Big Love…The Tale. Meet Number 29.

I realised today that I talk about Big Love a lot, and mention a few of the things that happened between us, however I haven’t actually properly introduced him. Or told you our story. And to be honest, it was a pretty intense story.


We met in a war zone, and both of us were civilian contractors out there. He was from one side of the world, and I was from the other. I was married to a man that I could no longer stand being in the company of. He had separated from his wife and was in the process of getting divorced. I remember our first meeting on the benches, in the sun outside the store that I was working in. He was drinking his drink, looking cool and a mutual friend introduced us. Apparently, we had met before that. He later told me that I had served him the store and called him “sweetheart”. That sparked his interest, but he hadn’t quite yet struck mine, it would seem.


We spent a couple of hours together in the sun that day, talking and laughing, sharing tales and stories. The day lead to the evening, and that was it for me. I was pretty much smitten. Every day from that point we spent at least some of our free time together, and it wasn’t long before we were in the back of the cinema, making out, his hands pulling at the buttons on my jeans. Someone interrupted us that night, but if we hadn’t been walked in on, I don’t think either of us would have had the power to stop.

For almost six months we spent all of our spare time together. He went away on leave for a month, and visited another part of the world, and when he came back I had arranged a hotel room (yes, in a war zone!) and managed to order in some naughty white lingerie that I knew would tickle his fancy. Let’s just say it all had the desired effect.

Six months later, I left the war zone and left my husband. I packed up my shit as fast as I could before he also got home from the war zone. We had broken up before anything happened between Big Love and I. That’s another story for another day though.

Big Love was meant to have been in the war zone for a few months more, but he left and came to my side of the world for a couple of months instead. I guess we were going to see where it went… He couldn’t live over there without seeing me. It all ended up with me moving to the other side of the world for almost two years. I’m still not entirely sure how that happened.

We had a beautiful relationship and we explored a lot of the world together. We drove from one end of the country to the other on his side of the world, and I saw things that I didn’t think I would ever see. I saw the Northern Lights. I saw a mama and baby black bear playing in the woods. I went into clubs I wouldn’t have taken a second glance at, and got muddy in places so beautiful, you’d only think they existed in paintings and pictures. I quad-biked, and mountain-climbed, and 4×4’d, and hiked, and swam, and boated, and flew, and scooted around on a big inflatable ring on both water and snow, I snowboarded (very badly) for the first time, and I even went wakeboarding. Well, I tried. Apparently I didn’t have the upper body strength back then to pull myself up. Sure had fun getting dragged around behind a boat on the lake though! 😉

He showed me so many new things, and I had the most amazing experiences with him. I couldn’t have imagined right there at the beginning that we would end in quite the way we did. Again, I’m still not sure how that happened.

As I look back through photos of us, (which is clearly what prompted this post in the first place) I remember how happy I was in each and every one of them. That photo of us at Niagara Falls where we’re both squinting and there’s a fat Chinese man photobombing us. I remember being so happy about that photo, and it was only later on when we got home that I realised we were squinting in very unattractive ways because the sun was so bright, my boobs were basically falling out of the pretty summer dress I had ridiculously chosen to wear for the event, and it sure did make us laugh.

I remember the first photo of us that I put on Facebook. I had hidden the knowledge of my relationship with Big Love for many months because there were a lot of people unaware that I had chosen to leave The Hubby. It was our first public announcement, as such, and it attracted quite a lot of attention.

I remember the photos from my themed birthday party over on his side of the world, and how much fun we had that night, having mini dance-offs in the middle of my living room before heading to the local club. Looking back at those photos makes me sad sometimes. I was so happy. How on earth did we pull each other to shreds in the way we did?! As I ask before… where does the love go???

He was my fairytale prince. He bought me the expensive designer shoes that I never thought I would be able to afford. He gave me the opportunity to do things like sky diving, which to be fair, I probably wouldn’t have had the balls to do if it weren’t for him egging him on. Funnily enough, it was the sky diving date that lead to the dramatic decline of our relationship…

And then he broke my heart…


Keep your eyes peeled for part two of our tale!

Two Years Ago Today…Again

A video came up on my Facebook post earlier of The Lapdog’s nephew. He is two years old today. Do you know what that means? That, ladies and gentlemen, means that exactly two years ago today, I went to see the new baby in the hospital, still fucked on MDMA, after a night of serious hardcore fucking with The Lapdog.

The Lapdog is someone that pops up very early on in my blog (for those that haven’t been with me since the beginning), and is a serious pain in my ass quite frankly. He’s popped back up again recently, and I had wondered why. Now I know.

It started with a quiet night at his, chilling on the bed, watching a film. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves sucking back MDMA like it was going out of fashion. MDMA that he just so happened to have in a DVD case on a shelf above his bed. Now, I don’t know about you guys but when I’m on that stuff, I’m a FRISKY little devil. Like super frisky. I’ve had the CRAZIEST sex with him on that stuff and I won’t lie, I fucking love it. I’m probably not allowed to admit that but whatever, I just did. I’m a 20-something girl and I’ve experimented with drugs.

I remember being bent over his bed as he pounded me from behind. I also remember sucking his dick… a lot. In fact, quite a lot of this was happening:


(Yes, he’s a big boy, and yes I did fit it all in!)

The sex we had that night was insane. Out of this world stuff. It might even have been that night that I sucked him to a dramatic climax all over my face in his garage as we smoked a cigarette. Man that guy could cum like thunder!

See that’s the thing about him. He got somethin’ going on. His pheromones work with my pheromones, and even though I’m not and never have been that interested in him as a boyfriend, as a lover he really flicks my switch. One minute we can be casually sat in his car eating junk food, and the next I’m sucking his dick as he grasps the steering wheel with one hand and pushing my head further down on his manhood with the other. That’s literally what happens. We can go from zero to horny in the blink of an eye. That’s one of the things I think I kinda loved about him. In whatever sense of the word. I’m not analysing it right now.

He recently popped back into my world with an almighty thud like he always does, and although I told him flat out where to go, there’s always going to be a part of me that misses nights like that with him. Funnily enough, we had another MDMA-fuelled fuck-fest a couple of other times… Once at his sister’s wedding when we went to the club afterwards dressing in our full wedding attire. And another time when we were at a birthday party for the same sister’s twins. We’d always find a way to escape and drug ourselves up before relenting into a night of insane passion… We’d always cry and confess our undying love to each other. That’s what you do on drugs like that. To be honest, that just made it all worse.

He had false hope because of those drug-fuelled nights, and although I DO miss him, and there is a part of me that “kinda” loves him, he’s not the kind of guy I’m looking for. Nor is he the kind of guy I want. I can find too many flaws about him. He’s not the right guy for me.

I sure wish I could fuck him right now though. Fuck him like I did two years ago today…




5 Tips on Giving Better Blowjobs

5 Tips on Giving Better Blowjobs

Blowjobs found on

I was asked a very peculiar question this morning by a male friend. This male friend has been on the receiving end of one of my “amazing” blowjobs (his words), and it would appear that his current girlfriend just isn’t doing the trick. The question he asked was “Have you got any tips I can subtly give my girlfriend on how to give better head?

Firstly, there is no correct way to respond to that question. Secondly, poor guy.

I’m not saying I’m the Queen of Blowjobs, but I will gladly hold that title with pride. I’ve had nothing but compliments from the men that have had the fortune of my mouth around their manhood, so I can kinda understand why the friend in question decided to come to me for advice. Plus I’m one of those girls – you can talk to me about most things!

I decided to write my tips of the trade down. He laughed when he read them, so I feel it was only fair that I share them with you. You may even learn a trick or two! 😉

Here are my 5 tips on giving better blow jobs:

1 – Plenty of lubrication 

One trick I have learned is that deep-throating the beautiful cock in front of you will often produce a certain amount of saliva in your mouth – the perfect trick for when you are starting to run dry. You do need to learn to control your gag reflex, of course, but once you’ve got that mastered, everything else will be a breeze. Once you’ve got plenty of juices flowing in your own mouth, let rip. Be sloppy. I haven’t met a guy yet that doesn’t like a sloppy blowjob. I’m not talking bad sloppy; I’m talking well-lubricated.

2 – Make some noise

The good thing to come from all of that extra lubrication is the noise-factor. “There is nothing more satisfying than the sound of a woman slurping on your dick.” This was a statement actually said to me by another male friend, and no; I’ve not sexually molested that one.

Noise doesn’t need to come from the slurping alone. Make gag noises when you duck further down onto his cock than you would like. It makes them feel like a real man – as though their dick is too big for you to handle. I don’t mean actually wretch and heave onto his manhood, but having the odd little gagging sound will go down a treat. When you combine this with a nice groan every once in a while, it sounds like you are getting into it just as much as they are.

Enthusiasm is key here, guys and girls. And remember guys, when you compliment her on the stuff she does well, she’ll do it again! 😉 

5 Tips on Giving Better Blowjobs

3 – Don’t be afraid to look right up into his eyes

Now I’m not suggesting that you start pulling some freaky stalker-style staring with the third tip on giving better blowjobs, but when you are on your knees and your baby-blues are looking right at up him, do you know what your man will see? The eyes of an angel performing the blowjob of all blowjobs. They like it. Nearly every man I’ve ever spoken to about this has said that not enough eye-contact is one of their biggest downers.

One thing I have learned in all my years of giving head is that guys don’t like it when you stare at them for too long, so try fleeting glances. They are trying to concentrate in much the same way as most girls need to concentrate… Just imagine how uncomfortable you would feel if someone were staring up at you while they eat you out.

4 – Don’t forget about the balls

These poor little dudes often get left out and honestly, playing with his little chaps will be doing YOU a favour if you are smart about it. You know when your arm starts to hurt, and your mouth starts to get lockjaw? Rather than stopping altogether, give yourself a break and start to play with the balls instead. He’ll probably appreciate the change of pace, and it will look as if you are putting a proper effort into things, paying particular attention to all the places everyone else usually leaves out. You don’t even need to play with them for very long – I usually find popping them in my mouth and spending a couple of minutes attention on them normally does the trick, and by that point, all my aches and pains will have gone away! 😉

5 – Don’t be afraid to get right into it

He’s not going to care whether or not you are pulling a weird face because your mouth has been stretched open by his massive, throbbing cock. Get involved – make some noise, use your hands as well as your mouth, let your tongue do some of the work and, above all else, look as if you are enjoying it. Play with yourself at the same time if you really want to take things that one step further, and you could even consider just sitting on his face. I tend to use this idea when I’m feeling pretty lazy. I can’t be expected to give his package the full attention when he is working me so beautifully from beneath, right?

Plus you’ll look and feel like a porn star! 

5 Tips on Giving Better Blowjobs

Those are the five things that I told my friend to try recommending to his girlfriend, and those are the five things I would recommend you work into your next blowjob. He said he’d let me know but I will say the same thing to you that I said to him – what’s the point in doing it if you aren’t going to get REALLY into it? If you’re not going to enjoy it, or at least pretend to, I personally guarantee that he’s not going to have all that much fun! And neither will you 45 minutes later when you’re starting to go stiff and he still hasn’t cum!



Blast From the Past: Meet Number 1. My First Time.

I happened to be at work the other day and the girlfriend of my very first ever “proper” boyfriend came in. She was served by a colleague of mine, but I recognised the name, and who she was currently dating from Facebook. Good old Facebook.

I enquired about her by simple asking “Sorry to ask but I think I know you in a roundabout sorta way… Are you dating XX?” I didn’t give a clue as to who I was, or how I knew him, but she still felt the need to blurt out “Yes… and I’m three months pregnant with his baby!

I’m not entirely sure why she felt the need to tell me that, especially as no one else knew yet and it wasn’t even Facebook knowledge. It was like she was marking her territory. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had been there and done that. That would just be mean of me, wouldn’t it? I can tell you guys though, right? 😉


My First Boyf was the guy I met when I was 14 years old. We dated for almost a year, which is a long time at that age, and I lost my virginity to him. I remember him fingering me on the floor in his bedroom, about five or six months into our relationship, and I blurted out “We should do it. We should have sex!

He got up, closed the curtains, and crawled back to me. Pushing my underwear to one side, he entered me, and it was an absolute fucking nightmare. I wasn’t wet enough and he forced in, causing his “banjo string” to tear at the same time. There was blood everywhere. We had to throw his underpants and jeans away, simply because they were covered in so much blood there would be no chance of us washing it out. He was in so much pain and it bled for so long, I almost thought we were going to need to take a trip to the local accident and emergency! We didn’t, but it was still pretty terrifying.

My first time; my first attempt at sex, wasn’t a particularly great one. Neither was my first ever blowjob, which he also had the fortune of being on the receiving end of. He was meant to have warned me when he was about to climax so I could figure out what I intended to do with it. I didn’t get that luxury. He blurted his load down the back of my throat so fast, I didn’t have a chance to do anything except swallow and gag. It put me off for years. Luckily I got over it, and now it’s the one thing I seem to be renowned for.

The news of his baby was a shock to me. If my very first boyfriend is having a baby, does that mean I should be doing it too? Should I be settling down and reproducing? Every time I sign on to Facebook I’m met with another “I’m Pregnant!” announcement. Ugh. They piss me off.

Believe it or not, he never once took my underwear when we fucked. He just used to push it to one side. For years I had such an issue showing a man my most intimate areas, and even now, I’m not overly comfortable with it. Was that because of him, do you think? It just goes to show the things that you believe are normal when you are that age. I wonder if he would ever have gotten around to actually taking my underwear off…? A year we were together, and for half of that we were having sex… Not once did my panties come down. That’s a tad odd, right?

At the time, he was the most beautiful person in my life, and even though he was ashamed to admit he was with me at the start, he soon softened and the news of our relationship came out. When you think about it, it’s not the greatest of starts either. Let’s just add to this the fact that he actually punched me in the form room at school, and was attacked by every guy in there, and you have about the right idea for how our relationship went. He was overbearing, jealous, controlling, and nasty. I smoked back then, and he was forever “banning” me from doing it. I know it was only for the sake of my own health but I’ll say the same thing now as I did back them – if you don’t like it, you can just fuck off. I was never allowed in the cafeteria without him. I wasn’t allowed to do very much without him to be fair. It was as though we were joined at the hip and although part of that was his fault, it was my fault too. Neither of us knew any better.

It’s funny how the first relationships in your life set the path for the relationships to come, isn’t it? I wonder how much of my life he ended up affecting just by being my very first proper boyfriend. There were guys before him, of course, but he was the one that I would consider to be my first proper boyfriend. In fact, my first proper love. I think…? Can you be in love at 14 years old?

Anyway, it was such a blast from the past, I just had to write about it. I can hardly believe that it was 14 years ago we dated. And how far we have both come. It’s funny because he still works for the same company he did back then. He’s just the manager now. And then there’s me, bouncing her way from guy to guy and job to job. I bet my sex life is more exciting than his though! 😉


Why Do Girls Take So Long to Get Ready?

Right, long story short here – Jock picked me up last night. We haven’t had sex in AGES. I’ve been bleeding every five minutes, and our schedules haven’t exactly worked together. I was excited for last night. I would get to feel him inside me. I would get to feel his fingertips brushing my nipples. I’d feel his warm breath on my skin as he kissed his way around my body… I was super excited.

So, I got ready. And then it didn’t happen. I am furious! 

Now guys, I don’t think you understand exactly how much hard work goes into getting ready for a date, especially a date that you wholeheartedly expect to get laid on. Let me educate you…


I showered. In the shower, I used no less than FIVE different products. I shampooed with the coconut shampoo that he seems to like the smell of. I conditioned my hair with the coconut conditioner that again, he seems to like the smell of. Then I used a luxurious shower gel to lather up my entire body, and to create the soap to shave my legs, my armpits, my bikini line, etc. This act of shaving, just FYI, takes about half an hour. I almost always cut myself when I do it. Which means the next stage always stings like a bitch.

Next I used a luxurious body scrub on my ass, legs and thighs. Jock loves my legs and he always runs his hands up and down them so I like to make sure they are baby-smooth and completely hairless. I’d love to have had the time for a wax. Humph.

Then, to clean my most intimate of areas, I used a feminine body wash. He loves to go down on me so you know, I like to make sure that it incompletely hairless and smelling beautiful.


I get out of the shower. I spray conditioning treatments on my hair. I moisturise every part of my body with the luxurious African shea butter moisturiser he goes bonkers for. I use a foot cream to make sure my feet are nice and smooth. I use a hemp-based cream on my knees and elbows. I use a face cream on my face. Then there’s the hand cream. If my hands are going to playing with his cock later, I don’t want them to be rough! Oh and although I didn’t this time, if I had been wearing a skirt or a dress, I would have needed to put some kind of self-tan on my legs. Or arms. Perhaps both.

Now my skin smells good and feels beautiful to touch. All of this for him. Well, for me too, but for him more.

I sit down to apply my makeup. The precision needed to apply that eye-liner would impress any man or woman, I can tell you that. The foundation and concealer necessary to hide the under-eye bags that show my late nights, and the blemishes that ALWAYS pop up the day you plan to see your man. I look dog-rough without makeup. I have accepted and embrace this fact. I think most women have by this point. Before all of this, however, there’s the primer to smooth out my face, the eye cream to avoid eye-wrinkles, the lip balm to ensure my lips are kissably soft later…

Makeup completed, I dry my hair. I then decide on a hairstyle and straighten the bits that need to be straightened, curl the bits that need to be curled, and pin the bits that need to be pinned.

Then I get dressed. Outfit planning is always the hardest thing for me. I like to look super cute for Jock. We don’t see each other that often so I don’t want to look like a tramp in a onesie when I do see him. Not that I own a onesie, but you get what I’m saying here. So, I pick the outfit. Then I plan the shoes. Then I pick the accessories. Then the perfume – my hair doesn’t smell like J’Adore for no reason. The spritz in the air as you walk through the mist, plus the extra squirts around the neck (where he’ll be kissing later) and the wrists (that he’ll be holding above my head).


I’m still not finished. I now need to plan subsequent outfits to pack in a bag to take with me. I also need to make sure I’ve got all the chargers for the many gadgets I own, my laptop, my phones, the adapter so that we can watch films on my iPad on his TV…. etc. Have I packed enough pants? Do I have hair ties? Did I put the hairspray in that bag? Will I need socks. Is one pair of sneakers enough or shall I take a pair of pumps too? Honestly, it’s just hard work.

Then, I need to brush my teeth and give myself a final once over in the bathroom mirror. The lighting is different in there so I get a good opinion from two sources. I lock my room, head to the front door and finally get in the car. This is a good night too – this isn’t the night where I need to paint my toenails or remove the fuzz from my top lip.

Women put a lot of effort into getting ready for their men, and their men get to reap the benefits so I personally don’t see why guys moan about girls taking too long in the bathroom. Technically, it’s all for you anyway. 


Well anyway, after all of this, making his dinner, snuggling the shit out of him and even saying “If you go get in the shower, there will be a naked girl in the bed waiting for you when you get out”, I didn’t get laid.

What the fuck?

He ended up going to get the Redneck from the bar with his new wife. I fell asleep because I’d been awake since 5am. The next thing I knew, it was the middle of the night, he was snoring so loud the trailer was shaking, and I wanted to stab him in the heart. And we hadn’t had sex. I had gone to all that hard work, looking all cute and smelling all pretty, and I still didn’t get the golden ticket?! And they call us girls prick teases?!?

I was livid. You see, the thing that you guys won’t get is tomorrow, we won’t be as baby smooth. The start of the stubble will be rearing it’s ugly head, and if we try to shave over it, not only will it rip our most delicate of areas to shreds, it’ll look red, bumpy and ugly. The same can be said for our legs. You have night one to make an impression boys. Think of it as your window. That first night is the night that you don’t climax inside her if you haven’t yet eaten her out yet. Think about this. It’s hardly rocket science, is it?

Oh and to top things off even further, I started bleeding again. So tonight is out the window too. Cheers Jock. Sarcastic face. 

There is a moral to this story guys – if she smells all pretty and looks super cute, she’s made an effort for her so you had better try your damned hardest to perform.

End of rant.


Dear Internet Troll,

This whole blog was just some bimbo bragging about her perfect life, amazing eyes, and whipped “bestie” NO ONE CARES! No one cares what you look like or how you manipulate men, what a boring, pre-pubescent outlook on life. Get a grip.

Dear Internet Troll,

First of all, thanks for reading my blog. Oh and thanks for commenting on it as well.

Yes, that’s right. I woke up this morning to my first negative comment on my blog. Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that I am not going to be everyone’s “cup of tea“, and to be honest, I wouldn’t want to be. After all, you could be the juiciest peach in the world and you’re always going to come across someone that doesn’t like peaches right?

Anyway, the comment, although brief, was to the point. I am a bimbo, with a pre-pubescent outlook on life and a “whipped” best friend. I replied to the comment in the most dignified way I could muster, bearing in mind it was 8am and I hadn’t had my morning coffee yet. It was only later, however, that I realised that the comment had kinda pissed me off. I said this:

Yet you feel the need to comment? Thanks for reading! AND commenting 😉

First of all Cait, or whatever your name was, what did you mean by my “perfect life“? Which part of my blog was it that you read exactly? The one post about what I liked about being a girl? Thanks for basing your opinion on me on that one entry alone. You must be a very openminded person indeed. This infuriates me. My “perfect” life is only seemingly perfect because I’ve had to work damn hard to make it so. My so-called perfect life has incorporated being a victim of serious domestic abuse, both physical and mental, suffering at the hands of stress, anxiety and depression for many years, self-harm, having relationship after relationship with men that spent my money, spread their wild seed like it was going out of fashion and withheld funds from me to the point where I literally starved until I finally gave in and admitted to my Mama Bear what was going on. What part of that sounds perfect to you, huh?

Maybe we should talk about what else has been so perfect in my life, shall we? Not knowing my father, a mother with more mental health issues than Vogue, a family that barely talks to each other and when they do, they aren’t normally pleasant words… Shall I carry on? Up until recently, I lived with and cared for an elderly relative… I am also a part time retail worker, and a full time writer, not only because I enjoy it, but also to make sure that I have enough money to keep myself afloat. Oh, did I mention that I have had two PLUS jobs at once for the last ten years, the longest I’ve been out of work was 6 weeks, and I’ve done more in my short and apparently “bimbo-like” life than most people could ever dream of. I have been independent and working full time, at most points putting in 60+ hour weeks, since I was 16 years old. I work hard. I don’t drink. I don’t party…

Perfect? I fucking wish!! It’s perfect for me right now, but that’s only because I made the best of my situation rather than sitting around and judging everyone else’s life. I’d love to know your story. In fact, I couldn’t care less. I wouldn’t judge you either way because I’ve got better things to do with my time. And I’m not a dick. Unlike you.


Let’s carry on… A bimbo with amazing eyes. Yep that’s me. I was bullied at school for years, to the point where I was hospitalized by both girls and boys. I tried to kill myself at the age of 14 because I was sick of being punched, having drawing pins stuck in my back, having my arms shut and almost broken in swing doors…. A bimbo with amazing eyes? Yeah I’ll take that. I’m proud of what I look like now. I’ve worked fucking hard to get over my damn insecurities. I’ve worked hard to get my self-confidence and esteem back up after years and years of being verbally and physically battered. I’ll take your bimbo tag with pride. You fucking dick. After years of being told by my husband alone that I wasn’t skinny enough, pretty enough, strong enough, I’ve finally stopped giving a shit about the opinions of people like you. Barbie is my alter-ego. The ego that gives me the strength to paint my eyeliner on in the morning and head to one of my jobs with a smile on my face after a long night of insomnia, which I have suffered with for years. Yeah, my life sure sounds perfect, doesn’t it?

My blog is my diary and although I understand that you might not like it, why don’t you just flick through to the next blog and get a grip of YOURSELF!? You hated my blog, yet still felt the need to comment. Well doesn’t that just show what a grown up little person you are? Well done. I hope you feel better about yourself. What have you done with your life? This is my diary, my journal, my blog, my words. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. It’s as simple as that. I don’t really know what kind of person would feel the need to publicly “cuss” someone down like that, especially when they have clearly only read one entry and based their entire judgement on it.

Oh, and as for the “whipped” bestie. I hardly think whipped is the best term. We have been best friends for over twelve years. He has been the one constant in my life throughout all of the turmoil and I love him to death. I would also do anything for him. Anything he needs, he gets, regardless of how many nights I work through from dusk til dawn to get it for him. The same can be said the other way round. If he’s whipped, I’m whipped. Let’s put it this way. He wanted an iPhone, I got him an iPhone. I want Disney princess shoes, he gets me Disney princess shoes. Not that I feel the need to justify our friendship to the insignificant troll, but when I told Bestie, he laughed. I reckon that says pretty much all I wanted to say, don’t you?!

I don’t know why the comment invoked such a reaction from me. And a delayed reaction at that. But I guess it just highlights how small minded and petty some people can be. Although to be fair, he still read it AND felt the need to comment so clearly I made an impact too 😉 And I bet he takes a second peek at some point soon. That is assuming it is a he, of course. It might be a she. I’ll call Cait “it”.

So that’s the end of my rant. I hope the comment made you feel better about yourself. This blog entry made me feel better. Read this and leave another nasty comment.

I double dare you.

The Queen of Hearts.

You may remember that a few months ago, Jock and I had found a couple of tattoos that we adored and wanted to get…. Well, yesterday we got them. I eventually came to see my poor boyfriend a day late on Sunday night. I got his days off wrong too apparently. My bad. This means that I am sat at his right now, waiting for him to get home, trying to get some writing and done and not really getting anywhere because yesterday I bought myself a new phone, a new tattoo, and new perfume. I mean come on, there’s no fun if you can’t stare at your new tattoo in the mirror, or wear your new perfume in your pyjamas, with no one else around to smell it on you?

Versace Red Jeans perfume

Anyway, I digress. We got matching tattoos. We were going to go to the zoo again but I remembered it was the kids Easter holidays, and there was a good chance everywhere would be packed. After getting my new phone, I had the idea that we could get our tattoos done. One of the invoices I mentioned last time paid out and I had money burning in my pocket. Damnit I wanted to spend it.

After calling into a couple of tattoo parlors and having no luck, Jock remembered one that was a pretty good artist in a shop on the way home and I called them up. They had a free space and we shot over there. Well, it turns out that not only did this brand new tattoo guy do amazing work, he was beautifully stunning, knew Jock so gave us the new ink at a discounted price, and went to college with Jock’s Ex (the bitch!), and took the piss out of her new boyfriend who was, in his words, “a drip”, and ten years her junior.


The day just couldn’t get any better. Sorry, I’m in bitch mode right now. Whatever. Ten years her junior?! Honestly, what she is trying to prove? I’ve only seen one photo of her new guy and I’ll be honest, he’s nothing special. Then again, I don’t think she’s “all that” either.

It was just an awesome idea – the tattoo one. We bonded in our love of needle-inflicted pain… It was our first tattoo together. In fact, I have a feeling it might be the first tattoo of many. We were laughing and joking, complaining about how much our tiny little finger tattoos hurt. And I won’t lie – it really fucking hurt. I wanted knuckle tattoos. I don’t think I’ll bother. The pain didn’t last long, but it sure stung like a bitch.

matching couple tattoos

Lesson learned – finger tattoos are pretty painful.

I do need to talk about the tattoo guy for a second. He was beautiful. Tall, floppy brown hair, the most BEAUTIFUL blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. I couldn’t talk to him, his eyes were that beautiful. I’ve decided to go back to his studio for a couple more of my tattoos. As he wrote down his email address and phone number on a business card and handed it to me, I just wondered how long I could stare at him without it seeming inappropriate. Judging by the way Jock looked at me, a couple of seconds before he caught me staring would have been wise…

I couldn’t wait to Instagram the hell out of our cute matching finger tattoos, making sure to tag him in it and piss everyone right off. Well, his Ex mostly. And Big Love. I made it public. It’s childish, I know. Come on though – we all do it, don’t we? I was proud of our little declaration of love, and it would seem that it invoked quite the response. The Bestie from the other side of the world messaged me with a simple “Matching couple tattoos? It’s getting serious! 😉

The Pregnant Work Colleague who has since had the baby messaged me to say that she was “IN LOVE” with our new found ink. My Mr. Grey, who happened to message me just as I was arriving at the tattoo studio said that it was “better than rings! 😉” and The Columbian (best friend of Jock’s) called him a “bender” because of it. To which Jock replied “Yeah but my girlfriend will be sucking me off tonight and not giving me the cold shoulder…” The Columbian’s girlfriend is still a bitch, and is now being uber-bitchy to her poor boyfriend, often resulting in him calling or texting Jock bitching like a woman. And I thought it was just us girlies that went moaning to our besties?

Personally, I couldn’t be more delirious with my newfound art work. I adore it. I’m already wondering what to have next permanently marked on my body… Part of me wonders whether ten months was too soon for a matching couples tattoo and then I realize I’ve already done it, and I’m already in love with it. It’s not like I had his name tattooed on me. And let’s face it, you’ve heard about my love life… I am the Queen of Hearts! 😉

So there you have it – that’s how my life is going. Now if only I could get this latest batch of writing work done and life could almost be perfect again!