Thursday, May 11, 2006

Polish Vodka

I'm in Warsaw. I've had a weird night - accepting I'm an adult etc etc. I have to get along with funders. I have to be polite. I have to stop after two beers. I don't want read this tomorrow.
I hate my heart.
My weaknesses.
I do not want want.
I wouldnot like it a train.
I would not like it on a plane.
I would not like it ever again.
I do not want want.
Certain things infiltrate my system.
Intruder alert, intruder alert.

Saturday, April 29, 2006

Holy Scatman, Batman!

Oi oi! Welcome to the party of the year. London I must say - you've outdone yourself. Rooms and rooms of debauchery! No expense spared! Drinks and champagne on tap. My glass was never empty.

I went to a Faceparty party last night and theme was "Freaks". The Face saw this an opportunity to squeeze a hundred of sexy girls - each with a perfect little round ass - into white latex outfits, laden them down with champagne and make them wait on the 200 or so guests hand and foot. One spilt my champagne into her cleavage. I insisted on getting it back. Then I did.

Each room had a theme - there was a bar with blood-spattered surgeons and dead bodies in plastic hanging from the ceiling. There was a dark lounge with red curtains drawn over private booths. You could do anything you wanted on the mirrored table - including dance - and in each booth a porno soundtrack played. There was the main room, with photographs of blood-covered women in huge guilded frames, a giant crucifix where the live sex shows took place (one burlesque dancer merrily chewed her way through a few dead carcasses in front of a mesmerised crowd), and weird latex-clad freaks. One freak had a toilet built into his latex suit. The toilets were hidden behind a mock red light district with lingerie clad "models" in the window. Then somehow a "garden of eden" with flowing waterfall to chill out in!

After endless champagne and pills we were in quite a state! At one stage I SWEAR three of my friends and I were going to get it on. One girl was rubbing my thighs up and down and the other grabbing my waist and pulling me in! That would have been hot - but it was interrupted by a group granny-drags throwing neatly wrapped parcels of scat at us (actually Belgian chocolate but very effective-looking) and the two "piss" boys loading us with shots of yellow vodka in sample jars, labelled as the piss of various C-list celebrities. I drank the rest and now I have tasted George Best.

It was pure madness. Babyfrog and I partied until dawn at friend's place and then went home, and I chucked on my heels and we embarked on four-hour high and messy house-wide sex romp. I'm not sure what I did to deserve such a great night but one must take things as they come. The only bad thing that happened all night was a friend casually dropping while I was peaking that she thinks I need therapy and that I have "Daddy" issues. That pissed me off.

I am definitely worse for wear. I hope I don't get knocked up. If you have sex on average 5-10 times a week and use only condoms as protection then what are the odds that you will? I really don't fancy an unnecessary abortion. Too bad I'm not the babymaking kind. If I was ever going to design a baby, Babyfrog's goods would be the one I would be stealing... I feel like sausages and mash.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

In The Lap Of Luxury

We'll call it the frat house. Actually that's a compliment. Its like the house of debauchery. Without the sex.
So before my other three readers leave me, I'll tell you about the £2,500 chair that Nicholas bought. Its guilded with zebra print cushion and sturdy legs. It sits among the other expensive and hideous junk yet is still the centrepiece.

Now I'd hate to think how many think how many strange asses passed over this chair the same weekend that Jesus, well... passed over. And oh how He would have baulked at the 1/2 ounce of coke, 15 bottles of Chablis and countless pills that were consumed. And how He would have stared sternly at the lone, wanton figure dancing alone and reckless, complete with bubble-wrap veil, after several bumps of K.

However He was not in this room. I think the signpost was the birthday-boy disorienated on the couch, draped in a gender-confused-drag-boy-complete-with-fuck-me-boots. And none of those things cost more than a fiver.

But perhaps it was the sight that only He saw. Later, coked-up-former-lesbian giving slow, steady head to Marseilles-gangsta-pin-up-boy.

And after he blew I told him to wipe that fucking stain OFF the £2,500 centrepiece.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Feeling The Frog

I am getting to the point now where I have to force myself to blog. I think sex makes me complacent. When I get it, everything falls to shit. When I don't have it I spend my time blogging, whinging, speculating on how to get it.

The sexy little babyfrog is coming to shack up with me for the weekend and I'm looking forward it. I am totally deluding myself by pretending this little fling will go anywhere but he is so adoring and so seemingly loyal that I am effortlessly living the fantasy.

This is not the first frog I've been attracted to. Is it their passion and attention to detail? What is it that I so inadvertantly admire about the French and their culture? They are just sophisticatedly in touch with their sexuality I think. Nice

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Female Playaz

Howdy. You know another problem with women is that we are actually a bit fragile. We don't approach often through fear of rejection. Men don't seem to feel any shame about being rejected. They just nosy on up to the twenty-second supermodel in the hope that one day...
I swear, by the time I decide what hell I'ma write in that text/email or say in that call I've invested so much that I am no longer prepared to lose. I read that once - that in order to succeed you must be prepared to lose. This is actually a good philosophy for life but doesn't lessen the burden of rejection. I don't necessarily WANT someone but am so caught up in the drama of correspondence that suddenly it all feels like a big deal. My new project is to escape my conditioning. Let's start by asking myself - what do I REALLY want? Without the usual ego, bravado, fear of rejection, inferiority complex, concern about waxing. What I really want is to live my life but truly I am most afraid of what I don't know. My biggest phobia or nightmare situation is being unaware or ignoring a feeling of things not gelling with another person. I hate the idea of being with someone, having an underlying fear that its is not working out, yet not being the person to speak on it first. Oh God this blog started out so trivial but it just hit me to the core. I'm afraid to be a fool.

Question: Is breaking up with someone for fear of being broken up with:
A. Dignified?
B. Instinctive?
C. Stupid?
D. Self-preservation?

You know what though? I think the last few times it has been instinctive, and I have been absolutely right. I suspected the person wasn't in to me enough (for what though) and I hit the freeway. There's that conditioning again. Actually the last guy I ended things with was shocked that I considered the future consequences of us seeing each other. He had not, therefore he had no problem with whats happening between us. I have always hated women who insist on breaking up because "There's no future" in the relationship. I've always thought them to be selfish and, well...retarded babymakers. But I did just that. Loser! Is it another part of this stupid make-up to be focussed on the future? I'm getting rid of that too. This appears to be the point where my life philosophy meets my genetic disposition.

I'm laughing now cos this blog is so ironically female - milling over my feelings, my expectations, my vulnerabilities and fears - is that really so bad. Maybe the truth is no self-respecting female wants to be a playa, because its much better to be self-exploratory, self-aware, to be interested in the boundaries of oneself. I'm gonna accept that - and just feel a little less guilty about my actions. Guilt is relative. Maybe I'll go do something really bad...

Monday, April 03, 2006

Own It

I made a pact with myself six months ago that I would not read an ex-lover’s blog. This is because I found myself getting too far inside their head. I felt like I could relate and understand. It was addictive and weird. I also became determined not to reread my own blog for fear of dwelling on the past. I succeeded until tonight when I broke my fast by reading both.

God was I fucked up six months ago! Its fascinating. I’m so glad my shit spilled out onto my posts and not into all my actions. In fact I’m kinda proud I held it together. So much has changed in six months. My lover has just been somehow absorbed into who I am and so has every othe experience. I’ve reached some kind of plateau and all my shit just lays there on the pages.

Ooh-ooh, its my shit, its my shit.
-
Gwen Stefani

Chasing The Dragon

My friend says that when someone really nails you then you create a benchmark in your mind. Maybe like a point system – 1 point, they go down on you, 1 point, they’re extremely hot, 1 point they have a good body, etc etc.

Babyfrog reads as follows:

v 1 point – could be a model
v 1 point – dresses well
v 1 point – has a huge (circumcised) dick
v 1 point – fucks like a Trojan Horse
v 10 points – can keep fucking after he comes
v 1 point – wakes up with a boner
v 1 point – cocky
v 1 point – a hustler

TOTAL: 18 points

Let’s see how he compares to who I thought was top spot (evaluated against my current values):

v 1 point – mentally stimulating
v 5 points – fucked me all night long
v 1 point – was cocky
v 1 point – was very intimate during sex
v 1 point – did role play
v 5 points – made me come until my legs shook
v 1 point - worshipped me

Thus by my current standard is now my benchmark. Fortunately there is very little connection between Babyfrog and I mentally. This is lucky but I’m already fucked. I may be forever chasing this high if I’m not careful.



Saturday, April 01, 2006

Accidental Feminist

Ah hah! You all hate that word don't you?!
If I'd have written this two days ago then I would have written it in sordid, step-by-step dirty detail. But sadly I've had two days philosophise.

So I went on a date with my sexy little French waiter. My boy took me to the wildest underground shabeen I have ever seen in London. There was a password to get in and the place looked like crack den - graffiti adorning every wall, bar full of plastic glasses, no door on the toilet, trap door to the ceiling and holes in every wall. It also had business men in Armani suits, crazy German sex tourists, and drunken Spanish lesbians who seemed adamant on crashing our little party. My boy likes French hip-hop, women and fucks like a bad-boy on speed. I spent the night in his squat in Brixton (quite advanced and homely little squat actually - it even had plants) and we fucked on the bed, and we fucked on the floor. Little French boy fucked me til I couldn't come no more.

Now here is where it gets twisted. Knowing that it is unlikely things will go far with a 20-year-old waiter from Marseilles, I figured to consolidate my freedom I should give my drug dealer a half-assed head job in the car outside the following night - my new philosophy is that I should do a little playing myself. Purely for experimental and research purposes y'all. Men rationalise the most extreme things to themselves - the sorts of things that women would feel guilty over for years. If a man is stupid enough to objectify me without recourse, then surely if I play along that's not a crime? I told my little drug dealer (and I have now learned that just because one 20-year-old fucks like he has the life experience of 30 it doesn't mean that all of them do) that I was confused and unsure about things going any further(boo-hoo). I gave him a crap headjob because I did not want him to be calling me, AND acted like I was all attached to scare him off. Then I lay in bed and marvelled at my genius and wondered why I did not think of it sooner. Before you accuse me of being egotistical, let's keep this in perspective. I am giving charityfucks to virtual strangers in order to remain unattached to another stranger whom I cannot keep. This is demented. Is this how men think? And how much of the average fuck do they actually dismiss? What hooks them?

And more importantly, why do I care? I mean, what hooks me?
Natural sexiness, attention, someone I can have a laugh with. A good story. Excellent and experimental sex. Not too much smothering and NO jealousy. Weirdness. A love of music. I think the secret is most men are far more able to be selfish than women. Are men and women actually all that different in their way of thinking?
Oi Vey! I have so many questions. I am going to interview a self-confessed player at my work...
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