I Had AMAZING Sex Last Night.

I need to talk about last night. Oh boy do I. It’s been a shit few weeks. In fact, it’s been a shit few months, so the fact that I have something exciting and naughty to talk about for a change has filled me with happiness. Lame, right?

I didn’t know whether or not I wanted to go and see Someone New last night, but I hadn’t seen him for over two weeks and he was starting to get a bit antsy. I was hours later than I had planned to be, but to be fair the day didn’t go quite as I had planned. That’s a lie. I fart-assed about for the entire day, not really giving a shit because I was pretty sure I was going to blow him out anyway.

In the end, I went and I’m really glad I did. The last few times we’ve hung out, I’ve told him to be gentle with me, but we’ve both gotten a bit carried away. Each time we’ve slept together, he’s made me bleed… For days after. I’m putting this down to the LLETZ I had a while back, but it’s really pissing me off. This time, he promised he’d go gentle so I wouldn’t bleed again. Gentle isn’t quite what I would call it… But I didn’t bleed anyway! 😉

We had a lazy evening on the couch, watching Finding Nemo because we clearly haven’t grown up yet. We ordered fish and chips. We snuggled in his super-soft blanket, and I gave him the obligatory blowjob on the couch. You see, when you don’t see your boyfriend for weeks at a time, you get used to him blowing his load waaaaaay too soon. When he does this, there’s spunk inside you so he then won’t go down on you. Sorry to be crude. You miss out, he gets what he wants… Hardly fair, right?

I’m smart – I give him head first. It takes five minutes maximum because it’s been so long and I come across the perfect girlfriend (although I love giving head anyway). Plus we both get what we want – I get my fair share of oral sex later on because I’m not looking like something out of a creampie porno, he gets a blowjob, and we have great sex before drifting off to sleep. Not always like that, obviously; we’re not boring or predictable yet. But you get the general idea – that first blowjob works for you both!

Back to my night, and it wasn’t long before we were climbing into bed. He reached into his bedside cabinet drawer and pulled something out – a black, silky blindfold. Clearly my boyfriend had been shopping. Carefully blindfolded, I positioned myself ready for the cunnilingus I was desperately hoping for but it didn’t come… Instead, I heard what I thought were clicking noises and I’ll be honest, for a moment, I shit myself. I was petrified. I couldn’t see what was coming. I didn’t know where he was. I didn’t know what he had in his hands, or what was going to happen next. I felt his hands roaming over my breasts and my skin exploded with goosebumps. Apparently fear is quite the turn on. It’s been such a long time since someone tried to push my boundaries, I almost forgot quite how exciting it was.

He held my nipples in his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the top of them, and then I felt something that wasn’t his fingers. Something vibrating, something that clamped down onto my nipples but in a way that didn’t hurt. It wasn’t until the next morning that I learned they were these things:

Vibrating Nipple Clamps available at Ann Summers.

Vibrating Nipple Clamps available at Ann Summers.

Can I first just say that I would definitely personally recommend them? Well, I would. They don’t hurt, surprisingly enough. In fact, they bring a little something new to the table – something almost painful, but definitely more than verging into pleasure. He had those nicely buzzing away on my nipples, while he worked his magic with his fingers and his tongue down below.

He told me he’d never me felt me cum that hard – back arched more than he’d seen before, and my insides clamping down so hard, he marvelled at my strength. It was mind-blowing. The whole night was. The blindfold combined with the vibrating nipple clamps gave me the craziest orgasm I’d ever had, and when he moved the clamps down and gently placed them on my lips… Fuck. Just fuck.

I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t stop my hands from tearing at the bed sheets. I couldn’t stay still, squirming around his bed wanting more, and wanting him to stop, all at the same time. I was putty in his hands and I would have done anything he wanted in that moment. When he slid into me and gently rocked me to my final orgasm before finishing himself off in my mouth and spooning me to sleep, I realised something – this guy really tries hard to make me happy.

We talk a lot, normally via our phones because we don’t see each other enough, and we’ve covered a lot of topics. Sex, obviously, is one of the biggest things we talk about, and I’ve already explained to him in great detail my annoyance about guys seriously avoiding my nipples, despite being perma-obsessed with my tits.

Why does this happen? Why do all guys shout, scream and make such a commotion about my chest, only to completely ignore it when I’m all good and naked? It really pisses me off, and from what I can work out, I’m far from the only girl that feels like this. Guys – seriously. Why are you avoiding them? They are there to be played with!

Anyway, Someone New listened to this and did something about it. Not only did he dedicate a full five minutes just playing with my nipples while kissing me – biting them, tweaking them, nibbling on them, licking them, blowing them, and more, but he also bought toys to ensure they weren’t left out when he was focusing on other areas! He knows I have a serious pleasure-pain fetish, and I think he’s excited to play around with it. He’s never done that with anyone before; I think he may have lead a somewhat vanilla sex life. Well…. That’s about to change. Clearly. Woo hoo!

But seriously though. He’s really trying. And he’s actually working out to be a really nice guy. Like a really nice guy. We’ve been dating for three and a half months and I can honestly say, there’s nothing that really bugs me about him. Plus I’m starting to develop feelings for him. I don’t know what they are, and I’m definitely nowhere near ready for the whole L-word thing yet. God no. He is though. It’s on the very tip of his tongue. It keeps popping up in random places like the random hearts he sends me via text (I’ve NEVER sent him a heart, I don’t do that), or when he replied to a random selfie I sent the other day with “Love that little face”. That’s basically the L-word, right?

In fact, he’s full of the awesome text messages. Just check this next one out:

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Sorry, I just wanted to share that cuteness with someone. It’s so cute, it almost makes you want to vomit, doesn’t it? But that’s what he’s like. He does stuff. He says stuff. It’s all the right stuff. He’s bought me vintage scarves because I said I liked them. He got me a Frozen easter egg because he knows I love that movie. He got me a tube of Smarties when he went to Switzerland with work; a special one in a special tube with a Mickey Mouse figurine on the lid. The blindfold, the cock ring, the nipple clamps, making me dinner, making sure I’m OK…. It’s all a thousand times away from what I had with, dare I say his name, Jock.

A million miles away.

So why am I just not that into him yet? At this point with Jock, I was well and truly smitten with him – hooked, obsessed, addicted. With Someone New, I’m not quite sure even though, by all accounts, he’s actually a pretty damn awesome guy, and very well matched to me. Why not? If he’s ticking all the right boxes, and we have the right chemistry, why isn’t it all sliding into place? Why am I still not quite sure? He rocked my world last night and yet somewhere along the lines, I seem to have missed a trick. He’s clearly well into me. Why am I not well into him?

Still, I had AMAZING sex last night. 

Bad Times, Peeps. Bad Times.

If you’ve been a reader for a while, you’ll probably have noticed that I seem to be suffering with some kind of debilitating bowel condition, usually leaving me with either vomiting, diarrhoea, strange gut noises, excess gas, odd smells, you name it. Except apparently, I’m not suffering with some kind of debilitating bowel condition. I’m making it all up. That’s what the Doctors think – it’s all in my head.

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Bestie had a stomach bug last week. We actually thought he had norovirus (sp?) – a virus that is apparently doing the rounds over here, crippling one person at a time with dodgy guts and flu-like symptoms. Then I got it. Or so we thought. Six days later, when I was still vomiting at least once a day, and still getting a very bad stomach even though there was nothing left inside it, I made myself a doctors appointment. I’d already called in sick at work once and had my head well and truly bitten off by my boss who has turned out to be a real dick about all of this. If I hear the words “following procedures” one more time come out of his mouth, I’m going to ram my fucking fist down it. I know what the fucking procedures are you little cunt. I’m well-fucking-aware.

The Doc told me that although there are lots of little problems discovered throughout the investigations into why my insides are trying to kill me, there was nothing serious to give a real reason behind it. My anxiety is getting out of control, however, so she’s referred me to yet another shrink, and given me a prescription for a course of antidepressants / anti-anxiety pills that I should be on for about six months, starting off on the lowest dose and working my way up from there.

Sorry, how is this possible? I’ve already thrown up in the garbage can in my bedroom once this morning, and my stomach has had me doubled over in pain and running to the bathroom three times. I’ve been belching up air that tastes and smells like egg, even though I haven’t actually eaten eggs for a good couple of months, and I feel as if I have been hit by a truck. How is there seriously nothing wrong with me? How can they seriously not find anything wrong with me??

The doc asked if I had allergy tests yet. Nope. I have been promised a dietician for months but nothing has materialised. She’s sent me off for more blood tests, given me a pamphlet for a new shrink, a thirty quid prescription for drugs I really didn’t want in the first place, and still no answer to my questions. There are still no results from my endoscopy biopsy from back at the beginning of April. The endoscopy itself only showed a small patch of erosion in my stomach, and some GERD. Whatever GERD is. Again, none of this has been explained to me. I have no idea what GERD is, or I didn’t until I researched it myself with the help of Google. And we all know what Google does. It takes a headache and convinces you you’re suffering with lung cancer.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I know what a blessing the NHS is. I’ve lived on the other side of the world where you need to pay for your healthcare unless you have some pretty good benefits. I’m not complaining about it per se. Well, actually I am. Don’t I pay for this NHS? Why isn’t it doing me any favours right now?

For a while I thought they might have been right. Maybe this was all in my head? Maybe I was doing this to myself each and every morning I woke up, my skin wracked with goosebumps because I was in so much pain on the toilet? But how can I be? I know the mind is a powerful thing, but surely even the mind can’t give me chronic diarrhoea for three days in a row, when there is literally nothing left inside my body to produce as waste?

This is starting to have a very real and very negative impact on my life yet the Doctor’s can’t find anything wrong. Apart from the polyp up my ass which didn’t end up being bowel cancer, but still put me at high risk, plus the diverticula (or diverticulitis – we aren’t sure which, and each doctor calls it something different) which apparently, isn’t a real condition and shouldn’t be giving me any symptoms at all, and the GERD plus minor erosion they found when they sent a camera down my throat, apparently there is nothing wrong with me.

There is nothing inside me that would give an exact reason as to why I get diarrhoea most days, and vomiting on the very worst of them. They can’t explain why my stomach makes so much noise, that I no longer feel comfortable eating in public. They can’t explain why it feels as if I have marbles rolling around inside me, causing some very real discomfort. They can’t explain why I projectile-vomited in the kitchen sink at a party of four held just for me because I keep blowing them out when there is a massive group of people are around, while they were trying to dish up dinner. They can’t explain why I had the worst pain underneath my sternum the other night, to the point where I almost took myself off to the hospital. They can’t explain why I have spent the entirety of today burping up what tastes and smells just like egg, even though I’ve not eaten egg in months. None of these very real symptoms can be explained by anything. They keep telling me there is nothing wrong with me. Surely that’s not right?

None of my doctors know how to communicate with each other. I have never seen the same doctor two times in a row. Nobody knows about ALL of my symptoms. They haven’t listened to the recordings I made on my phone when my stomach-noise was at it’s worst and loudest. They haven’t heard the cries when I’m in crippling pain because it feels as if my intestines are being twisted around by giant hands. They aren’t understanding how I’m down to barely one meal a day, and even then I can’t guarantee whether it will stay down… Or up. They don’t listen to how EXHAUSTED I feel for most of the day. I wake up more tired than when I went to bed, and I have zero energy left by the time I’ve made it TO work, let alone HOME from work.

Speaking of work. I’ve quit my job. I’ve handed in my 30-day notice. I seem to have skipped an ‘action plan’ for my sickness, and gone straight to a written warning disciplinary, and my boss is making this really hard for me. I’m not sure whether or not he’s trying to, but I’m already well aware of how much I’m letting them down. I’m trying so hard to make it to work every day. I really am trying. But with my anxiety apparently getting worse, it would seem like I’m not doing a very good job of keeping it together. This was the last straw for him, this final week I’ve been signed off by my Doctor. He’s having me moved to another store. That’s what he messaged me back. This doesn’t work for him or me. Blah blah blah.

Fuck it. I quit. I’ll be a writer and hope and pray everything works out. If it doesn’t, I’ll go looking for another job. I guess?

See, I’ve been putting off becoming a full-time writer for about three years. I’m so scared that I won’t pull myself together. I’ll be self-employed. I’ll need to kick my own ass into actually doing the work I need to do. And if we go by the last three months I had signed off work, where I did the bare minimum (although I was having the HARDEST time and was VERY sick), it’s not going to go well at all.

But I’m a different person now, aren’t I? Although my insides might not agree with me, aren’t I meant to be a ‘stronger’ person these days? Surely, with all the time I’ll have, and the knowledge that my ‘day job’ won’t pay my rent if I don’t finish that writing project, I’ll be able to make it work? Well, I don’t have a choice now. Because I’ve done it. My response to him was “I’ll hand my letter of notice in tomorrow. I can’t do this anymore”

I’ve written it out. I just need to email it to him. But I’m putting it off. I don’t know why. Not that it matters because he’s already told at least one other work colleague. It’s not like I can just back out now, is it? I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he told my work colleague I was quitting before I’d even handed my notice to him. What a cunt.

There has got to be an end to this never-ending story of shit soon, surely? Oh, did I throw into the mix that I still seem to be bleeding for a week or so after every time I have sex with Someone New? Yes, that’s right – I didn’t even mention my pre-cancerous cells on the cervix situation I have going on at the same time as all that shit. Well, after my LLETZ procedure, I am bleeding far too fucking regularly for my liking. And that awful traumatic experience was months ago now. I cannot seem to get a fucking break. At all!

Plus, all this vomiting… And the bleeding? I’ve only just gone back on the pill… Tomorrow I think I’ll do a test. Just in case. You know, what with all the bad luck I seem to have had recently, I wouldn’t past it past fate to throw a fucking badly-timed pregnancy into the mix. Oh please God, don’t let it be that. I’ve never really prayed before but I will be praying like anything that it’s not that. For once, the boyfriend situation is the only part of my life going quite nicely. I’d be so pissed if that got all screwed up just like the rest of my life.

Bad times, peeps. Bad times.

Rant over. 

Dear Jock,

I can’t tell him what I want to say to him. I can tell you guys though. So I am.

Dear Jock,

I wanted to text you back but I couldn’t. In fact, I’m not even 100% sure I even wanted to. Part of me felt compelled to, but something deep down inside me told me that it would be a very bad idea. I’ve started to learn to trust that feeling. So I did.

I’m seeing someone else now. In fact, we’re in a relationship. We’ve been seeing each other for about three months, and it’s actually going pretty well. He’s not you but I guess that’s a good thing. We didn’t work. Anyway, I don’t think it would be fair to him, or me for that matter, to message you back and invite you into my life again. The way I felt for you was something I couldn’t explain, and I would have stayed feeling that way for you forever. Or at the very least, a really long time. There was nothing about you I couldn’t love. All the little things I hated about you – even they weren’t enough to change the love I had for you. To invite that sort of feeling back into my life when I’m embarking on a relationship with someone new would be wrong. I would hate it if he were to do that to me, so I’m not going to be a hypocrite and do that to him.

Him aside, getting over you was tough. And I mean really tough. I cried for what felt like an eternity. I don’t even think I’m done crying yet. I cannot explain to you the pain that I felt when you slipped out of my life, but it wasn’t pretty. After that, life and my health got super shit, but thats another story for another day perhaps. Or maybe not. It’s not as if we are ever going to communicate again.

Getting over you the first time around was almost impossible and I’m going to be honest, I’m nowhere near ready to say I’m over you yet. I don’t think I’ll cope if I need to get over you a second time around, and I’m not naive enough to think the situation will ever change for the better. If it was going to change, it would have changed already. We wouldn’t have broken up in the first place. What we had, whatever it was, is finished with. As is any relationship we will ever had. We are not friends. We are not acquaintances. We are ex’s and we do not speak. I don’t want you in my life. I can’t cope with you being in my life. I don’t even want to try.

So next time it’s 1:20am and you think about sending me a text, please don’t. I don’t know what you wanted to say to me. Nor do I care. I don’t want to hear whatever it is you have to say, or what head fuck game you want to play next. It’s done. Over. There is no need for us to communicate anymore.

For months and months I have sat there, blaming myself for everything that went wrong, wondering if I’d had a bit more patience, whether you would have walked away, or if I had just kept my mouth shut about the things that were bugging me, you’d still be mine. But if I had done that, kept my mouth shut and not had those fights with you, I would have ended up leaving anyway out of frustration. So what would have been the point? Just like, what would have been the point in you messaging me, or me messaging you back? What were you seriously expecting? That I’d message back, best of friends, as though the last six months had never happened? Are you deluded?

I can’t question my actions while we were together anymore. I don’t have the energy to do that over and over again, and I’ll be honest, I don’t see the point when I know it’s only me doing that. Walking away was so easy for you, or at least it seemed to be. You were on your way to dating someone new before I’d even realised we were no longer together. That’s not the kind of man I want to date. You’re no longer the guy that won’t break my heart, because you kinda already did. Learning that we were finished in that way has got to be one of the most degrading experiences I’ve ever had. You made me feel as if I were worth nothing and I can tell you this, I know I’m worth a shit tonne more than that, thank you very much.

Part of me is hoping that you’ve realised the grass isn’t greener on the other side, whatever the other side was for you. I don’t think you ever cheated, if that means anything to you now; I genuinely trusted you with my life and that’s what made our breakup so difficult. I found it really hard to detach from you because even right at the end, I trusted you. But part of me does hope that you’re pining for me, checking your phone every five minutes to see if I’ve read the message, or if I’ll message back. I want to think that your heart sunk when you realised I had blocked you. I know you probably didn’t even notice, but I like to think it would affect you a little.

It doesn’t matter if it did or it didn’t though. I’d never know anyway. I wouldn’t want to know. Not now, too much has happened, too much water has gone under the bridge. I’ve said too many things, and you’ve said too many things. None of the right things of course, but what has been said and done can’t be un-done. They happened and whether or not you choose to, I will always remember them.

Throughout all the years and all the failed relationships, I like to think I’ve learned a thing or two, and one thing I have most definitely learned is that an ex is an ex for a reason. Whenever I have gotten back with an ex, or tried to re-invite him back into my life again, things have gone sour and normally, in a truly awful way. I don’t want to run the risk of that happening with you, and I’d rather not find out whatever it is you wanted.

I hope your life is going well but, no disrespect, I don’t really care. Keep it to yourself. I don’t need to know.

Thanks.

The End.

I couldn’t sleep anyway and I was messaging The Fireman for something to do until the early hours of Thursday morning. I seemed to be finding myself needing to define and explain the new relationship I had with Someone New to him, and I’ll be honest, that frustrated me a little. How are you meant to define and explain a relationship when you’re not even sure what it is yet?

“Hasn’t it been a few months now?” he asked.

“Yes, almost three but what’s that got to do with anything…?” was my response.

It was when he asked “Is the sex good?” that I kinda lost it a little…

My sex life is between me and Someone New, (or ‘Mr. Lucky’ as The Fireman likes to call him). What happens in our bed stays in our bed. And no, you don’t have a right to know because you ‘know me inside and out’ as you said, because you haven’t been inside or out of me in a very long time.

My rant to The Fireman was unapologetic. Why do guys think they have a right to talk to me like that?

It was at 1:20am that it happened. Oh no, it wasn’t a text from The Fireman that had me in hysterical tears for a good 45 minutes. It was him. Jock. He messaged me.

“you ok ?”

That’s exactly what he wrote, exactly how he wrote it. I bet that took up a full three seconds of his day. I must be grateful for such a snippet of his time, at such a ridiculous hour of the morning. My heart stopped as soon as his name appeared at the top of my phone. It was a moment I never thought would come; a moment I had been dreaming about for so long but had resigned myself to believing it would never happen. And now it had happened. The guy I believed and still do believe to some extent, was the love of my life, the yin to my yang, the night to my day and other such bullshit, had finally gotten back in touch with me after our awful and devastating breakup.

I called Bestie who was sleeping in a room just twenty steps from mine. Bolt upright in my bed, with tears streaming down my face, “It happened. He messaged me…”, was all I could squeak out. He knew who it was right away. He was furious. Absolutely livid. He told me if Jock were to turn up at my doorstep, he’d just punch him.

Why is he messaging me? What does he want? Why has he left it so long to ask if I was OK, to find out if I had CANCER? Why is he doing this to me? The second I think I could be happy, moving on with Someone New, someone who for once, isn’t like a complete and utter douschebag, he drops his sad, pathetic fat ass back into my life and fucks all my shit up.

I seem to be having a really hard time getting to grips with this. You’ll be pleased to know I blocked the dickhead this morning, but something about that message has gotten right under my skin, and it doesn’t appear to be a sensation that’s gonna fuck off at any point soon. I have no intentions of finding out what he wants, but there’s such a big part of me that’s curious. Is it just the drunk booty call as Karen suggested in my last post? Has he realised that the grass isn’t greener on the other side? Does he want me back? Did he see that photo of me and Someone New together? Good. I hope he did. I hope he saw it and it cut him like a knife. I hope he regrets the day he ever did that to me. You see, as curious as I am, getting over him was and is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I ended up in therapy again because of that cunt. Too harsh a word? No, not in the slightest.

I loved him. I still love him. I just can’t have him in my life anymore. It’s nice to know that he still thinks of me but the fact of the matter is this – he doesn’t think about me enough and he never, ever did. After the time that has passed, after what he left me dealing with, I expected a lot more than just “you ok?”. I expect much fucking more than that. And he’s never going to be the guy that gives me that. If he was, we wouldn’t have broken up in the first place.

See, I feel strong now. I reckon I’m on my way over him, you know? It’s been tough, and I’m sure there are plenty more obstacles to come, but not messaging him right back was a massive achievement for me. I’m proud of not ranting my frustrations out on him. I’m glad for not pouring my heart out to him. I’m happy that I blocked him. That chapter of my life is well and truly over, and no amount of his messaging is going to change that now. I’ve moved on. I’m moving on. I’d be better off alone that back with that prick.

The end.