Pre-uni boredom, Dusty Springfield and my underwear.

I want to apologise for the extremely long time since my last post, this is due to the lack of anything substantial currently happening in my love life. When I say substantial I mean anything involving sex or emotion, as random drunken snogs are not particularly blog-worthy.

I would like to renounce my claim to be a sex blogger on the grounds that I have become a celibate, pre-uni hermit. Well, Jake Holden from Facts and Friction made the point that I’m actually a sex DEFECT blogger but whatever…

It feels like the weird holiday limbo between Christmas and New Year, like you don’t really know what you’re meant to be doing but feel like you should be doing something. It feels like that but on a ridiculous scale, this feeling confuses me and turns me into this:

In the words of Dusty Springfield: I just don’t know what to do with myself.

It’s nice to think that a new chapter of my life is just around the corner, as cheesy as that sounds. 13 DAYS! And I promise to do a lot more blog worthy things to make up for this typographical draught. A nice part of leaving is the no holds barred binge that occurs when no one longer gives a shit about what they say or who they do, however snogs are too boring and numerous to write about.

So I’ve just been sat here at my desk (to be read as ‘sat upright in bed’) watching Dexter, facebook stalking ex-boyfriends and online shopping for underwear, that at this rate; no one is going to have the pleasure of seeing.

Actually, fuck it. Here you go; me in my pants. You, dear reader, are now my sex life. Good luck and God speed.

Stay Sexy

xAx

Drought

Counting the weeks on one hand has become difficult considering I have at most four fingers and one thumb. The amount of weeks has spread onto my second hand, a sign that screams ‘darling, look how long it’s been. You need to get laid as soon as possible’. I can barely remember the last time I felt hot lips passionately thrusting themselves upon mine, the last time fingers frantically clutched at my waist, the last time I experienced an ever long moment of pure physical lust.

All I can remember in that instance, I felt it, I liked it. I was enjoying sex and then it stopped; tasting the ripest of fruit to only have it taken away forever. Making other bites I take sour in comparison. So what did I do? I stopped biting, stopped trying, stopped tasting. Consequently I feel like I have lost my ability to seduce, to convince guys that I would be good in bed despite my disorderly shortcomings.

In Laymen’s terms: I have lost my mojo.

Well, I think I have. I feel like I have. It’s not like the opportunities haven’t arisen; I just haven’t taken them. Excuse the pun but I just don’t have it in me anymore. The fact that I have had opportunity makes me think that it’s my fault, my own doing that I haven’t had any action. I haven’t taken initiative. 

And I keep saying I need action but then suddenly when I’m in that situation; music pounding, sweat dripping, alcohol flowing, I just don’t feel it. Maybe because this is the first long period of time in a long period time that I have been well and truly single I’ve just gotten accustomed to this celibate lifestyle. Is this me CONTENT?

I’ll let you know.

Stay Sexy.

xAx

The Curious Case of the Fit Manager

“I go and say hi to my friends that work here before I start my shift”

“What about me? Where’s my good morning?” I smile coyly at his question as it tumbles from his lips, onto the rain soaked concrete. I look down at it and trace his body upwards; finally meeting his eyes.

“Don’t worry; I save you for lunch”. Incredibly pleased with myself I turn to skip off to work, knowing that a line like that has never and will never again leave my mouth. I like to think I’m good at lexis on paper but wordsmithery doesn’t seem to be a naturally occurring sensation when it comes to the real world. My come backs tend to come back as swift punches to the arm or a simple ‘fuck off.

That being said, dear reader; please only use violence as a last resort. Unless they’re being a complete and utter cunt; in that case go right ahead. Give them one from me too.

Anyway back to me being briefly awesome at flirting:

“I save you for lunch…” he laughed I thought, he loved it. Now run away before he can say anything!

That was the last time I saw Fit Manager. I can’t currently think of a better or more appropriate name for him because to be honest it involves the majority of my knowledge of him. He’s the manager of the shop that I work near (Albus’ manager in fact) and he’s fit. Oh and I want to have sex with him.

You know when you just know someone’s into you? It could be the way they present themselves around you, the way they talk to you or just that way they look at you. You just know. With Fit Manager, I do not know.

I get the impression that he’s a bit of a dickhead. A fit guy with a good job is not single. And if he is; there’s a reason. Faults could include: scarred from previous relationship, serial shagger or narcissist to name a few. All amounting the most annoying of disorders; Fit Dick Syndrome.

Last week he came into my shop and said “You had better be out this weekend”. I was. Nothing happened. He went home without saying goodbye. WUT?!

All I know is that he has this sort of sexual prowess about him. Probably because he’s a couple of years older than me and I’ve been dealing with little boys for the past year. I feel quite… intimidated, but in a good way. Like a thrill. Guys my age have been getting boring for a while now (read as I’ve already got with most of them or their best mates). A new guy, a new guy I can’t read, for some reason excites me.

I got the impression that last weekend when we were in town that he was playing hard to get. He was being the girl; which was weird. But I must insist, he’s hot, so I didn’t care.

So what do you guys think? I need genuine advice on this one. Albus hasn’t read this yet but when he does he’s going to tell me to ‘stop ova finkin’ things and just go with the flow. But I don’t like the flow. The flow has left me marooned on an obscure island, starving for action. Like Tom Hanks but a bit of a slut.

Oh Tom, you dirty little minx.

Stay Sexy.

xAx

VOTE FOR ME

If you love/have minor affections for me then vote for me on this so I get some booze:

http://www.singleswarehouse.co.uk/warehouselife/2011/08/whos-wrote-the-best-blog-this-week/

You know, if you want to. Not like I'm competitive or anything. Or a borderline alcoholic.

Oh and there's a new post coming soon I promise!

Stay Sexy

xAx

Singles Warehouse Guest Post

I was asked by Dirty Knickers (http://dirty-knickers.blogspot.com/) last week if I could write a guest post for this brilliant online dating site; Singles Warehouse.

I said yes; pretending to be cool about it but in real life getting VERY over excited at the prospect writing something for a blog other than my own.

Me being, in my head, an internet rockstar.

So here it is more likely ladies than gents;

http://www.singleswarehouse.co.uk/warehouselife/2011/08/dr-jekyll-or-mr-hyde/

Thanks to Dirty Knickers and Singles Warehouse for letting me loose on the site!

Stay Sexy

xAx

The Friendship Ban

“OH MY GOD PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE” is not a thing people generally want to hear coming from someone they fancy; I therefore decided that I’m better off telling you rather than screaming that statement to a certain person who is currently trying to force himself into my life. Let me explain;

I have a draft blog post titled Nice guys finish last, awesome guys finish in her revolving around the previously growing friendship with a boy suffering from a classic case of ‘nice guy syndrome’.

The Nice Guy is the guy you text when you want to feel good about yourself in a nice way (rather than a sordid way like Cas and every other Not Nice Guy that you talk to). The Nice Guy is LOVELY. One of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. Despite being horrendously fucked over and up by the girl he lost his virginity to, he manages to not be a jerk. But sadly, as the story goes for most nice guys, they are not instantly appealing. As much as I feel like I should like him; I don’t.

And I’ll tell you why I don’t: ever since I invited him to a party at my house last week, in a completely FRIENDS ONLY manner, he has become a bit.. overexcited:

1.       He sends me texts twice ‘just in case the first didn’t send’.

2.       He then sends me a facebook mail with exactly the same message since he was ‘online anyway’.

3.       Whenever I’M online and haven’t replied to attempts 1 or 2, he starts a conversation with the same message, which in most cases has been a ‘hey u k?’ type catastrophe.

4.       Once I have stopped pretending to be enthralled by his riveting conversation and haven’t replied for a good 10 minutes he pulls out the timeless ‘whoops wrong convo’ trick.

That’s why I don’t.

It's not like I even express any feelings towards him that aren't simply platonic. I really really like him (..as a friend) and as much as I want to be friends with him he won’t fucking let me JUST BE FRIENDS WITH HIM! He has this sort of platonic magnetism; you want to be friends with this guy. He’s funny, friendly, confident, everything you look for in a friend. However whatever friendly gesture I put towards him he throws back in my face along with his penis. I need to just stop being his friend, for his own good. Like screening calls, but with people. He’s having a party in the second week of August though so it would be a shame to cut him out my life before then…

Plus there’s the fact that I want to get with one of his best mates at said party.

 He may fly off the handle when this happens.

xAx

The bad kind of wanderlust.

If it was unclear, the previous post written by me was about seeing Mark in the pub the other night and his prolonged, inappropriate staring. I got incredibly angry at this as it’s nothing different to how he normally acts around me, but this time I was just so fed up with it. I met his annoyingly gorgeous eyes across the table for the last time; then moved the fuck on with my night. I forgot about Mark for the rest of the night, and had a good night with no sorrow involved. This was all fine and dandy until my friend Rapunzel (whom she shall be hereby known as) and I left the pub pretty tipsy and headed back to my house. Collapsing into bed we got to chatting about Rapunzel’s avoidance of her ex that consisted throughout the evening. She decided at this point to tell me that after I had had enough of encouraging Mark’s staring that he continued this throughout the night.

“In a sort of longing way, like a ‘why did I fuck it up’ kinda way” claimed Rapunzel.  I brushed this off as him finding it awkward being around me considering we hadn’t seen each other or spoken in 5 weeks prior to said pub-going; however this festered in my mind for days, I know what look she was describing and I wanted to know more. It hurt to not know more and took all my might to not question her claims over the next 4 days, until this desperation turned into annoyance, depression and a post. In that order.

The next Saturday night however was different. The next Saturday night brought forth a new horizon from a setting sun.  The next Saturday night involved Ben.

How long does it take to get over a relationship? For some reason I have always been a firm believer in the rule that states it takes approximately half the time you were in a relationship to get over said relationship, even though I have never been in a situation in which I’ve needed to get over someone as drastically as I have with Ben. This is supposed to allow you the proper amount of time to grieve the relationship, contemplate what you learned from it, and move on to a healthier relationship.

The shock of seeing him in the local watering hole last Saturday night did not leave my body feeling like stomach had just broken, my stomach felt indifferent and I ‘pfft’ed his presence off like the friend you haven’t got round to saying hello to yet. Of course I still look for that tiny bit longer than one should in a social situation; however doesn’t this happen with most people when coming across someone they’ve loved? And of course I still love him to pieces; but not in the same way anymore. I am no longer in love with Ben.

Ben is no longer in love with me. Ben has let me go.

But Mark’s eyes won’t let me leave. They drag me back to nothingness when I desperately want to leave. I am counting down the hours until I can leave. I need to get out of this hideously vicious circle. 10 weeks; 10 weeks then I'll be gone. Breathing fresh air and fresh problems. I was researching a backup plan if I don't get into uni. Plan B is still leave. I need to get away from those eyes.

I know I go on about this so much and I’m incredibly sorry; if you know me and are reading this you know how much love I have for both Ben and Mark, you will also know that I try my best to not let that erode me just a little bit every single day. If you don’t know me; if you’ve just come looking for a blog about dealing with Vaginismus as a teenager you are reading the wrong blog. I try to deal with a lot of other shit too. Sorry about that.

I know it’s teenage strife but it’s the only strife I know.

Stay Sexy

xAx