Finding sexuality

I originally wanted to do this for Lady Porn Day, but of course, in true authentic Dalide Style, I forgot. So, I’m doing this now.

It was just two short years ago and we were about to embark on a trip to Wales, a sort of Doctor Who pilgrimage. Two days before leaving, I had a long conversation with my mum. It ended in me confessing that I had never masturbated before. I had watched many an erotic movie (Emanuelle and all that) before, I had felt that tingling sensation in my nether regions before, but I had never gone the distance. Masturbation was the final frontier.

But that night, I felt like… feeling myself up a bit. I touched myself through my pants. And then, something clicked. People were finding me an idiot for not indulging in this. So I decided to prove them wrong. That very night, two days before we left for the Sci Fi capital of Britain, I touched myself. Flesh on flesh. It didn’t take me long to find my clit. And the sensation was electric, so new and so amazing. My leg was shaking, don’t know why. I thought that was what was supposed to happen. I moaned to myself. Why hadn’t I done this before?

After we came back from the bugger of a trip that was Cardiff (Cardiff, fyi, is 5 hours by train from Belgium), I couldn’t wait to try again. And again. Soon I became addicted. I couldn’t wait for it to be night, for me to be in the safe haven of my bed. I don’t remember the first time I came. But I bet it was amazing. I had found my sexuality.

And then.. without warning it was taken away from me. I had a depression and my medication was having a VERY negative effect on my love life. I couldn’t come anymore. I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb.

One night, I plucked up the courage to tell my mother what was going on and that I might need some help. We talked it over and decided to get a vibrator. My first vibe was a tiny clit vibe in the shape of a chicken. It didn’t work.

Months went by. A yearning, a burning desire built up in me. I went to the doctor and explained my problem. She said the medication was making me anorgasmic. I had to switch. So I did.

Unfortunately, this switch… didn’t exactly do me any good. I’ll spare you the details, but it was slightly hilarious. However, this did have a very pleasant side-effect.

One night, after a particulary horny day, I was in bed. My mum was sleeping next to me, selflessly taking care of me during my illness caused by the pills. I knew that I was ridiculously horny. I needed confirmation, so I felt to see if I was wet. I was. Dripping wet.

So, what was I to do? Relieve myself with my mum sleeping next to me? NO. So I snuck downstairs to my parents’s empty bedroom. Fastest orgasm of my life.

Since then, I’ve been testing and exploring. I’ve been looking for the g-spot, buying new vibrators (the now infamous Bowling Pin and Pinkie the vibe), trying new kinky positions to fuck myself in… Two nights ago, I squirted properly for the first time. And fuck me, was I happy. What an achievement. Especially after all of this.

Now, looking ahead, I can see myself stepping over my own boundaries. Trying more new things. Experimenting. Doing things beyond my imagination. Finding myself a man. And still, having feverish fantasies about the one I can never get.



I’m watching Ghost Whisperer, and it inspired me to talk about a few of my ghosts. I’m going to list them in bullet points, since I don’t quite feel like going into any of them right now, but if you want to ask me a question about one of them, I’ll gladly answer them.

  • I was in love with my gay best friend. I didn’t know he was gay. And it was so painful for me when I found out, I ditched him. We bonded again later, and I never could forgive myself for ditching him. Especially because…
  • I ditched him to look cool in front of another guy. I was the biggest fool and bitch in the universe. All because I loved someone who would never love me back.
  • The new girl in my class started a relationship with that very guy and I was jealous. And it bloody well hurt. I remember collapsing on the floor of our bathroom, in tears..
  • After our class trip to Barcelona. Where I found out. Miles from home, I needed my mum more than ever. Because I was heartbroken.
  • And it was never worth it. I ditched the best friend I ever had, all because I wanted to be cool.

I didn’t like being the bitch. I still hate myself for it. I live with this every day. I can never quite shake it. B, if you ever read this, I’m so fucking sorry. Because I absolutely love you. You are my voice of reason. And I would be very hurt if you didn’t want to see me anymore, because, like I said before, I love you too much.

Good news is, I grew up. I was so confused back then. I’m not that same girl anymore. And I hope you don’t think of me as a bitch because of this. I love gay people. And I went against my own principles there and then. Hate myself for it.

Glad to get that off my chest. Expect a lighter post in a few minutes, because, yay, MasterChef!

My Deepest Fantasy

My god, that’s a tough one. Everybody has to have one, I guess. Mine switch every day. The rough fuck at the club scene from my book is a contender. Another one is sex in the shower. Sex in public, up against a big tree in the park near my house, would be good. But the one that really stands out is this one.

I’m in the subway (or tube, or metro, or whatever you want to call it). My train is steadily making progress towards my stop. It stops again. Just like every time, people get on the train. But this time is different. HE gets on the (very crowded) train. Stands next to me. I can see his eyes, smell his scent, touch his black leather jacket. Sensory overload. He catches my eye, smiles. Grins even. I haven’t even talked to him but I want him bad. He turns me on like mad. I grin back. We engage in a bit of flirting. It’s harmless, it’s fun. And it’s damn hot.

Suddenly he touches me. Lightly brushes my arm. I shiver. It’s electric, almost terrifying. He still doesn’t speak a word. The train shakes, and I stumble, right into his arms. We laugh. There is a definite spark as we look into each other’s eyes.

It’s my stop now. I give him little smile as I get off the train. I walk through the station, to the exit. Where he catches me.

And he kisses me. It’s a hard, urgent and very passionate kiss, which makes me tingle all over. He stops long enough for a single sentence to escape my lips.

“Come with me.”

He follows me home, his hand in mine. Neither of us says anything. We just stop and look at each other. Each time I look at him I get more nervous. Butterflies in the pit of my stomach. A tingling sensation between my thighs. Fuck, what’s going to happen?

When we arrive at my house, I nervously jam the keys into the lock. I fumble and he lets out a little laugh. “Are you nervous?” he asks.

“Yes. Very.” I say, shakily.

“Please don’t be.” he replies. “It’s going to be alright. You won’t regret it. At least, I hope so.” he replies, surprisingly shy.

I manage to open the lock and enter the hallway. He comes in behind me and closes the door. And then he kisses me again, even harder. I kiss him back and waste no chance in feeling him up, as I always wanted to do with a guy, but never quite got the chance to. I can feel his body against mine. I’m going mad. I want him naked and inside me…..

And I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination… What? Tease? Me?

MasterChef is on again. Jonathan (one of the contestants) is facing up against Justin North (famous chef person). They are making a dish with crackling pig or something like that. Making my mouth water once again. Jonathan did make a wee mistake, in salting his pig too much. I don’t think he will win. But oh my god, does that look delicious. And I don’t really like crackling.

As I said, Jonathan lost out to Justin North. Must have been the saltiness.

More cooking now. I say, I’m feeling very hungry. I must restrain myself from going downstairs and devouring one of those moelleuxs I bought today. Or else I think I’m swallowing my tongue.

This was taken in London three years ago. This is a statue on Leicester Square. It says: there is no darkness but ignorance. Which I think is pretty much on the nose.

Once, Twice, Thrice

After I discovered that Courtney Trouble was celebrating the 1 year anniversary of Queer Porn TV with a free day, I didn’t hesitate once.

So many luscious scenes… But I knew immediately which one I wanted to see. Judging from a clip on Queer Porn Tube, Maggie Mayhem and Ned’s scene was going to be a scorcher. So, I watched it the first time. And bloody bloody hellkins….

First of all, both Maggie and Ned are hot. Just… GAH! Bejeesh, that is one scorching pair. Second, underneath that blue suit and tie, Ned is hiding a bloody hot body!

Third, I don’t know if I understood it correctly, but having Ned ask Maggie to play with him like a sex object… I think it triggered something positively primal in me.

Unfortunately, the scene came to a close, with a close up of Ned’s wayward tie on the floor (which, GENIUS). So, I watched some other scenes. I wanted to see Jiz Lee and Papi Coxxx’s tryst, but unfortunately, my computer had other plans…

Another highlight was Dylan Ryan (perfect as Butch Friday) and Tina Horn getting their kink on. And Scout and Courtney herself were brilliant and very cute (“I normally don’t fuck on the first date…” – Scout).

But, as I went on, I knew that I wanted Maggie and Ned again. So, I cued that one up and watched it.

And I was wet.

And for the life of me, I have no idea what happened next, but I just fingerfucked myself, both g-spot and clit at the same time. Fuck, I screamed into my pillow again. I was incredibly horny.

And I came.

After a few seconds of recovery, I went in for the kill again, trying out my usual double orgasm combo. I don’t really remember what I did, other than rubbing just above my clit, where it felt like a little bone.

And I came.

Whilst Ned and Maggie were sexing it up big time (btw, using a Hitachi on a man’s cockhead is a fit of genius), I considered my options. Either watch the scene till it was over, or just… yeah, just finger myself again.

And after a truly epic effort, for my fingers and my cunt were both on the verge of exhaustion, I came again!

I broke my own record for most orgasms in one night! I even squirted at one point! I’m completely exhausted as I’m typing this and am afraid that if I fall asleep now, I’ll only wake up on Tuesday!

Once, twice, three times, no lady 


Inspired by Molly (from Molly’s Daily Kiss) and her new Pussy Pride Project, I decided to participate. So… let’s get this show on the road.

This is a hard thing for me to write. I never gave my pussy that much thought in the past. I basically ignored it till I was 18 and finally ready to masturbate.

Recently, I had an eye-opening experience. I had decided to masturbate in front of a mirror, just to see what it looked like. I thought it would look freaky and strange, but it was quite pretty.

The outer lips are quite plump and pinky. The inner lips are darker. My clit is perky and pretty. The shape is like a leaf. I didn’t pay much attention to it, since I was busy masturbating (which means I had my eyes closed) but that’s what I can remember.

I have this masturbating routine. I only once did it in a place that wasn’t under my sheets, in the dark. And still it was in a bed. I don’t watch myself. I don’t do anything kinky, or exciting. I don’t know if my pussy is getting used to this, or getting bored with it.

The “Perfect” vagina is overrated. The beauty in a vagina is that not one is like the other. I like mine because of its little quirks, the way it reacts to my touch, the smell, the taste…

No-one has ever complimented on my pussy, but that’s because no-one but me has seen it! I hope someone, one day will tell me that it is a thing of beauty.

Recently, I had my mound shaved for the first time, but that was purely out of health reasons. I was in the hospital for my gastric bypass and they shaved my mound bald. Five weeks later and the hairs have grown back… I should make an appointment for a wax soon, but I’m quite apprehensive about it. It may actually hurt a bit…

My pussy is a part of me, just like my arms, my legs and everything else. But more than just a part of me, it is a constant companion, a pleasure-giver and something I couldn’t go without.

I just call her “pussy” by the way. 🙂

G-Spot Misery

I think I may have hit something…

In my unrelenting quest for the G Spot, I may have hit … well, I don’t know what, but it’s something. With my vibe. About ten times. And now my stomach hurts like a motherbitch. I smell a hospital visit. Oh, wait, thinking about it, I have to go see the surgeon about my op tomorrow. Some pre operative stuff.

I’m serious, I think I might vomit now.

So, about that G Spot stuff. I’ve been obsessed with finding it since round New Year. I think I may have found something, because I do squirt. But I don’t orgasm. I don’t feel anything. And it gets very, very messy. If I sound like a total newbie, sex wise, it’s because I am. I only started masturbating about two years ago. I’m still discovering myself. And I’m beginning to think that the G Spot may be too advanced sex 101 for me. I don’t know, I’m such an idiot.

One thing that soothes the pain a bit is MasterChef Australia, currently playing on my telly. The dessert they made looks (like George said) sexy. Matt Preston’s pants are so brightly colored… The challenge for tomorrow is catering a children’s birthday party and the cupcakes they made look stunning. I have a thing for brightly colored desserts. Which I don’t find weird at all. My favorites are Macarons de Paris. Which, voila…

I’m frothing now. Have you ever seen a croquembouche? Now imagine one made from macarons de Paris. That is proper orgasm food. What is orgasm food, you ask? Well, simply, orgasm food is food that gives you a tiny tiny orgasm just thinking about it. Something that makes you seriously froth. I’d love to know what you consider orgasm food.

Signing off for the night, going to watch the poker game on the television.


I’m a big fan of natural beauty. No make up, no frills, just me.

I choose not to wear make up, for two reasons. One is that I don’t think I look good with make up. I don’t look like myself. I don’t want to cover my freckles (just for your information, the girl in the pic is not me, I don’t half look like that) because I love them. I want people to look at my eyes, not the warpaint on my eyes. Most of all, I don’t want that brown-orange hue that most face make up gives me.

Second reason is that I think I might be allergic to it. I shit you not, my eyes water as soon as I put on mascara or eyeshadow. My face glows (and not in a good way) when I put on foundation. In other words, not only do I look like shit, I feel like shit as well.

Saying that I’ve nver worn it would be a blatant lie. Saying that I look good in it would be too. But I have chosen not to. Because I like myself better without make up.

I don’t like being naked. I’ve looked at myself in many a fitting room mirror in various states of nudity. Shame burns my cheeks when I look. Never liked what I saw. Massive sideboobage. Waddle after waddle. Not pretty.

Recently, I tried a little something. I wanted to see myself from the waist down. I wanted to see myself spread open. So, in True Dalide Style, I took down my (very heavy, antique wooden) mirror and placed it between my legs, right in front of me. And then I spread myself.

Finally, I found something I liked about myself. My vagina. My yoni. My cunt. Whatever you want to call it. I call it beautiful. I call it magnificent. I have so much love for this particular part of my body. It gives me the thing I’ve been lacking for so many years: pleasure. Plus, I think it’s really pretty (again, girl in picture, not me).

I can’t define beauty as a whole. I don’t speak for everyone and I don’t intend to. Heck, I can’t even define beauty for myself. Maybe beauty can’t be defined….

I hope you enjoy the pictures included in this post. I can go on about this subject, but I choose to keep this for another post.



Look at that, two posts for the price of one! I have decided to entertain you with a little excerpt (re-worked from my motherlanguage of Dutch) from the novel I’m working on. It’s, as you might have guessed, quite hot.

This takes place near the end of the book. It’s a dream the main character, Elin, has about her best friend Jase. If this sounds awful, that just means it got a little lost in translation. And if the mechanics of the sex are quite off, feel free to tell me, so I can edit this and not look like a fool when the book does eventually come out.


I’m outside Chirocco, lonely, waiting for a cab to come my way. I can’t remember coming here with someone. I see taxi after taxi drive by, all of them occupied. A curse escapes me every time. Suddenly, I feel him standing next to me. His hot breath in my neck. His body tantalisingly close to mine. He turns me around and pulls me back inside.

“What are you up to?” I say, softly.

“You’ll see.” he replies, his voice dark and raw. We walk across the dancefloor, to the storage room at the back. He pulls me inside and locks the door.

“Seriously, mate, what are you up to?” I sai, with a hint of fear in my voice. What the hell is going on?

“You’ll see. Just relax.”

And then he kisses me, hard and fast. Enough to temporarily knock me for six. But then he stops. He’s grinning like a little demon.

“Ah, I see.” I say. I kiss him back, as hard and as passionate as he did. He unzips my dress and bears my breasts. He stops to admire them for a second and kisses them softly. Then, he licks my nipples, first the left one, then the right one. And he kisses me again. I decide to take action and rip his shirt open. Oh my word, his body is amazing! What a man…

“Unbutton your kecks.” I command him. He obliges and drops them to his anckles. Fuckin’ aye, even his cock is gorgeous! He pulls my dress up and my panties down.

‘Is this real? Are we really going to do this?” I say.

“Believe it, babe.” he grins.

“Really? Up against the wall? How dirty!”

“Well, we could do it down on the floor, but I don’t think you really feel like shagging in a puddle of water.”

“Wait, are we really almost naked and negotiating on where we’re going to do this?”

He laughs. “Apparently we are.” he says, before kissing me again. I spread my legs and pull him closer.

“Come and get me, tiger.” I say, grinning cheekily. He obliges again and pushes till he enters me and oh my word, it feels so good.

It’s hot. It’s raw. I cry out as he thrusts deeper into me. His grunts are animalistic. Fuck, I’m not going to last much longer. And I have a feeling that he isn’t going to last either. Electric shocks in my body. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins. I’m aware of him, who he is. It’s Jase who’s fucking me, bare arsed and all. It’s Jase looking at me with lust in his eyes. He wants me. He really wants me. And I want him too. The shocks are coming fast and hard. And then, without warning, I scream out…

And open my eyes. I was dreaming. But what a lovely dream…


I genuinely hope that this is good. It’s a little diffrent from the one that I actually wrote. And yes, it is based on a little fantasy of mine. Hope you liked it.

Zombie Apocalypse …?

It’s Saturday night and after convincing myself I have probably developed a load of diseases I’m now lying in bed and for some reason I have further convinced myself that the zombie apocalypse has started. Here, localised in downtown Dublin.


I live close to the city centre and I can hear what seems like an unprecedented amount of cop cars vaguely in the distance. Not loud like outside on my street or loud enough to wake me if I had been sleeping but just far enough away. My senses are probably heightened by frayed nerves – I haven’t slept well in weeks so every tiny noise seems extra loud. For some reason I think I can hear a faint crowd, like a riot. I’m not sure why this is my first thought or why I’ve jumped straight to zombie apocalypse but I am so convinced that something terrible is going on that I’m rehearsing conversations that I’m going to have when I ring Kevin Street Garda Station (my local cop shop) I am a hairsbreadth away from dialling them. It goes something like this:

Hiya, I appreciate that it’s Saturday night and you work in the emergency services so every Saturday must be misery. But if you could give me two minutes that would be great. So um there any chance that there’s a riot (read: zombie apocalypse but we don’t say that on the phone as we don’t want to sound completely mental. We also don’t want to sound like a jerk as I’m sure most Saturday nights feel like some kind of Groundhog day Armageddon) It’s just that there seems to be an inordinate amount of sirens and helicopters. And I realise that I’m calling from the town end of Dublin 8 which has to be the epicentre of crisscrossing squad cars … but is …it …. Um … unusually busy tonight  ..? Or am I just noticing it because whatever I used to do on Saturday nights it didn’t include being awake and hearing these things..


I don’t get an answer from my practiced convo as, well it’s a practised convo so I just replay it trying to make it sound more plausible and ask myself how much of it would they listen to before telling me to get to fuck and stop wasting their time.

The gardaí remain unbothered by me this night and I don’t make the call.



I don’t even watch the Walking Dead so I don’t know how to prepare myself. But I’m wondering will this be live tweeted by anyone before it gets to my door or will anyone get the chance? Would I get a chance to call my family and tell them to make a run for it – knowing they wouldn’t believe me. I get out my phone anyway to check.


Ironically I start to calm down and come to my senses when I conclude that I’ll probably get eaten by the zombies before I can be taken as fresh meat to be eaten by survivors. And then I calm down to the point where I think it might just be a riot about … I dunno, taxis? Lack of available cheese burgers?  The gay Spar being closed? (What would people in Dublin get riled up about at 2 in the morning?) And I doubt they want to come smashing up windows because of that.


And eventually I realise that I am most likely (probably definitely) having some kind of stress induced panic attack. Albeit a fairly novel one. Not that I’d know I don’t think I’ve had one before, zombie themed or otherwise. But as mentioned I’m not myself of late and while I usually sleep like an innocent, baby log i.e. very fucking well, at the moment it eludes me. So it seems that every little noise is amplified either stopping me from dropping off or waking me if I do manage to.

But that’s all par for the course it seems when someone pulls the wool over your eyes with your own jumper and pushes you out into oncoming traffic. Or in other words, when you find out from Facebook that the guy you were seeing (admittedly casually) turns out to be married. And if you weren’t such a fucking social media snob you’d have found this out ages ago, like maybe the day you met him. And could easily have avoided this whole mess, or at least some of this mess. Definitely though, some mess avoidance could have been attained.

And then the greatest hits of rhetorical questions start playing in your head and you realise that you nearly called the guards cos you thought the fecking zombie apocalypse was happening??? Jesus Christ what has it come to?


And then you fall asleep.

And the world has not been laid to waste by either burger induced riots or zombies. And you remember  with surgical clarity that it was only your world that got consumed by someone, just your own peace of mind that was infected. And you can’t tell anyone cos you feel like a dope.


The End


* The gay Spar is a lovely beacon and widely beloved of late night Dubliners and tourists. I’m not entirely sure why it’s called the gay Spar but it could be to do with an incident that occurred there where an abusive homophobe was refused service and barred for heckling someone. And it’s right by the oldest gay club in Dublin.  It’s also the most beautiful Spar you’ll ever see in your life.

So Long Lemonade

(I’m Feeling Beyoncé’s Lemonade so hard right now …)

Ah lads, where do I start?

Well, I’ve not been feeling great for the past few weeks. So haven’t been posting – I suppose you need to be inspired to do that and I was barely inspired enough to get up before wetting the bed most mornings. Honestly that was the driving factor that saw me pull the duvet covers back from my ever-expanding and neglected body – not pissing the bed. Or shitting it as was the case some mornings. They ain’t great reasons to have a good day, but they certainly are good drivers to have a less rubbish return to bed in the evening.


I have depression. Bad depression that I’ve been sharing a house with for over a decade. It’s the worst housemate I promise. And this is including living with someone who once saw the 1 knife, 1 plate and 1 cup I left from breakfast  – fill the sink with hot water and detergent and wash only their own dishes. (what?? It must have been more work to take them out of the sink, wash their own dishes and then put back mine?) And the two dudes who did not buy hand soap or toilet paper for 3 years ….. I don’t know what went on in their bathrooms before I came on the scene.  But I’d take those anal dish avoiders and soap aversioners than depression any day. (well maybe not any day, I really am very clean and tidy)

I of course digress.

I’ve let things slide here, I’ve not logged on in over a month, nor have I answered or monitored any comments. I lost interest in most things in my life. Just getting up and going to work was the most I managed. The most I strived for. Except for drinking – I managed a good bit of that. Along with tryna keep a sunny side out on Twitter.

I had of course been seeing – or at least sleeping with people. I say people but mostly just the one. We had a nice arrangement, we met up, we had sex, we ate food we watched movies. What was not to like.

I wrote about him here. He was that good.

A bit too good though, so it seems.


The more we did it the better it got. He had dom tendencies, I liked that. He had a massive cock, I liked that even more. But he knew what he was at with his mouth and fingers and his appetites were voracious … or enough that I could see. Clue one, he never really stayed over so maybe he didn’t have as big an appetite as I thought. I wouldn’t know as we didn’t ever spend 24hrs together.


He said from the start that he didn’t want a relationship. That’s fine. He wasn’t my type, I didn’t want that from him either, I was happy with just sex. Sex that started off as quite good but then grew to be fucking mind-blowing. He made me squirt nearly all the time. That’s no mean feat. And I made my self determined to be the one to fit him in my ass, I mentioned his size, well it’s the girth that’s the thing. It is fat, so fucking deliciously fat. And no one had persevered  – or so he told me. Who fucking knows that could have been lies also.


But see. Some people are like little hills that you cycle up. You don’t feel the exertion, you’re not out of breath, you’re not having to stand up off the saddle, you’re just pacing along nicely – and somehow you reach the top. But ….. it’s only when you are facing the other way, and have to go back down that hill that you realise just how steep it was, just how fast your decent is going to be. Just how much of a crash you’re in for if you don’t make it, slow down or handle the brakes right. (If you don’t cycle this is probable a really shit analogy for you …?)

How is that possible? To not notice getting so high? Well it is. And there’s a hill like that in Dublin and when I came down it one day having recently just cycled up it I was shocked at the pace I was flung at. I mean this literally.


But this guy. This guy is the figurative representation of that. I didn’t feel myself doing any exerting to get him to like me. Or make room for him in my life. I didn’t care what he thought of me because I didn’t want to go out with him. I said what I liked, did what I liked, acted how I wanted. I called, texted as much or as little as I felt I wanted or needed to.

No rules, no holding back. And he seemed ok with it.

But we contacted a lot. He worked near me. We had sex during the day at his place of work, once at mine. But mostly it was my house. Clue number two that Abbi did not see.



I don’t know if I have the energy or the will to keep writing this story, or how much good it will do anyone. …  But I’ll try.

I want to eviscerate him but I don’t think I can …. just because, I have no lust for it. Or anything, not even doughnuts right now… (that’s bad)

So I wasn’t talking about him much, so none of my friends really had much detail on him. Until the other day when I was talking about him to my bestmate. She said it sounded like I was starting to like him, I was speaking differently – if you know Sex and The City the TV Show, he was Harry. I had completely undersold him and had seen him as just sex, when all along it was plain that he might have been perfect for me; so we mused.

(awww what dopes we were)

But my bestie is no fool, and she is too fond of me to let anyone into my life without a little (and now de rigueur, let’s admit) internet stalking. (She has a new born that’s still on the boob, she’s had other things to be thinking of so that explains exactly why this didn’t happen sooner).


One Facebook click and she found him. Married. Less than a year from when we had started being in contact with each other. I thought maybe it was a photoshoot …. he was posing for a photographer friend …. ? This is way too shocking, this is funny, there’s an explanation, there’s something . THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING … Jesus God lord give me something that makes this ok …. something. Oh God please …..


Nope. He’s married. Properly, happily if photos are anything to go by. They’re not by the way, photos are liars.


So, they were screen shot and sent to me, which in turn I sent to him. He is of course so, so, sorry. (please hear that in a Fr.Jack Hackett voice cos that’s how I’m saying it.) He didn’t mean for  ….. and I really cannot be fucked with the fuckery of the rest of that conversation. Either typing it or boring you with having to read what you can already guess cos you’re all over the age of 15 and have heard this fucking horse shit before.


I’m floating. I’m adrift. I’m in the middle of a roaring river of rapids and I have no paddle. I don’t know what to do and I can’t see anything to cling on to around me. No anchor, nothing in my head will land on anything that will make this seem any better. Because there is no better… there is nothing.

Until there is! Well – my brain starts bargaining with me – what if he is planning on leaving her? He did ask me to be patient and go slow? Maybe?





But would you take someone back knowing that? The deceit? The sleight of hand, the artifice? The treacherey …COURSE YOU FUCKING WOULD. All of us would for the right person, so don’t bother lying to yourselves. My life is littered with people who are now in happy relationships that started like this. Some worse than this.


But I knew …. I felt that that was not to be my fate. But I will kill something until I know it’s dead. It’s the 49th rule of war apparently, until you see a dead body the thing is not dead.


So at 4.26am he emails me – I’ve him blocked from everywhere else. And it wakes me as I’m not sleeping heavily – quelle surprise. But I want answers; WHAT HAPPENS NOW. What does he want, where did he think this would go? WHAT THE FUKING HELL DOES HE WANT FROM ME? Well, here you go: He loves her like a best friend, but the passion is gone, he wants kids with her. He is staying with her. He knew before he married her but did it anyway.


I am disgusted. Do what you have to do to get by people I know only too well how fucking hard this life is – but don’t drag me into it. Give me the information to make my own choices. I was not afforded that choice. SHE was not afforded that choice. This is not a judgement on anyone except for removing my right to choose. And god knows I’m fighting hard enough in Ireland for that already. see here


I owe her nothing. I owe him even less but I won’t be exposing him simply because I don’t see the point for me. There is nothing to be gained from it. AND NOT – in case any smart arses want to point out – because I had trusted him enough to tell him about this blog. And so he could of course take me down also.


I’m at a low ebb. I have taken stress leave from work. If anyone knows anything about horses then you know this, if they lie down because of hoof problems it’s good and bad; it’s good that they have lain down, but it means that they probably won’t be getting back up. I have finally taken the stress leave that I needed to take from work but  …. I really cannot see how my hooves will repair. This, this fuckbaggery here? This is just one bit of it that I got a last post and chorus out of. It is not the sole reason for why I need to be off work.


I have a counsellor, a psychiatrist, a psychologist but most importantly I have amazing friends and the world’s greatest sister who is married to a man that I would CHOOSE as a real brother not just a brother in law. I have a lot. I just can’t feel it most days. I just feel the pressure of my bladder and so I rise. And for that alone.


But all this  – it has reminded me how vulnerable I am. How vulnerable it makes my family and so I’m shutting down …. but mostly cos I give up right now. I give up on people. I will not be the fucking side chick again.


But don’t cry for me Argentina – I’m grand. Or I will be. Or won’t, whatever. I’m just a tiny spec on a tinier blue spec in the cosmos and this will mean nothing soon.



It was a blast guys. You, YOU lot made me feel special.