A BELATED MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It’s officially my first anniversary of being single, so this feels like an appropriate time to reflect.

I had some wishes come true during what has seemed like one of the longest years of my life; I found the perfect human dilator, had lots of very good (for my standards) sex and managed to avoid ruining a good friendship. This is something I honestly didn’t think was physically or even emotionally achievable, but I came out of it a better person and a better shag. I will always be so grateful for what Cas did; showing me (even if only for a few moments) that it is actually possible for me to feel pleasure during sex.

Sadly as you know from the many whiney posts that those moments of pleasure did not result in me blossoming into some sort of sex hungry man-eater like I had hoped it would. It kick started a large period of time of me thinking it couldn’t get any better. I still haven’t had sex with anyone, but I’m feeling so much more positive about my disorder. I know it CAN be fixed. I know I’m going to get better.

This year also involved a lot of Mark fucking with my head; the most recent being early October at a student union, him texting me out of the blue and messing with me for his own amusement. Of course, this is boring and classic Mark. The real mind fucking was just last week, when he apologised for screwing me around and just generally acting like a twat. Which is progress I guess. I’m happy he realises what a nob he’s been. I’ve always been willing to forgive him, I just wanted him to realise that he didn’t need to act the way he was doing.

The year rounded off nicely with a cheeky head-fuck from Ben; who asked me out on a date then stood me up. He still hasn’t explained himself and I doubt he ever will, but hey that’s Ben for you. As hard to read as ever. For a brief moment Mark made me think that people change, now I’ve realised only some do; the rest of them stay static. I’m trying to not be static.

As I said earlier, I haven’t had sex but have come very close to it; waking up with no memory of the night before, a camera album that would give the Hangover’s closing credits a run for its money, a men’s belt on my floor and an open but unused condom on my bedside table was not the way I’d envisioned the next chapter of my sexcapades but hey. Turns out the guy I thought I’d had sex with was Michael, so much for not getting with future flatmates! I want think its safe to assume that won’t be happening again, but to be honest after that night I can’t rule anything out anymore.

Saying that, I’m trying to take control of my life. I’m going to see a psychosexual therapist tomorrow afternoon and have no idea what to expect (I’m hoping to lie down on a big sofa like in movies). I’ll let you know some time before Sunday and I'm also going to try and stop being so useless; I'm very sorry about my absence from this blog, I’ve had uni coursework and exams and writer’s block and blah blah blah. This year is going to be a new beginning for me, I can feel it. I will not be static.

Stay Sexy

Alura x

Michael the Mess

My flat was quickly becoming filled by the entire third floor of halls at the mention of a shot roulette board and vodka jelly, including Michael; the gentleman from a previous post. Don’t worry dear reader; this probably isn’t going to end up with me getting off.

“I could so beat you at shot roulette”, I raised an eyebrow at his statement,

“I don’t think there really is a winner in shot roulette…”

“Oh” he lifted his hand up to his head and ruffled his hair like you would a dog, “I guess we’re just going to have to get shit-faced then” I smiled, perched my lips, and raised my glass of Passoa, letting it roll down my throat in one swift gulp.

That newly-empty wine glass of Passoa soon turned into over 20 shots of Bailey’s, Cognac and Stella. Gotta love shot roulette.

“Meet me in my room in 5” my fingers lunged at my phone with drunken potency, after several minutes of eyeing each other from opposite ends of the room had become boring.

Oh jeez I’m cringing at the thought of this. I strutted off to my room, feeling the liquid confidence run through me. I clicked send on the text message as I pulled the door open and stumbled over bottles and heels towards the mirror. Eyeliner smudged and lipstick seeping into the little tiny cracks so it looks just that little bit too crap to go out in public with. I hastily reapplied the eyeliner and wipe off the lipstick; thinking it’s probably going to come off anyway.

(Oh God, as I’m typing this out I just got a text from Michael; Do you wanna come down to our flat at like 9.30 and we can watch a film or something.. x HELP, it will become clearer why I have just rejected this offer in a few paragraphs)

He opened the door and stared at me nervously, obviously still quite unsure where he stood with me. I stretched out my hand to offer him some of the black vodka, which had become my drink of choice after being banned from participating in shot roulette. He reached out for the poison and downed a shot worthy amount; he hissed at the bitter taste and flopped down on the desk chair with a lazy thud. I promptly jumped on top of him.

During the travel time between said desk chair and my bed, Michael had managed to go from being fully clothed down to just his boxers. I’m still not entirely sure how this happened but it’s more than likely I was part of this.

We fell onto my bed; I remember being so drunk that I literally fell on top of him, too inebriated to hold myself up over him properly. I laughed as he flipped me off the top of him and onto the bed; kissing my neck as I wondered where all his clothes had gone. He jolted upright.

“I’ll be right back” a look of panic had washed over his face; he jumped up and ran out of my view. What the fuck is he doing? I sat up on the bed and called out his name, he replied with a sound incredibly similar to vomiting. Something along the lines of ‘BLEUUURRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHAAAAHHHHH’. Sexy.

At this point I realised I had become an agent of my own demise. My plan was desperate and involved getting him drunk enough to not realise I was in pain during sex. In hindsight I didn’t think that the outcome of this plan would be me; sneaking out of my own flat, leaving Michael cowering on my bathroom floor, his arms wrapped around my toilet, filled with regurgitated black vodka.

Cest la vie

Alura x

Alura the Whiny Bitch

I’m freaking out about my disorder. The longer I go without sex, well… putting off sex, the more freaked out I become. I really thought I was stronger than this.

Yeah soz about that!

I’ve been talking to Cas, I think it’s getting to the point where I need him to help me get my confidence back. It’s so terrifying even considering the concept of having sex with someone who doesn’t know about me. I need him and I have having to need someone else.

I pride myself on being independent, singular and self-sufficient, I think I’m just going to have to push that deep, deep down and ask him for help.

Stay Sexy

Alura x

Vaginismus and the Downside of Chivalry

Very few times in my life have I met a true gentleman. Men have come close and boys have come nowhere near. It brings a tear to my eye that when I actually experience one, it frustrates me beyond belief. Why? Because my disorder fucks it up.

Michael clutched at my waist and urged me across to the edge of the kitchen counter, to where my lips slowly met his. My legs wrapped themselves around his lower back and pulled him closer. I ran my fingers through his thick brown hair, jumped down from the counter, getting closer and closer still.

Our lips separated to my dismay. He stepped back.

“I can’t do this” SAY WUUUT?

“Why?!” I asked with an obvious mixture of disappointment, frustration and shock.

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you” to be fair I was VERY drunk, but I thought he was too, “you’re so drunk and I’m basically sober”. Ah. Turns out I was so drunk I didn’t realise that he wasn’t at all.

“It’s fine I don’t care” I said slightly desperately. I was too drunk to care about Vaginismus, despite it being constantly present in the back of my mind; scratching away. That is probably a really bad alcohol level to normal person, but for someone with Vaginismus ; being this drunk is appropriate pain relief.

“No. I’m sorry. I really really REALLY want to have sex with you, trust me, I do. I just don’t want you to wake up in morning and regret it” Oh for fucks sake. He untangled himself from me, I pouted.

“Fine”

“Tomorrow night? When we’re both sober?” NO YOU FUCKING MORON I CAN’T HAVE SEX WITH YOU WHEN I’M SOBER BECAUSE I HAVEN’T HAD SEX SINCE MAY SO IT’S GOING TO FUCKING HURT! I decided that probably wasn’t the best thing to say at this point;

“That’s probably not going to happen, Michael”

I’m going to be totally honest; my Vaginismus has got to the stage where I’m actually really scared of having sex. I didn’t used to be scared, I was never scared of the pain or even the embarrassment of sex not going well, but I am now. I’ve experienced the worst of it and now know it is in fact a pain to be scared of. I think the physical:psychological ratio is probably about 1:1 now. The thing I was dreading the most has happened. It’s just as much in my head now as it is physical. I don’t think I am ever going to except that it is in my head, because it didn’t start in my head. Great, now I just sound mental, but I haven’t had sex since. Not having sex for that long has its effects on the best of us, and I’m the worst of us.

Maybe it is psychological and I am actually just mental. I’m putting too much pressure on myself to pretend that nothing is wrong with me. Or maybe I just don’t trust Michael to continue being a gentleman and not tell anyone if something went wrong. When something went wrong.  Oh and if you were wondering, there was no ‘tomorrow night’ in the end. I don’t like him enough to take on a challenge as huge as having sex with someone who doesn’t know about me let alone having sex sober.

Apparently Michael likes me and didn’t ‘take advantage’ of me BECAUSE he really likes me. Christ. That night proved that being the object of someone’s affections is not a good thing. Him having feelings for me stopped me from getting laid. What a selfish twat. Did he not think that if I didn’t want him to take advantage of me then I wouldn’t have brought him back to mine?! Emotions just ruin everything.

Actually, no. Psychology ruins everything.

Stay Sexy

Alura x

My heart won't be your ragdoll anymore.

“I don’t really know what you were trying to prove last night Mark. I would say you ruined my night but if I’m honest it really was the clarification I needed to realise how much of an arse you actually are. If your aim was to stop me from even attempting to be your friend then congratulations! I really thought we’d moved on from all this bitter bullshit but obviously you haven’t; so I’ll do us both a favour and try my very best to act like I don’t know, since you clearly don’t know how to function if we don’t hate or love each other” I took a brief breath of relief and waited for a reply. 
 

“I like it, very powerful”

“Thank you, so… send?”

“Oh no, no way in hell should you send that”

“Why not?!” I asked aggressively, slightly offended that they weren’t agreeing with me, “it’s good!”

“It is good… and it will make him feel like shit…”

“But..?”

“What did he ACTUALLY do though, really?” I jumped to defend my accusation, but instead paused and let out a disappointed sigh.

“Nothing. He didn’t actually do anything” I looked down at the floor, defeated and confused.

“Exactly” said my friend, who had suddenly decided to become Devil’s Advocate rather than doing the appropriate thing and support my ideas, “all Mark really did was see you at the union, then sent you some texts that messed with your head simply because he’s a twat and was bored. Come to think of it, it was probably because he hadn’t made any friends”

“He was basically own his own whenever I saw him” I stopped angrily typing insults and put my phone down the kitchen counter, picking up a glass of wine to replace it. 

“Exactly. Plus, think about it; if he replies it won’t be the apology you’re looking for, it will be something juvenile and bitchy like just replying ‘k’ and then you will kick off” I do get really pissed off when people say ‘k’ in reply to an emotional outburst, “and if he doesn’t reply at all, you will be stuck to your phone for the next few weeks until you finally send the evitable drunk ‘you’re a cunt’ text” it’s true; I would.

“Urgh, I hate it when you’re right”

“And turn the bloody depressing music off, you look suicidal” Pouting, I changed the song from Maroon 5’s ‘Ragdoll’ flicking through shuffle on my iPod trying to find a song to ease me into cheerfulness.

You are not what you seem, you are a mystery to me, sometimes I just wanna scream.

“I suppose it would make things even worse than they already are when we both come home for Christmas” I was slowly coming round to Advocate’s way of thinking, “I’m fairly sure I’ll have shaken the need to knock his lights out by then” I walked into the pantry, phone in one hand, empty glass in the other looking for more wine when my phone buzzed.

“Low battery, brilliant” on autopilot I clicked onto to my inbox and scrolled down the texts Mark sent me that evening; varying from ‘nice top’ to ‘don’t worry I don’t count you, I’d rather make myself out to be inexperienced than tell people we had sex’ to ‘I’m texting you because it’s fun’.

I still feel like I really REALLY need to have that final showdown with him, where I finally say all those things that ive wanted to say for a very long year.

But for now?

DELETE CONTACT?

Fuck yes.

My heart won’t be your ragdoll anymore.

xAx

Shameless Self-Plug

As the title suggests, this is once again a bid to gain more readers on Singles Warehouse. But I have secondary reasoning as to why I want you, dear reader, to read my latest post about being single; because I like it. So yes, shameless self-plug: go read my post/posts.

Oh and apologies for the awful spelling mistakes in the most recent post, I had to do it without my precious spellcheck for being drunk and dropping my laptop on the floor related reasons.

http://www.singleswarehouse.co.uk/warehouselife/category/alura-vatts/

Stay Sexy

xAx

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