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.



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…


I’m not. But I feel like one. I don’t know if it’s because of the heat (the sun since run away) but all the hotties are out – or at least they were on Saturday.

I had a great weekend, actually. On Friday, I bypassed the gym after to meet my old work colleague for drinks. This is the one who took me out a while back and told me to dress to impress. I don’t think I named him, so I’ll call him Mr Arrogant (in a nice way. sort of). So when he texted me I left the office and ambled down to Clapham in the blazing sunshine feeling all summery – bright vest, turned up jeans, sunglasses on – it’s summertime bitches. I get there and he’s suitably summery for a bloke i.e. he had his shirt sleeves rolled up and RayBans on. He was there with a friend, classic banker type, except Ugandan. Nice enough bloke. So we had a few drinks in a few bars before grabbing some food and the night drew on. I actually hadn’t intended to stay too long since I had to be up for 8am for uni the next day but…well…I got persuaded to go to a late night bar and, oh well. Swiftly told Mr Arrogant that since I’d have to get a cab home he could very well pay for my drinks. Of course, he did.

It was fun. Apart from the times I got pushed to the side when Mr Arrogant decided to chat up seemingly endless bits of skirt. I don’t care that he chatted up these women, but I did care that I was left with his random friend. I mean, if you’re gonna invite me out then bloody well don’t forget I’m there. Ruhuude. I didn’t say anything though, at least, not straight away. And so the pattern continued. He’d chat to some girl, take her number, come back, pick me up, spin me round and buy me another drink. And then his friend asked if we were seeing each other. I nearly spit out my drink. Erm. No, we’re not. I’ve never even kissed him. He asked why and I told him that I’d known My Arrogant for something like 10 years. I know what he’s like –  a dirty, dirty dog. I hated him at first for that very reason. Then, he said that Mr Arrogant had told him he was ‘seeing me’, therefore his friend wasn’t allowed to make a move on me. What’s wrong with this picture? His friend is married. This is what these guys are like. By the end of the night I’d had enough. At one point, I came in from having a smoke and he was chatting up yet another woman. He gestured to his mate in a way that (to me) said ‘get her out of the way’. I had a proper barney at him outside the bar at the end of the night because of that. He said his gesture meant ‘make sure Freechick’s not on her own’, and he’d never try to get rid of me. The conversation went something like this:

Me: I’m only going to say this once, so sober up and listen. Don’t ever invite me out again and then just fuck me off. I can be a great wingwoman if I’m at least prepared to know that’s what the night’s about (instead of cockblocking him which I did towards the end just for fun).

Him: I’m really sorry, it wont happen again. 

Me: Good boy (squeezed his cheeks). I’m going to get a cab.

Him: No, just come and stay at P’s (his friend).

Me: Can’t. I’ve got to be at uni tomorrow.

Him: It’s fine, you can go there straight from P’s.

Me: No, thanks. I don’t want to wake up to you trying to stick your cock up my arse.

I got in a cab and left. The next day he texted me to say he finished his triathlon, blah blah blah. He’s a bell-end but it was still fun.

Saturday, I met up with Miss Yoyo after uni. We were meant to just get some lunch, have a catch up and then I’d go home, study and chill. What happened was:

1. We met up. Had lunch.

2. Wandered through Covent Garden and randomly saw hundreds of naked people riding bikes. Literally. I’ve never seen so many cocks and vaginas in my life. Some of the guys were super hot too. There were penises bouncing around everywhere. And some that just looked like belly buttons. 

3. Went for cocktails (I had apple and cinnamon margaritas. To. Die. For)

4. Ogled at the fittest guy ever in the outside area of the pub opposite. 

5. Drained cocktails and headed to the bar with the fit man.

6. Edged my way into the group with the fit man on the pretext of needing to rest my bag on the table in order to roll a cigarette so Miss Yoyo and I could ogle more blatantly. He was in a group on a stag do. Out of the group I identified 6 shaggables. 

7. Sat and people-watched. The pub had a higher than average fit-man ratio.

8. Took the piss out of people with dodgy dress sense. In particular, men who think it’s acceptable to wear SUEDE LOAFERS WITH NO SOCKS!! Gah! Seems like everyone thinks they’re TOWIE rejects these days. And, there was also a guy with denim pedal pushers on. I kid you not.

9. Bantered with a group of guys about places I could arrange a holiday for my 30th. The conclusion was Miami. Or Panama. I’m erring towards Miami, bitches.

10. Drank Long Island Ice Teas that actually sobered me up (while Miss Yoyo drank a green concoction that needed an umbrella and sparkler. She didn’t have the umbrella or sparkler, but the drink soooo deserved one).

11. Went down to the basement to listen to the live band.

12. Ended up talking to a hot Brazilian dude. I went old school and gave him a receipt from my purse and a pen to write his name on since my phone was dead (so modern I didn’t take digits, just his name for Facebook. He asked me but my name is so common he’d never find me.)

13. Almost came on the spot when he did some weird samba thing and looked at me like he wanted to eat me.

14. Left the pub and walked to the tube station, and saw a woman who was in the bar with her head INSIDE a bin, chucking up while her boyfriend rubbed her back. At like, 11pm. Sad times.

15. Got the bus home and went to bed.

Safe to say, my head was fucked the next day. 4 hours sleep in two days and copious amounts of alcohol…hmm. And I had to study the next day too. Boo. But then I looked this guy up on Facebook. His profile picture was decent. And I flicked through to the rest. One of him on a beach, rippling six pack, tattoo, brighter than bright smile. Fuck yes.

Pretty much since then I’ve had the horn. If I was a guy, I’d be walking around with a permanent boner. I so need to get laid it’s ridiculous. I’m out this Friday and next, and also meeting up with an old friend next Thursday (last time we met up turned extremely messy and we ended up chatting up half the bar). I might invite the hot Brazilian to this party I’m going to Saturday. I only know the host and she’s said to bring someone. And I have the feeling I could do some serious flirting at the very least. And I need to get laid.

Never had a Brazilian before…

Spread Eagled

This morning I found myself spread eagled on a bed in my doctors surgery. It was time for my routine smear test. They’re not mandatory but you’d have to be pretty dumb not to have one. Look at what happened to Jade Goody. My mum had pre-cancerous cells too, so every three years, I get half naked with a nurse. Albeit begrudgingly.

Men are so lucky. Women are poked and prodded with smear tests and vaginal checks while they’re pregnant. Dropping our pants is something we have to get used to pretty quick and its not the most comfortable feeling.

I am a bit worried though. The nurse was concerned about something and so I have to wait until Thursday for the results of my swab. I’m always one for thinking the worst but I’m trying not to panic. My last STD check was in August. Pre Mr Grey. We were both in the clear and so we went without protection after bit. And now I’m thinking, oh god. What if? The last thing I want is to have to tell The Frenchman that I might have given him something, especially because we’ve been 100% careful 100% of the time. I’m off to the GUM clinic tonight for a full screen. I was meant to go in November, just in case Mr Grey had lied but I kept putting it off.

I’m sure its nothing but then everyone thinks that don’t they? Its going to be an anxious wait.

A whole lotta Durex and a whole lotta fun

So, The Frenchman came, he went and I conquered. And we came. And came. A massive box of Durex, gone. Fun times. Right now, I’m battling against a cold and feeling a bit sorry for myself. The cold is courtesy of The Frenchman. He came down with it three days before flying in but hey, it’s a small price to pay for the fun we had.

 The weekend went without a hitch, despite the sky shitting snow all over London. I mean, really?! I had to adjust the plans I’d made a little but on the whole it went to plan. I was unbelievably nervous waiting for him at the airport. I have no idea why. But I was. Proper heart ricocheting in my chest, sweaty palms, sickly nervous. But then when I saw him, well, all was good. He looked deliciously handsome and was wrapped up in the scarf I’d bought him for Christmas. Looked good on him, too. On the drive into London, I showed him various sites – the Olympic Park, Canary Wharf, my house. Yep. We drove straight past it. And if it wasn’t for the fact I’m living with the ‘rents, I’d have been taking him there instead. Having said that, when we got to the hotel, it was clear I’d made the right choice. We got upgraded to a suite for no apparent reason (and I never get upgraded anywhere, on anything, ever). So, instead of just a room, we had a massive living room with a great view over London, massive bathroom with double shower, kitchen and bedroom. Nice. This clearly meant more surfaces to get dirty on. And get dirty we did. Bedroom, tick. Shower, tick. Bath, tick. Kitchen, tick. Sofa, tick. Up against the floor to ceiling height windows overlooking Waterloo station? Tick. Just, fabulous. I’m quite amazed at how good the sex actually is. Very cat that got the cream, I can tell you.

 So, the Friday, we went to look at Egyptian mummies and drink real ale in a chintzy Victorian pub and in the evening, I introduced him to Nandos. I cannot believe they don’t have one in France. I mean, seriously? What’s that all about? I adore Nandos. So we met up with Miss America and her husband, had some food and then headed into central London for some cocktails. It was a lot of fun. I love that The Frenchman loves to dance. I love that he’s so affectionate, even in front of other people. He’ll kiss me anywhere. Over the table in a restaurant, on the Tube, on the bus, in a packed bar. I felt thoroughly adored and I’m sure I was positively glowing. It was a lovely day and night. With the snowfall everything was coated in white and it was nothing short of romantic, walking around the near deserted streets of London at 2am after having argued about whether English or French McDonald’s was better…ahhh, l’amour. Saturday was a chilled affair. We had a long lie in and a nice lunch before wandering around Covent Garden, Soho and Carnaby Street. We stopped off at Yuautcha, a Chinese/Japanese restaurant in Soho and had coffees and macaroons (cola, hazelnut and parma violet flavoured. Just yum) and headed back to the hotel for a nap. That night we went on the London Eye, a first for the both of us, and then into Chinatown for dinner. I think it’s safe to say that his naughty side is definitely becoming a lot more pronounced now. As we were having a cigarette in the freezing cold, he told me he’d love to warm me up by pushing me up against the wall and fucking the life out of me. I almost choked on my cigarette. Not because I’m a prude, but because it came from him. He’s always sensitive, more romantic than aggressive in the bedroom, and even though I knew he had a naughty side to him, it took me by surprise coming from nowhere like it did. Yeah. That was a lot of fun.

 That’s what the weekend was. Fun. We didn’t have any heavy conversations, we just hung out. Enjoyed each others company. Took the piss out of my bad French and his dodgy English phrases. After talking about blowjobs, it transpired I can’t say ‘souffler’ (blow) and it’s a common term of endearment in French to call a woman ‘Ma biche’ (my doe). He calls me his little venison instead. We’re racking up the ‘in jokes’ and each of them make me smile. I didn’t repeat the L-Bomb but it took a LOT of restraint on my part. It’s incredibly hard for me to hold back on what I’m feeling sometimes but, I did it. And as he told me at the airport as he was leaving, ‘we’re strong’. That’s enough for me.

For the entire weekend, we were literally joined at the hip. So much so that I feel a bit lost now. As usual, it’s going to take a good few days for me to feel back to normal, get used to sleeping alone and waking alone. Total balls.

I go back to Marseille in four weeks time and I’m already marking the days in my calendar.


If you snooze you lose

So Mr Soldier texted me again about an hour ago.

‘Your lips are looking too hot.’

He was referring to a picture I’d put on Facebook from my night out yesterday, my lips streaked with deep red lipstick. I replied back with ‘thanks’ and when he texted back and asked if he could kiss them again, he got a ‘nope’ in response. I mean. Really? Anyway, this went back and forth for a few minutes, him saying what he missed about me and me saying ‘I’m off the market’. Then he said:

‘It’s been over a year now.’

Well, yes. It almost has, kinda. So why keep harping on about it? The sex was good, but really? It can’t be that hard to go get laid somewhere else. I replied back and said yep, a lot can change in a year and he said he wished things hadn’t changed. I reminded him that he was the one to flake on our arrangement, and now it’s too bad. If you snooze, you lose. That’s the way of the world. You can’t just pick someone up and put them down whenever you feel like it and expect them to hang around. Besides, I’m so not interested. Wouldn’t go back there if you paid me. That’s the last time I dally with a friend’s brother!

Bloody men.