Shy Guy

I never knew Jase to be a shy guy.

I learn a lot about him from having sex with him. You think you know, but you have no idea what’s in that head of his. He has come clean about some fantasies in the past few weeks. Things that he never wanted anyone but me to do for him. Things that linger under the surface.

The mere possibility of these things happening kept him going for all these years. He has interesting desires. Nothing fancy, not being bound and gagged or something. Just being touched. Being loved.

One particular fantasy surprised me. This happened in the first week of our relationship.

“You look very delicious tonight.” he whispered in my ear, as he lay down next to me. He had just returned from a shift at the bar and looked a bit tired. It was hot outside and I was dressed in nothing but my lacy bra and panties, watching television.

“Is that how you pass time when I’m not here? Watching the poker in your skivvies?” he asked, while stroking my hair. I relaxed under his touch. It had been a tense day at the office. Some deadlines were coming very close and everyone felt very stressed. And it definitely rubbed off on me.

“Ooh, I do everything in my skivvies when you’re not here. Even the washing up. You look tired.”

“Yeah, rough day. You too?”

“Deadlines and all that. We should find a way to relax.”

He giggled. “I know how!”

He leaned over and kissed me, with so much longing that it made me dizzy. It prompted me to declare: “I’m all yours.”

“Lovely. Will you do what I ask?”

“Sure. As long as you kiss me like that.”

He obliged and kissed me again. Then, he pulled away.

“Take off your bra. Let me see your breasts.” he whispered huskily. I stood up in front of him and unclasped my bra.

“Do you want me to touch them?” I said.

“Yeah. I do.”

So I did. I touched my soft breasts, looking straight into his eyes.

“Ta…take off your panties too. I want…” he stuttered. I quite enjoyed this sensual power I had. I’ve never been able to turn a man into absolute dripping goo. It made me feel more womanly.

I took off my panties and revelled in the sight of him watching me. He made a come hither motion. So, I joined him on the bed, where we kissed again.

In between the kissing, it was obvious that he wanted to ask me something.

“Ayls?” he said, with his lips against mine.

I moaned in response.

“Ayls.. I want to ask you something.”

“Ask away, I’m all ears.”

“Will you… oh fuck.. I’ve never…”

I pulled away and looked him in the eyes, trying to read his expression. He looked down at the mattress, as if he was shying away from me.

“What is it, babe?”

“I’ve never… asked a woman to do this before.”

For a moment, panic struck. What the hell did he want me to do?

“What is it, Jase? Tell me.”

Unless it’s something freaky. Then, please do not.

“Will you… suck me?”

My jaw dropped. “Let me get this absolutely straight. You’ve never asked a woman for a blowjob before? Have you had one?”

He blushed a bright crimson shade. “Fuck me, now I’m embarrassed. No. Not properly. And no, I haven’t asked. Too shy I guess.”

I smiled. “You needn’t be shy. Not with me. Fuck, Jase, it’s me.”

“Do you want to?” he whimpered silently, preparing himself for rejection.

I didn’t say a word. I just sat up and reached out to his zipper.

Carefully, I opened it, and pulled down his pants. Easy does it. Then, I pulled down his boxers, revealing his cock, in all his long and hard glory.

“Look at that. Your big soldier. Your soldier of love.” I said, admiring it for a second, and running my finger down the shaft. This left him grinning.

I nestled myself between his legs and took his cock in my hand. Then, carefully, I bent down and swirled my tongue around the head. Just once, only delicately. It provoked an immediate reaction from him, a cute little yelp.

I looked up at him and he smiled. “Tickled a bit.” he explained.

Why do I suddenly feel like I’m sixteen again and giving head to Johnny McNamara in the ladies bathroom of the cinema? I got about the same reaction back then, by the way.

I then, still carefully, licked from the head to the bottom, down the shaft. And back up again. I kept licking, which was greeted with a contented sigh and a moan from Jase.

“More.” he whispered. “I just want to feel those lips. That mouth. Everything.”

He wanted more, and I gave him more. I took hold of the base, and took him in my mouth. I licked and I sucked for dear life, because fuck me, if this is his first blowjob ever, it is my duty to make it one to remember.

“Oh jesus, Ayls, that feels so good.” he moaned. “Please.. please.. I want..”

With my mouth still full of cock, I looked up at him and tried to say: “What?”

“I want…will you..”

I took his cock out of my mouth and said: “Don’t be shy, just ask.”

“Will you touch my balls?”

I grinned. “Would you enjoy that?”

He nodded.

So, I did. As I continued my sucking, I gently touched his balls, which provoked such an extreme reaction from him, that I could have sworn he was going to explode in a cloud of semen.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!!” he cried out, as he came in a hot rush, inside my mouth. It was quite a shock at first, but I just swallowed it all. Which made him very happy.

I sat up, and looked at him. He was looking so happy. He sat up, with his pants down to his ankles and his cock now flaccid, but still very pretty.

“I love you.” he said. “I bloody love you so much. Thanks for doing this for me.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” I said, feeling quite proud of myself. “So, was it worth waiting thirty years for?”

“Bloody hell, yes!” he cried out. “I’ve fantasized about this for so long and for it to be you doing it… heavenly does not begin to cover it. I’m spent.”

“Well, do you fancy some naked poker watching? That always perks me up.”

“Uhm.. yeah, why not!”

He got undressed and slipped under the covers with me. As the poker match reached a humming crescendo, I relaxed into his arms. The feeling of skin on skin was amazing.

“All he needs is an ace and he’s won it.” I pointed out, being a keen poker player myself.

“Don’t care about him. I’ve got my ace, right here.” he said, cuddling me.

The following morning, on my way to work, I happened to lick my lips, which made me smile. They still tasted like my shy guy.

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.