Leaving on a jet plane

Eeek! So, tomorrow morning, I fly out to the south of France where I’ll be until the end of September. Shitting it isn’t the word! I’m super excited, but nervous. It’s the first time I’ll have been away by myself and although I’ll be volunteering and things for the most part, next week will be a proper beach holiday on my lonesome. I will still have internet access though, so I’m hoping to be able to keep in touch with my cyber world!

So, what else. Things are finito with The Greek. I put an end to it when I found out he was approaching another girl from our Facebook uni group. It’s not so much that he was doing that, it was more that he was doing it at the very same time he was asking me for help with his assignment and I was giving it to him when I should have been doing my own. It’s all very complicated and full of ‘he doesn’t know that I know our mutual friend knows about us’ type things, but I didn’t tell him I’d found out about him and this other woman. Instead, I just told him it wasn’t working for me because I know what I’m like and I’ll just end up getting hurt. His reply?

“Hahaha, yeah ok 🙂 “

Hmmmm. Arse. So that’s the end of him. He seems to have fallen out of favour in our group in general it would appear. The past two weekends have been outstanding – out Friday and Saturday nights, lots of flirting, including with a 23 year old who turned out to have some kind of terminal liver disease. That put the stop on any flirtatious behaviour. And last night, I made friends with a nice Spaniard (friend of a new friend). Extraodinarily hot and in Barcelona the same time I might be there next week. 

So much for a rest from the men-folk!



When things happen that aren’t supposed to happen

So, yeah. I kind of like The Greek a bit. This wasn’t meant to happen. I mean, I wasn’t even supposed to be attracted to him. He’s not tall enough, too young, too slutty, too flirty, too everything. It’s not so bad – I mean I’m not spending my days imagining us together forever and ever amen. Yet. Sigh. The problem started when I realised he’s not *quite* the guy I  expected him to be. I wish I could just be one of those girls who make do with just sex. Because the sex is good. So fucking good.

So he was away on holiday and I wasn’t even missing him much. We’d messaged a bit when he was away and it was fine. Even when he said he was looking forward to seeing me, it was fine, because in my head, that meant he was looking forward to fucking me. Then, he landed at around 10pm and texted to see what I was doing. I’d had a busy day enduring just under three hours of pain for my newest tattoo and was out having a couple of civilised drinks after going to a silent disco/cabaret show thing. He asked if I wanted to come over. Sure, I said, but I wouldn’t get there til 1am at least and wasn’t he tired? I mean, he’d been out the night before and then spoken to me on Facebook until 2am, and then was up at 8am to sort things out before flying back to London. He said he was very, very tired, but he was offering. I went round after finishing up with my friends and got to his around 1.30. He was bone tired, I could see that. And, he was tanned – so tanned it was disgustingly sexy. He asked how I was, how my studying was going, work etc etc. All very nice and friendly. And then he gave me a bag  of sweets he’d brought back after I jokingly demanded that he should. Then came the sex. 

I’m not even going to lie – I felt like my entire fucking reproductive organs got shifted around. Literally.

I was watching Sex and The City the other day and Miranda apparently had said this to Robert, the fit Nicks doctor. 


And that’s literally how I felt. Aside from the extra *ahem* deepness, it was just what I would call intense. I swear, if he could’ve crushed my bones he would’ve. And therein lies my problem, because up til then it was just straight up fucking. He said he didn’t sleep with anyone while he was away, and he’s not sleeping with anyone else right now. It’s probably more because of hygiene than anything else, but c’mon, I’m female, of course that’s got my mind working over time. In homage to those girls in the McDonald’s advert: “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?”

We stayed up til 5.30, talking about all sorts, having more sex and then fell asleep.

I haven’t seen him since, thanks to my bloody period, but I dunno. I’m kinda thinking this might have to come to a premature end. I suppose it’s a good thing I go away A WEEK ON MONDAY because then I’ll get  some distance before I start overthinking things. Last night, he asked if I was really still going to France when we were texting and I’d said I’d be off after next week. Well of course I am. I asked if he was going to miss me and my ass (which he’s trying to tap and I’m dangling in front of his face quite nicely without saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’) and he said mostly my arse. So that brought me back down to earth.

It also turned out he told a mutual ‘friend’ about our getting together. I don’t mind that he did, but I did mind when she told me she knew and I had literally no inkling of it. She assured me he wasn’t bragging about it, and hasn’t told anyone else in our group. But still. And she wont tell me details of what he said either. 

He said he likes me because I’m not “crazy”. HA! Thank God he doesn’t read my blog! 


Men: The Greek, The Brazilian, The London-Scot and The Albanian…

What is it about the sun? For the past couple of weeks we’ve been heatwaving in London. It’s been fan-fucking-tastic. I’ve got a nice tan, I’ve been in dresses non-stop…I love, love my city when it’s like this. Everyone’s happy, smiling, drinking and FIT. I’m telling you, all the hotties come out when the sun shines. It’s been aaaaages since I updated my blog and this is a long arse post – but then I have been a very busy girl 😉 So…lowdown:

Following my last post, I met with The Greek on that Friday night. I was pretty adamant I wouldn’t fancy him. Way too cocky for my liking, not tall enough, too young (25) list goes on. About 10 minutes after we met, I realised I fancied him. Balls. We had a really good laugh. His banter was good, though not as good as mine, and he was very cheeky and flirty. We ended up out until about 3am drinking and dancing, before chilling out on the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral. It was fairly obvious there was an attraction there (what with me having unleashed my inner sex goddess over the past few weeks) but I didn’t go back to his. Instead we chatted about all sorts of things. His past, my past, his fucked up childhood (abuse etc) and my less fucked up childhood. But it wasn’t like, really intimate – there was no feeling of ‘I really like you in a romantic way’ more of a ‘I want to fuck you’ sort of way. He asked if I wanted to meet up the next day and I said maybe, depending on what happened with meeting up with a mate. So, I behaved. Took his hoodie (it had got a bit chilly) and went home. The next day however……yeah. Not so much. Went to his to ‘watch a film’ – we all know what that means. He’d talked a bloody good talk about his mad skills in the bedroom so he had a lot to live up to. I’d give him an 8/10. Easily the best foreplay I think I’ve had in a very, very long time. But, there was no orgasm for me. He found that quite fascinating, and I told him it wasn’t that easy for me. Think he feels it’s a bit of a challenge now. So, yeah that was interesting. I stayed the night and then left about midday to rush home, shower and go to meet….

The Brazilian. Yup. We’d arranged to meet to go to London Zoo. I had an hour to go from East to South London, shower, eat, and then jump on the tube up to Camden to meet him. It was roasting. I think that was the first day of the heatwave and I remember standing outside the tube station, waiting for this hunk of a man to appear. And appear he did. And we set off to go look at animals. And I was massively disappointed because…there was just no spark. Goddamit! The man is beautiful. I made sure I touched those abs at every opportunity when I laughed, trust me, they were like bloody rocks. His teeth were pearly white. It was one of those situations where I could see women looking at him and his biceps but for me, there was nothing going on. I don’t know if it was a language barrier thing, or just him. We had a nice day anyway, wandering around in the heat, taking the piss out of the monkeys and then went for a drink. Funny enough, he just messaged me on Facebook to go for a drink in the sun next week. I said yes, because he’s a really nice guy, even if there’s no spark there. So, as I left him to go home, my mobile beeped and it was….

Mr Poker-Face (this is the guy I met when The Brazilian was supposed to come out but didn’t). We’d been texting regularly since we met, which was unexpected and nice, because I really didn’t expect to hear from him. It did catch me off guard though. He kept asking questions about me – I know this sounds weird, but it’s true. They were really silly questions like, which biscuits were best, bourbon or custard cream. Totally silly, but the way he asked seemed very…probing. I liked it.

I have to say, it was starting to get to a point where I was having to double check what I was texting to who, to make sure I didn’t say the wrong thing to the wrong guy. Really?! This is me! When do I ever have a string of men in my line of sight? Thank god for inclusive text, calls and data otherwise my bill would be horrific.

Anyway, the following week, amidst all this action, The Greek asked if I wanted to go over again, but of course, Aunt Flo decided she wanted to pay an early visit. I was most unhappy about that. But there was always the weekend Um. No. I happened to see him comment on a Facebook event for his birthday house party, but he kept telling me he wasn’t doing anything at all which pissed me off. I’d never expressed an interest in being anything more than casual with this guy, but you still need to have an element of honesty I think. Don’t out and out lie about it, just say, I’m having a birthday party, so I won’t be around. It’s not like I know his friends or even him all that well for that matter. In any case it didn’t matter, because I had plans to go to a BBQ with my French friends. The day of the BBQ it was insanely hot, and so….

The Albanian from across the block texted to see if I wanted to sunbathe up on the roof. I had a couple of hours to kill before getting ready to go out, so I went. Wish I didn’t. He’s a nice guy, but talk about smarm. At one point, we were both looking over the side at the view and he came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. Ermmmmmm. Considering I literally hadn’t given him a single come on, and he was topless and sweaty it was most unpleasant. I pretty much scarpered straight away. I know I’ve been told I give off a sensual vibe but dude, please. Off I went to the BBQ and had a great time, thank you very much. And then who texts but The Greek, asking what I’m doing, do I want to come over? I called him out on the party and left him hanging for a bit. I eventually rocked up there when I’d drunk way too much at the BBQ and only a few people were left at his house. And I made sure to string him up about the party thing too, especially when he said it happened ‘kinda last minute.’ My arse. He seems to bring out a side to me I’d not known before. I get super fiery with him which of course leads to great sex. Which we had. In the garden. I think I got home at around 4pm the next day, all the while texting Mr Poker-Face who’d also been on a night out.

Fast forward a week, and Mr Poker-Face suggested we meet up. So we met up. In Manchester – roughly equal distance for the both of us between our respective cities. While I was on the train (first class, as you do) who texts me but The Greek. He’d been fairly quiet all week and now he wanted to know if I wanted to come spend the day and night. Told him I was off to Manchester for a night out and he told me to get a train back to London when I arrived there. Yeah, right. I *do* have a life, thank you. Bit more notice next time? So I told him I wasn’t available and let the train carry me up north to meet Mr Poker-Face. And you know what? He’s actually really nice. He’d cut his hair, which I was a bit miffed about because it was kind of Harry Styles nice and curly before, but whateves, he was still cute and super funny. We had a couple of drinks in the sun before checking in at our plush hotel. I have to say, hands down, he has THE best arse I’ve ever seen on a guy. Wasn’t expecting it whatsoever, but my god. It was like a literal peach. In fact, he had a nice body all over. But. And there’s a but. I think he was a bit…shall we say…nervous. The sex wasn’t bad, it was just….I dunno. It seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind exactly what he wanted to do. Hmm. But that aside, it was good. And as time went on, he got better, so I’m putting it down to nerves.

We headed out to eat at a funky bar with molecularly mixed cocktails and then down to the locks for drinks. I was looking exceptionally hot, I must say. See through blouse, high waisted tiny shorts and killer heels. And he looked good too (gets top marks for trendiness). We had a great time. Drank way, way too much and danced a lot. And more with the questions. We played a game where we took turns to ask each other questions that had to be answered honestly and couldn’t be asked again by the other person. He asked me things like, if I could repeat any day in my life, what would it be. And then progressed to things like, had I ever cheated in a relationship, and how many men had I slept with (ahem). I actually underestimated the answer to that question slightly, but it was a real honest mistake. Oh well. He seems like a normal, nice guy so far (apart from being an Aquarius). Privately educated but not posh, geeky (maths degree and masters in electrical mechanical engineering or some such), good job in banking. Like I said, nice guy with good credentials. We went back to the hotel, had more sex and crashed out. The next day, we checked out, had a mahoosive breakfast in an Alice in Wonderland themed cafe in the gay district of Canal Street, before sitting out by the canal with a couple of jugs of Pimms under the blazing sun. It really was an awesome weekend. And then when I got back to London, I headed straight out (after a shower). 

It was Bastille Day and long story short, the group I was with ended up back at one of their houses for a BBQ. It was a nice evening with yet more alcohol. I ended up walking home in the balmy heat at around 11:30 along the Thames and over Tower Bridge. It was one of those evenings where I felt nice and content. It had been a mental weekend but all was good with the world. I was walking in the heat (about 25 degrees) along the river with the twinkly lights of London’s cityscape in the bakground. Pretty damned perfect.

I’m expecting a nice, quiet week now. The Greek and Mr Poker-Face both went on holiday today, so I can rest my text thumbs for a bit. I say quiet, but I ended up completely shit-faced last night after meeting a friend for drinks (too much wine), rocked up home at 12:30ish, put the kettle on and promptly fell asleep. Fear not, I woke up again at 2:30 to finish that tea and then back to bed.

As a side note – a mutual friend of mine and The Ex’s told me he honestly still thinks I’m sitting around pining after him. If only he knew! I’ve given her carte blanche to show him my Facebook photos, just to put his mind at ease. Hehehe.

Life is bloody hectic right now, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.



And another…

So, yesterday evening after work, I stood outside my flats having a smoke. There’s a guy who lives across from me and I see him every now and again, but we’d never really spoken until this week. In fact, it was on the same day as my last post, but with all the activity I forgot to mention him.

He was locked out (as he was last time we spoke) and was waiting for his brother to come with a spare set of keys. We got chatting again and he asked me out for a drink this Saturday. I had to politely decline, since I’ve got a busy weekend as it is, but told him that he should ask me along to his rooftop barbecue next time. He’s cute enough, though disappointingly short (i.e. same height as me). I don’t know why but it seems like being a tall bloke is a rarity these days.

He’s also Albanian. And while I don’t mind that, I had ten years with an Albanian and boy, they have some things you need to be able to deal with. But, as I say, he’s cute. He’s got lovely hair – brown and thick and slightly long. Nice brown eyes and a cute goatee. If only he had a few more pounds and inches in height.


And then there were three

It’s been a busy day. Not work wise thankfully, but man wise. So.

The Brazilian messaged me, apologising for not coming out on Friday. He said he was gutted not to have been able to make it but wanted to know when the next one was. I told him I didn’t have anything planned yet but I’d let him know and asked how he was. Not good, he said. He keeps getting lost as he didn’t have a ‘nice navigation’ of London yet. Would I like to be his tour guide, winky face? Obviously I said yes and reeled off a list of things to do in and around London. I should point out I was being a bit cocky here because I’ve not actually been to any of the places I pointed out. When you’ve lived in a city so long you tend to skip the touristy stuff. I’d mentioned a trip along the Thames into Richmond or Kew. Didn’t expect him to actually ask if I was free on Sunday for a day out. Oh balls. Of course I said yes. So now I have to actually look into it properly. On the plus side, I’ll spend the day with a hot bloke (still thinking about those rippling abs) in nice surroundings.

Then, as I signed off that conversation, The Greek messaged me. We’d both been struggling with our uni assignment so we chatted a bit about that. Then he asked me out for a drink on Friday night. So I said yes to that too because fuck it, why not?

Ten minutes later, I got a message from Mr Music. Remember him? He’s going to be in London in a couple weeks and asked if I was free for drinks. And we all know what happens when we meet and mix alcohol. Said yes to that too.

As I say, busy day. The guy from Friday night has been messaging too. I didn’t really expect him to but he seems a nice bloke. So that’s been nice.

Honestly, men are like bloody buses.

Sod’s Law

So after my great weekend shenanigans of my last post, the week ahead was looking promising. I had a gig to go to, a good night out planned for the Friday followed by my night with the Brazilian. I went to see Kings of Leon as planned, but was a bit disappointed. We  were nice and close to the stage, but actually, they were pretty…well…just not as good as I thought they were going to be. I’m not a KoL afficionado or whatever but I wanted to hear more old stuff. Instead, it seemed they were playing more for the Sex on Fire generation. Added to that there were people throwing piss around in cups and general twattish behaviour, plus I wasn’t feeling too hot. I got home, tired and cold, but still, I’d been to see Kings of Leon.

The next morning I woke up and could barely breathe. I had the worst cold I think I’ve ever, ever had. I blew my nose so much I’m sure I lost some of my brain in there. 3 rolls of toilet paper in 3 days, and almost 2 weeks on, I’m still sniffling and blowing out rank stuff. I think I might actually have a sinus infection, so if it doesn’t clear up soon, I’m going to have to go to the doctor’s. I ended up sleeping my way through the Thursday, Friday and most of the Saturday. Yup, I had to cancel the hot Brazilian. Peed off wasn’t the word. I told him I’d be out the following Friday and he was more than welcome to come with. So, this week, Friday came round and some messages were exchanged – it was all looking good. Except he didn’t turn up. Or if he did, I didn’t see him because the place was bloody heaving. Grrrr. I wasn’t impressed. I wanted to lay him, I couldn’t do that if he wasn’t there!

It turned out to be an ok night. Mr Arrogant came brought a couple of mates – they were nice enough, but lotharios, pretty much like Mr Arrogant. I actually ended up slapping him around the face at one point and I’ve never slapped anyone before. He kept slapping my arse and then picking me up, and it really, really hurt. He definitely cannot handle his alcohol. So, I slapped him and told him to sort himself out. He disappeared, probably to terrorise some poor unfortunate girl, and I carried on having fun. Just as I was getting a bit bored, I turned around and saw some hot young guy. Tall, dark hair, nice eyes – well hello there. Yeah. I chatted him up some. Necked on a bit and then we left and ended up in Brick Lane until 3am. It was lots of fun. I fancied the pants off him and was pre-tty forward. I’m not one for coming out with what’s on my mind sexually but for whatever reason (probably feeling like a nympho as per my last post), that night, I was. We decided to escape the place we were in, left, bumped into a guy off Hollyoaks and then stumbled into a woman shouting up to an open window with blaring music. She was locked out of the house party and couldn’t get back in, so we helped get the party people’s attention until a girl in a onesie with rabbit ears came down to open the door.

Now, most people would just smile and be on their way. But I’m not most people. And for whatever reason, this guy was bringing out my mischevious side. So, we followed this woman into the party for a little gatecrashing action. I’ve always wanted to gatecrash a party, and one on Brick Lane had to be cool, right? Well. No. It was pretty empty, so we headed back out, since at that point, I just wanted to get laid. It’s funny, I’ve never really realised the power of words in those kinds of situations but when I told him I wanted to f*ck, the reaction was so visible, it made me laugh. And why not? We were both adults. He lives in Edinburgh so it’s not like it would be anything more than one night. Clearly we couldn’t come back to mine and he was staying at his parents for the weekend, so we decided to try a hotel round the corner. Except, it was fully booked. As was the one after that.

Can we say – frustrated?? It began to rain so we decided to call it a night and shared a cab. The next day we had a little banter over text but whatever – it served me no purpose. So annoying.

In other developments, one of the guys from my uni course has engaged me in a bit of messaging. It’s turned pretty filthy pretty quickly. Again. Nympho. He’s not in my tutor group which is good and I know that if I wanted to, I could go, get a quick bang and leave it there. But I dunno. It’s too easy. I like a bit of a challenge. But then it has been aaaaages. I’ve probably forgotten how to even have sex by now. Should I go for the Greek charmer or not? Decisions, decisions…

Delayed Reaction

If there’s one thing I should have learned about myself that I haven’t is that I often get delayed responses to things. No surprise since I do certain things by the seat of my pants, like getting a tattoo the day after I’ve drawn it for example. In this case, it’s The Frenchman. Yes, him again. I’ve been feeling fantastically low for a good few weeks now and it’s not letting up. I think it kicked in properly when I was feeling ill and spent a whole day crying like a demented baby. Since then, it’s come in waves. Today was a bit shit, really. Things like listening to music, any music, is disgustingly horrible, but I still do it because, well. It’s music. And I can’t live without it, which is why I’ve got music stuff incorporated into tattoo number 5. I’d love to share pics but I can’t because…well. Anonymity and all that malarkey. Even the fact that it’s my birthday tomorrow and I’ll hit the big 2-9 is just….meh.

What didn’t help, was that I met with The Ex yesterday. Since we’ve missed each other at a mutual friends’ last couple of gatherings by an hour or so and we’ll both be going to a christening next month, I thought it a good idea to get the first meet out of the way instead of doing it in front of everyone. It was fine. We had a drink and a bit to eat. He’s doing well, still with his girlfriend and apparently less on the coke, more on the gym. It wasn’t particularly awkward, though he did bring up ‘us’ a few times. But I sat there, opposite him and thought, I spent 9.5 years with you…how? There were absolutely no residual feelings on my part, which was good, but all I could think about was The Frenchman, and how their qualities were so different. This feeling I have now is way deeper than the regret and sickly ugh-ness I felt after The Ex. And I didn’t like that. Nor did I like the fact that as soon as we walked into the pub, ‘Lights Out, Words Gone’ by Bombay Bicycle Club came on. It’s a song that made me cry the first time I heard it, just because I think it’s beautiful. And all that was in my head was lying on a hotel bed, listening to it in Toulouse with The Frenchman. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard it played anywhere at all.


I hate this about myself. I hate that I feel things way later than I should. I hate that things might have been different if I’d have voiced my concerns before throwing my toys out of the pram. He’s since told me that there was no conspiracy for me to not to meet his friends. The first few times he wanted to spend time alone with me and the last time, they were busy. It was a major bone of contention for me and perhaps, if I’d have just said, I’m not happy with this, I’d have made a different decision.

I dunno. I miss him, a lot. And when he comments on my Facebook update leaving a trail of kisses in caps, it really hurts. For the first time, I can understand why people choose not to to keep in touch with exes, because it hurts more than it helps.

Oh well. As Freddie Mercury said, show must go on.