all the girls.”

He looked at me for a beat before saying “Well….yes.”

I died a little inside, knowing just how lame I sounded. However, I carried on, the bird firmly in place on the exterior. I smiled thinly at him, trying not to break my beak impression.

“ Five Jager-bombs please.”

If I couldn’t impress him with bird postures, then maybe showing my prowess in binge drinking would set him off. He nodded and got to work while I scrabbled for cash in my purse, wishing I’d taken the time to play with the hand dryer as well as the taps. Luckily at that moment my ladies appeared and like good friends, let me wipe my hands on them, much to the delight of the aforementioned eager young gentleman.

My peacock returned, drinks in hand and I quickly resumed position, flicking my hair so hard my necklace came up and smacked me in the teeth. I giggled awkwardly, pretending I had totally meant to do that.

Again he just looked at me nonplussed before confirming the price of the drinks. I handed over the money, hoping for a little bit of hand contact in the process but got nothing. I shrugged, thinking maybe he was a germ freak, which was not a good thing if he wanted to be with me, as last weeks laundry was still sitting in the washing machine growing a new species of bacteria.

I threw back my drink with gusto, my necklace hitting me hard in my eye as I did so. After setting my glass back down and resolving to sell all my jewellery that ended below the chin I looked back at bird man. He was gone, replaced by a busty brunette with little to no pants on.

I blew out a breath in frustration. It was time for an emergency conference, and we gathered in a little booth, heads together, talking tactics furiously.

The girls eventually convinced me that although our feathered friends are vastly attractive, some people tend to find them over rated and may in fact prefer humans. I frowned at this turn of events, realising my conundrum. How was I going to make contact a second time without looking like I had some crazy (yet amazingly attractive) alter ego?

Again my ladies stepped up and in the swing of a cubicle door I had switched dresses and hitherto, switched personalities. I was given a swift look up and down and a nod confirmed that I would look not only like a completely different person, but a slightly bustier one, thanks to a borrowed water bra.

My confidence and chest boosted, I flounced out into the bar. (I had previously decided that this version of me would most definitely be a flouncer.) Swanning over to the crowded bar, I patiently waited until my peacock (or in this scenario, cute human boy) was in front of me, hands open, ready to fulfil my every desire. So long as that desire could fit into a highball glass and be doused with ice.

I smiled winningly at him, all traces of beak gone, in fact almost all traces of lips too, as my mouth strained to produce a smile that showcased each of my individual teeth in all their tiny perfection.

He produced a tired smile back and I thumped myself on the back in congratulations. (Mentally of course, I didn’t want to look like a total freak) I ordered a shot of tequila, trying to make my voice sound as smooth and sultry as possible. I sounded fantastic, but as we were in a nightclub at 2am, nobody heard my delectable audio but me. In fact, I may have been tuning into someone else’s conversation and pretending it was me.

But that was neither here nor there, as my beautiful boy was slowly starting to edge away. Startled, I lunged over the bar and yodelled

“Tequuuuuiiiillllaaaa please sir!”

Well, if I hadn’t scared him before, you can bet he was reaching for the pepper spray now. Never before had I seen a shot poured so quickly, lemon and salt flying across the bar towards me before I could even get my new boobs out.

Feeling totally dejected, I handed my money over, remembering that he was sober and would remember every excruciating moment of our interlude. As he handed me my change and went to serve another customer, I threw all caution to the wind, a kamikaze mission of the dating world if you will.

“Thankyou,” I said, slipping the change out of his hand and turning away. As I did though, I threw him a meaningful look and stated “ I think your really cute.”

And then I ran.

As smooth as my line was, I knew I had to do something more to get a number, or at the very least a conversation. It was obviously time for a stakeout.

I stayed out of his eye-line for a good hour, waiting for my moment to pounce.

I was still hoping the previous events of the night might conveniently slip his mind, but after my shenanigans, there was little to no hope of that miracle happening.

Still, the night was young and all of my ladies were working hard on their own personal conquests, with a few already snuggled up in booths getting it on hardcore.

Finally though, I summoned up some Dutch courage and marched up to the bar, no tricks, no gimmicks, just me and a lot of ingested alcohol.

“ Hi. My name’s Claire.” I said, leaning over the bar with a smile.

He looked up from pouring what must have been my fourteenth tequila shot and smiled back. I saw his lips move but I didn’t catch what he said.

“What?” I yelled at him, trying not to spit on his face as I said it. Why is it that whenever you drink your spit glands go into over-drive? Very frustrating when someone is talking in your ear but you’ve failed to catch a word they’ve said as your ear canal has already filled up with saliva. Although I’ve heard some people are into that.

Hey whatever floats your boat people, I don’t judge.

So while my mind was heading off on that fascinating train of thought, I hadn’t realised bar boy had grabbed a pen and paper and was scrawling down a message.

I waited eagerly for the note, trying not to lick my lips in anticipation and scare the poor boy off. When he was finally done he slid the note over to me with a wink and went on to serve some girl and her pimp standing next to me.

I unfolded the scrap off paper and almost let out a whoop of joy, in very neat, very concise writing was the word “Callum” and a phone number directly below it.

I’d done it! I’d officially pulled a bartender! Adrenalin flooded through me as I rushed to the toilet to tell everyone and anyone who would listen about my great adventure.

Giddy with excitement, I headed home with the girls not long after, as they had their own unfinished business to attend to in a more horizontal fashion.

Sounds like things are going well, yes? Well you just wait until I take bar boy out on our first date Lovers. Cringeworthy doesn’t even cover it!

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: You know how I got these guns? (points to biceps) lifting children out of poverty.

(Wow I threw up a little in my mouth just writing that one ;-))

But what if I fart in your mouth?

Posted on by howmanyfrogs88

Woah Lovers, what a month!

We’ve gone from a total sex drought to completely breaking the damn! It’s brilliant! Okay so this last couple of weeks has been a little different in the fact that it’s been very orificey (and no I didn’t accidentally misspell officey, this week had nothing to do with staplers and rulers.) Shall I explain in a little more detail? Alrightey then.

As you all know before Salvatore saved me from my crazy stampeding libido things had been a little dry in the sex stakes. However I was Tindering like a mofo. Sadly with little success. I did get one particular match that seemed rather promising though, his name was Ronald and he was very cute by Tinder standards. We started chatting and he seemed like a nice normal guy (very rare these days.) I asked if he wanted to meet up in person and he agreed, just not that week as he was flat out with work. This seems to be the big excuse with online boys, “oh I’m so busy I can’t meet up anytime in the future.” Dude, why you even bothering with online dating? In normal circumstances I would have written him off as a time waster, but times were tough so I hung in there a little longer.

That was until he hit me with “I’m not going on anymore dates this year.”

Keh?

I was completely stumped. This dude was clearly into me, seemed to enjoy talking to me and was very flirty, but he didn’t want to meet up?

What the hell was he smoking?

When I put this question to him he blabbed on with some crap about how he’d had way to many bad dates and wasn’t willing to waste his time on more. Urgh boo hoo princess, drink some concrete and harden the fuck up. This was the point I really should have said see you later loser but again that crazy drought was driving me to extreme lengths. I kept chatting to him and found out he was more than happy for a home visit. He wanted me to come to his house so in his words “I don’t have to dress up or put any effort in.”

What a wanker.

I ignored him for a week. No way was I going to some random dudes house so he could stick it in and send me on my way. He could be a serial killer! Or worse, a Dungeons and Dragons fiend. No, no and another no.

However… What if we had a few phone calls? That’s safe, that’s friendly, that could turn into something saucy for sure. So the phone calls began. I thought maybe I could tempt him into a date if he knew I wasn’t completely crazy but he was still a stubborn asshole. The calls quickly turned from “so how was your day?” to “quick, tell me what you’re wearing!” Then we started the good old snapchat wars which opened a whole new kettle of fish. The dude was hung!

The first snap I got was a video of him wanking to some non-descript porn (the genre wasn’t really to my taste but hey boys will be boys.) He was either amazing at mastering the camera to enhance his attributes or boy did he have a whopper of a wang! I became brave and sent him the odd shower pic (remember never to include the face people, rookie mistake) or a naughty lingerie snap. Things continued like that for a few days before he sent me one that made me question his… tastes.

It was 12.30am on a Wednesday night and as usual I couldn’t sleep, so when my snapchat app pinged to life I jumped on it with glee. Ooh what was it to be this time? I opened it as excited as a kid at Christmas time waiting for my naughty Santa and was very disappointed at the outcome. Firstly, it wasn’t even of him, he just had his phone trained on the computer as it played his favourite porn. Bit boring but oh well. What caught my eye was what was happening in the porno. A very attractive young lady was getting her ass ferociously licked by a very muscly but terribly unattractive man. Geez he sure was going for it! I have nothing against people rimming each other. Hey, rim until the cows come home people, but just don’t breathe on me afterwards. I’ve always been against anything ass related (for obvious reasons) so to think this guy was heavily into it was a little concerning.

I texted him asking if he was in fact a fan and he replied almost instantly with a terrifying amount of enthusiasm. Apparently Mr No-Dates loved a girl to spend a whole day at work or have a massive session at the gym before he whipped off her panties and gave her ass a good seeing too. When I asked why he eagerly replied with stunning detail about the particular smell of an asshole that had been sweating all day.

Hmm, this could be a problem.

I finished our conversation for the night and set about doing some serious ass thinking. I wanted to try new things, push barriers and explore my sexual fantasies sure, but was I willing to be rimmed? I tossed and turned all night, running the possibilities through my head. I even went as far as to take my undies off in the morning and have a quick sniff before I hopped in the shower to see what all the fuss was about.

Needless to say the ‘smell’ didn’t do anything to convince me and I spent quite some time flushing my nose out with shower water. However, I decided to throw caution to the wind and go with the flow. After some serious chats with my male room mate assuring me that everything south of the bellybutton is a turn on to a man with a raging erection I messaged Mr No-Dates and attempted to schedule a meet up. It was going completely against my Tinder rules but I figured we’d spoken on the phone many times and I already had his address and photos of the inside of the apartment so that would give forensics a good start if I wound up smeared across his balcony.

But suprise suprise he was busy! Gah! I was willing to let a man go as far as licking my asshole and he was going to make me wait? Not happy Jan.

A few days later he texted me a very forward message.

“So, you want me to rim you? You like it?”

He caught me on a bad day. I was in no mood to pander to his ass cracky whims so I replied with a simple “No, not really.”

After about a zillion sad teary emojis he asked why.

This was the moment things could have gone either way. I could have said something easy to overcome like “oh I’m nervous because I’ve never done it before” or I could have told him I wasn’t keen on ATM (that’s ass to mouth by the way) and it would spoil the mood if I made him go brush his teeth every time he wanted a pash. I could have even gone the body route and let him know that my ass is anything but smooth and waxed, unlike my honeypot (well, when I can be bothered whipping the wax strips out). I have quite the hairy butt and I’m not afraid to shout it from the rooftops. It’s just like mullets people, business at the front and party at the back. But no, I decided to go with the reason that bugged me the most, the reason that crops up in most of my sexual situations, the bane of my sexual journey.

What if I fart in your mouth?

Seriously my ass is quite the deadly gas chamber at times and there have been many an orgasm I have had to forfeit just to hold a cheeky fluff in. Sixty nine can be a real nightmare and I’ve had quite a few near misses to tell you the truth. And let’s not even go near car sex; wind the windows down people! Enclosed spaces can be dangerous! So you see my issue with someone shoving their tongue right into the abyss yes? His response to my text was word for word,

“What the actual fuck?”

And I never heard from him again.

Bahahaha what a weirdo! I couldn’t believe he was so into rimming and never entertained the possibility that one of his lovely ladies might let one rip right near his tonsils. Clearly that dude hasn’t thought everything through! Luckily I had my tete a tete with Salvatore soon after I stopped talking to Ronald so I didn’t have to pretend to mourn his loss.

Next up I’ll tell you about sex with the ex, car sex with ol Salvi and a possible rekindling with my birthday bonk!

Claire xx

Today I’ll leave you with one of my favourite sex quotes:

“Roses are red

Violets are blue

I’m using my hand

But I’m thinking of you.”

Feel free to use that one in your next long term relationship 😉