Sex Prep Diary

Planners Gonna Plan

 

I say this all the time because I love planning, I love organising and I love having something to look forward to. And I can control that by being the one who plans and gives myself something to look forward to. I’m not likely to sit around waiting to be invited to something, I’m more likely to do the inviting. (most of the time, there are of course whole weekends when I’m sitting on the couch in my underwear doing fuck all and talking to no one)

I’m also not someone who won’t commit because actually I’m waiting for a better offer. If you ask me to do something that I am into doing I have no issues agreeing to it weeks in advance, no panic with that. Again, assuming that it is something that I am into doing with someone I like and not something shitty (i.e. do not ask me to a wedding, I’m never gonna jump at that. Or indeed a child’s birthday party – hard pass every time)

But sex? Yup, I’ll happily sign up to that. And if you’re fucking me I hope you feel happy about that too, and that it’s something that you are into.

Last Friday I asked him what he’d be doing today (the following Friday) Why the fuck were you asking so early I hear you say? Well I work 9 to 5 Monday to Friday and frequently longer than that. I also rent my house on Airbnb some weekends, so I don’t have the use of it. Other weekends I am home to see my parents on the other side of the country. The point is I am busy, I have commitments and, like every one of you, my weekends are precious and I don’t like to leave them to chance. If I know I have a free one, no obligations, no travelling, no guests – then I definitely want to see if I can have sex

So last Friday I realised that I had a free weekend looming and it was not going to be left to chance. I sent the message and he responded swiftly. Of course he could make himself available. And the sex prep began. I had 6 days to organise a sex session, six days to wind myself up. Six days to get excited.

 

I need to choose underwear, pick toys, get waxed, have a pedicure, buy booze, stock up on condoms and see if I can stop my period from happening. I don’t mind sex when I have my period, I enjoy it immensely but given the choice I’d rather not have it, and if I am given time to plan these things then I can certainly see about postponing it.

 

A week is the perfect amount of time to get everything aligned. To make sure that everything is as I would want it. I have blocked my diary so I can legitimately decline any further offers, I have time to get a wax appointment and have the requisite 24 hours recovery time.

And all the other myriad little things that I do that no one probably notices but which make me feel prepared, ready and less distracted.

 

Spontaneous is great but also, fuck spontaneous, give me anticipation! A long, delicious week full of it, until I am about to fucking detonate.

 

And I am about to go right off.

Who Owns My Sexual Agency?

I got a lot of abuse this weekend – uninvited, unwelcome and quite aggressive. Surprising too as this guy was trying to woo me on a dating site.

It got me thinking about my own sexual agency, the things I’ve done, the people who know about it, the pictures I post and the complicated relationship I think all girls have with their sexuality and who owns it.

 

But we’ll go back to this guy and explain what happened there because dating apps are a good place to start. For one, they are how over 40% of all relationships start now (don’t ask me I can’t find the link to those stats but I did read it somewhere) and they are the internet so they are a breeding ground for abuse for women.

I think I’ve detailed on twitter a lot of the sleazy opening lines that have come my way. Those aren’t the worst, they are bemusing at the most, disheartening at the worst. But then there are the insistent ones; the ones that send you one message and then a quick succession of more when you don’t respond. Ones like ‘Hey, I saw you looking, come say hi’ or ‘Are you not going to be polite?’ insert two more identikit messages and then the final ‘Ah you’re all talk’  or my all time fav ‘You’re probably a man’.

 

How lovely.

 

First off, I don’t owe you an answer. And I don’t owe you a response.

 

Then you have the guys who look through your profile, see that you’re pretty sex positive and assume you are for sale, will sleep with anyone and can be bought with a cursory ‘Hey, so you like sex, let’s fuck’. And then move on to being super shocked when you don’t jump at this opportunity.

Or the ones who look at your photo, see one where you’re on holiday, in summer clothes and feel that it’s ok to tell you that you’d attract less dickheads if you weren’t showing it all off. Then tells you that you have great tits.

I promise you that this was said to me, in the year 2016. By a guy who, as it turns out, was ‘only being helpful’ and was surprised when I told him I didn’t need his critique of my pics and I was obviously not for his consumption so he should jog on.

 

I hate my body a lot of the time but I’m not ashamed of it. And on the days that I do wear something revealing I will own it. It is my body and I will show it or hide it as I see fit and this is not a statement on my character or moral fibre. Why random, strange guys feel this proprietorial ownership over my body I will never cease to be annoyed with.

But on the plus side, it does helpfully sometimes separate the chaff from the wheat when they show themselves up like that.

 

But it seems that having that pic where I am laughing at something so glorious, wearing a vest and shorts on holiday – basically showing a bit of flesh, along with my profile that doesn’t hide my sexuality, is somehow an invitation to abuse. I have asked for it, so I have been told. I have brought this on myself by being too open and for daring to have the audacity to be into sex and not be ashamed of it. I’m supposed to hide it, only be coaxed into it? Not revel in it?

But if I liked sex why do I not sleep with you just cos you asked?

 

Which brings me to the oh so lovely messages that I received this weekend. For a tiny bit of context – I am a bad person, I sometimes answer cretins when I’m in a bad mood just to see how far it will go, or worse …. So I can tell you guys about it. And this weekend, I was under quite a bit of pressure so I might have fed the troll. As I said, I’m a bad person.

 

His opener wasn’t too terrible if it did focus solely on my appearance: Hi Abbi, I’m Mark from [suburb of Dublin]. I do [some type of job]. How are you, love your leather trousers, very rock chick.

Not the worst, not the best. I’ve corrected the spelling and grammar mistakes because I’m not able to reproduce them. Also, I wasn’t wearing leather trousers in any of my pics…?

 

So, exactly 32 minutes later he gets arsey because I haven’t responded and says: Thanks for the answer Abbi. I was being friendly.

 

Yeah it sure sounds like it pal. You sound about as friendly as a burglar hiding in my bathroom.

But I’m irked and annoyed at external things and not in the mood to be bullied so I’m afraid I responded to this message telling him he wasn’t owed a response from anyone, but as our match was such a low score that was the reason.

But sure, you can’t reason with the unreasonable. Because as they say, you can’t play chess with pigeons; they knock over the pieces, shit on the board and then strut around like they won. Which is exactly what he did.

 

His next move was to predictably quote the ‘you don’t go by these percentages’. Yes I do buddy, they’re there for a reason and they are quite an effective barometer of compatibility. But he then had a dig at me saying I probably put a lot of faith in star signs too.

(For the record I don’t read star signs, I believe in science.) He ends it with the passive aggressive confirmation that I don’t owe him anything and reiterating that he was sorry for being friendly.

Can you imagine what this guy’s interpretation of unfriendly is?

Can you even fathom it?

 

But he keeps going, he’s obviously forensically going through my profile now, looking for anything to hit me with and if you want to think you can shame me with sex then I suppose you might think you have some pretty big sticks. He tells me I’m kinkier than him and in the same sentence tells me he doubts it – is this supposed to entice me?

He then declares that I’m into threesomes, not really sure where he is getting that from as I cannot see where I’ve said that?

And he finishes that message with facetiously calling me classy as it appears I’d ‘rather have the face eaten off me’. Rather than what!

But I do think I know what he is referring to. One of the questions is what would you rather do on a first date and I’ve said drinks and kissing. As that’s the truth.

 

 

He answered more questions and our match percentage goes up. He tells me it’s only falsely low because of the threesomes, again I have no idea what he is on about.

 

Then he asks about the threesomes that I “advertise” on my profile! For the love of Jebus how is this guy so obsessed with me and threesomes? And where the fuck is he getting this from?

 

And his last message, he tells me that I “take” a strap on (again, not anything that I’ve said in the profile) And asks if I have “given” it with a strap on. Now, if he’d read anything what he might have read was that I have used one. He made his own assumptions as to what way I did. (spoiler alert in case you haven’t read this blog before, I have been the one wearing and doing the fucking)

His closing arguments are: that he still doesn’t think I’m kinkier than him and ends with: So Miss 60% are you going to say HI.

 

I think he’s on glue.

I am incredulous. Utterly speechless at this guy. He abuses me, tries to shame me, speaks to me aggressively and then still thinks that I am going to engage with him? That he has a chance….?

 

 

HOW? How is this the way women are spoken to? How do guys think that this is ok? To speak to women like this online or anywhere?

What scares me is this isn’t the first time or the last time this guy has engaged with women like that. And he is somebody’s brother or friend. There is probably loads of people out there who would vouch for this guy and tell you that he is a great person.

 

You probably know someone just like him. You could be friends with him. This is what makes me so sad. For myself, for the world for other guys.

 

I know, I could block him. But I wanted to see how far he would go with it.

Why do I keep doing that?

 

 

This guy was clearly interested, and though he wanted to sleep with me he also thought that it was ok to try and shame me for my tastes? I wasn’t frightened by this guy, he didn’t have my real name or my number and it’s doubtful he’d fine me in a city of 2 million people, but it angered me so much. It infuriated me that he thought that he had some moral upper hand by trying to imply that I lacked class for being open about sex, while simultaneously trying to say he was into it too? While I don’t feel personally unsafe from this encounter I do feel unsafe that there are so many guys like that out there. With this attitude that I owe them something, that I am here to be deemed acceptable or not acceptable by their standards.

 

I grow ever more weary of humans.

 

But this isn’t the only place that it happens; where I have to be careful of who I am sexually because for some reason I am not my own sexual agent.

I post pictures of myself online. Some semi clad and some bordering on provocative. While I’ve never been abused for this, others have, and my even more conservative photos on my dating profile have seen quite a bit of abuse. For some reason, I am not allowed to be in control of my image. I am cheapening myself or selling myself. Opening myself up for abuse and inviting trouble.

Am I?

 

As I said earlier, I am not always happy with how I look, but I will keep seeking to find the good in my own image. It’s there, I know it is, but I also need a reminder. And when I see it I will capture it and share it; it is my body, my image and I am in control of that. I can’t control what you do with it or how you react to it but neither can I do that with any other aspect of life.

I know the arguments, I hear them: but you’re objectifying yourself, you’re selling yourself, you’re showing girls that they are nothing but an image. Well I refute that.

I’m celebrating myself – on the occasions that I manage to look at myself and like what I see. And I think that is empowerment. It is ME doing this, me holding the camera and I am in charge. I don’t need anyone’s permission and I don’t need their approval.

 

This too is not an assessment on my character. It doesn’t mean that I am lacking in anything else. I show exactly what I want and nothing more. Never nipple and never no knickers. Which is my choice, some things are just for me. And my friends and my partners, not for the internet. And I won’t be coaxed or coerced into showing more.

 

It seems the world is so terrified of female sexuality. Even women want to tear it down. But that’s like turkeys voting for Christmas.

 

 

And isn’t it all fine and well for me to spout all this, safe in my little blogging ivory tower. I see the irony but let me address that for you. If you came across me in real life, I am an average girl, if we get chatting I’ll happily discuss sex if it comes up and I’m pretty open about my sex life. I’m not hiding it. If you were super extra bonus lucky, and you came across my dating profile you would see that I’m not hiding anything I’ve done, I’m pretty frank about what I like and what I’m into.

 

So why am I anonymous on there? Why is my face not in any of my pics? Good question.

Because I have a family and they didn’t sign up for this. As happy as I am with my sexual history, my parents don’t need to know about it. My corporate employer doesn’t need to know about it. But more importantly, and I hope you’ve reached this conclusion yourselves as demonstrated by the dating app story, it’s for safety. For some reason guys see a girl who’s into sex and think they have the right to expect sex, or attention or …. Something from me. I have been propositioned so many times, I’m sure every blogger has, I’m not special. But as lovely as most people are who message me, I don’t know them and I don’t know who else is out there. And as countless court rulings find; the girl was asking for it, if anything happens.

 

 

I am not asking for it. I am just asking for respect to own my own sexuality without fear. And if I want to trade on my sex stories, I damn well will.

Are You Still Turned On?

Someone asked me today what goes through my head when I’m giving a blow job.

Probably the same thing that goes through anyone’s head I imagine. Whatever goes through your head when you’re going down on a girl. But I didn’t say that, as this was a brief Twitter convo and I was at work.

So, on the off chance that what goes through my head isn’t in fact what goes through yours, or for those of you like my Twitter acquaintance who are just curious to know, here is what happens in my mind when I have a cock in my mouth.

I’m usually thinking ‘Yasss! Cock in my mouth’ in the first few seconds, followed closely by ‘God I hope he stays hard so I can play with it a little’. Then, ‘Am I doing this the way he wants?’ ‘Should I use my hands?’

‘God this tastes good’

‘I hope I’m not annoying him?’

‘Is he still into this?’

‘Does he want me to just focus on making him come?’

‘Would he rather I stopped so he could fuck me? Is that what he actually wants and is just waiting to say so?’

 

If I’m not thinking any of these things to the point of actual distraction, if I am just leisurely, languidly sucking and licking as I’d like, then invariably and I mean invariably, I get painfully aroused. I love hearing him moan, that deep guttural, back of throat sound that’s half way between breathing and a growl. I love knowing that I am making that happen. I love the noise, the words the look on his face. When I know he’s into it, I sometimes just want to stop what I’m doing and sit on it. While at the same time craving and hungry for him to fill my mouth with his come, it’s a tough choice every time.

 

But it’s also at this point that I start to think about a second him. I want a clone of the guy I’m with and I want the clone to start fucking me, slowly at first then harder.

 

Sucking cock is one of my greatest pleasures in life. I said as much, not long ago, after making a guy come. ‘Can you imagine not liking blow jobs?’

‘What? Giving or getting them?’ was his response.

And then we fell down a rabbit hole that led to the morality of him being in my bed at that time. But I won’t digress onto that, I can promise you it’s a story for never.

 

But back to blowjobs. What am I really, mostly thinking?

‘God this is hot, I really hope he’s thinking the same’

 

And incidentally the last blow job I gave was spectacular. Not that I’m saying my performance was but my enjoyment of it was.

It went like this:

I was on step one to getting aroused; I was under no pressure. He already knew I could make him come, there was nothing to prove here. A perfect starting position.

As I sucked and licked, dipped to the back of my throat, rubbed my lips on and off it – he stayed perfectly, gloriously hard. This increased my arousal – the fact that I was allowed to do what I liked, that he was happy to watch and that it was arousing enough for him maintain his erection even though I wasn’t doing anything consistently or rhythmically. This is one of my favourite things in existence.

 

But I wanted more I now needed him to come for me – I think he might have sensed my need as he asked where did I want him to come. This was tough as I desperately wanted to be fucked but equally wanted to have him shoot hot streams of his come into my mouth. I plumped for the mouth and savoured every second of his gloriously, growling climax.

 

I really couldn’t have enjoyed it more. And thoughts of it now will get me off.

Such Sweet Nothing

Why am I out of sorts? So abjectly, unrecognisably out of sorts.

I set out at the start of the year to dethrone my favourite lover (the cop) – it was my new year’s resolution. Stop sleeping with him and find someone as good if not better.

Why would I want to do that? Well, even though I was unsure of what I wanted from him, the fact was he chose someone else as his partner, effectively saw me as unsuitable for the role. And somehow this ate away at me in a way that surprised me. That I didn’t qualify, for reasons never to be explained to me.

I’m not even sure I wanted him like that, but I sure as hell didn’t want to be reminded that I wasn’t going to get the role. Or even be considered for it.

It was no longer sustainable, it had only one way to go and that was to get way messier – I had to take action. Get myself out of the station.

 

Except, it was a really tall order. The cop had brought something out of me, or had woken the need in me to be submissive, he gave me the key to this door, albeit inadvertently, almost by accident. But it iswith him, under his watch, that it blossomed.

 

He is still (as I write this) my favourite lover. But I needed to replace him, to get him out of my system, to prove that there is better sex to be had, that that is even possible.

That maybe it could be with someone I can spend time with, who might read the rest of me as well as the cop read my sexual needs.

 

And I got off to a flying start. Threw myself into the dating and started going on 3-4 dates a week, it was the most fun I’d had with it in a long time, when I just went on all the dates, stopped being cautious. It no longer mattered, I just wanted to distract myself and I wanted to get good at dating. And it was overall, mostly great dates. Only one had to be aborted after a single drink; a terrible case of great online but not great in reality – not as sharp or funny or (and this is so often the killer) not as confident in the flesh.

 

So some dates ended in sex, some didn’t. Some ended in ok sex and some really, really didn’t. Shockingly, some of the best kissing ever, transpired into some of the least sexy or effective sex I’ve had. For me, just to be clear, it was ineffective for me, I made sure he came 3 times.

 

And then him.

 

Best first night ever. I don’t know a single thing that could have made this better? And I’ve thought about it. The ratio of elements was perfect, not too much or too little of anything. We had drinks, but not too many. We had chats but no one dominated or failed to deliver. We had kissing and groping in a dark corner but not too obscene. And god knows I love kissing and groping in dark corners with someone who makes me slick.

Giddy, aroused, buoyed at our prospects we skipped back to mine. Thankfully he had the wherewithal to eschew my offer of more drinks and it was off to bed with us. As this story isn’t about the details of what he did as much as the actual effect it had, the summary will be short; he made me come 5 times and he made me squirt. I have never squirted before, I wasn’t sure I believed it to be a real thing so I don’t think we can underestimate the effect that such an occurrence could have on me.

Except I did.

 

I wanted more. It was instant addiction.

My own personal brand of heroin.

 

The second time I saw him he showed up at my house. Not at the venue we were supposed to be meeting at. It was 20 minutes before we were supposed to meet, just bear that in mind.

 

He walked in the door, threw his scarf around my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. He unravelled it pretty quickly when I told him my hangover was likely to see me puke on him.

He took the scarf off, turned me around and bent me over the couch. With one hand holding me in place he tugged down my tights and underwear. There were mild protests from me but nothing show stopping.

He licks his fingers and shoves them into me, he probably didn’t need to, I was wet anyway. Still holding me in place he bends down to get his mouth there. More ineffectual protests from me until he stands up to hold me more securely in place and then he fucks me. Again, spectacularly.

But this too is not a story of the actions but of the consequences.

 

 

To recap, date one he makes me come 5 times and coaxes my body to a feat it has never seen fit to perform before. Date two, he ignores the plans, walks straight in my door and owns me.

 

Who the fuck is this guy?

In two deft moves he has rugby tackled the plinth that the cop stands on and has it rocking precariously.

This, to understate the matter, has knocked me for six.

Sure, what I wanted was someone to show me that the cop can be topped but now that it’s a reality I can see that I may have jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

 

 

I’m not sure I will find the words to accurately express how much I hate this, what it has done to me or why I don’t recognise myself or my actions. I can tell you though that when I understood I was in trouble my first thought was to call the cop – THAT would surely take my mind off it. That frying pan was looking like a cool place to hang out again.

 

 

It has been so long since I’ve met someone who had potential. I can find someone who’s great in bed, but who doesn’t excite me anywhere else (Looking at you there, architect). Or someone who’s fascinating to be around but rubbish in bed. (That’s you, brunch guy) Or someone who’s spectacular in bed, fun to be around but who shares no real core values (hello cop).

I can find one, two but never the three.

 

Then this guy; spectacular in bed, tick. Interesting and exciting out of the bed, tick. Shared core values and outlook, tick. (or so it seemed)

I was more interested than the revenue is in your earnings. I was sitting up and taking notice, when for so long I’d been asleep at the back of the class.

 

 

So what’s the problem?

 

 

A lot of problems actually. Instead of being cool I was uptight. Instead of letting things happen I was anxious. It was pure addiction all over again. All I wanted to know was when I was seeing him again, did he like me, was he eager to see me again, how many of my babies did he want, will we buy a house in Rathgar, will I get a book deal…. (actually, not the last three, I lost the run of myself there, it’s happening a lot lately) But you get it right? I pretty much couldn’t contain the emotions racing inside me.

 

While at the same time  – just being so content. Now the latent happiness could of course have everything to do with getting orgasms 3 weeks in a row. (No way to tell. These things are impossible to gauge)

But crazy wins out. Don’t battle with crazy, it always wins. And even when it doesn’t, it still thinks it has. There is no satisfaction to be had.

 

 

I think I like this guy. I see potential and my brain is trying to fuck it up for me. I am overwhelmed by our encounters and I don’t believe I’m thinking straight.

 

I am fuck drunk. It has been so long since I’ve been in this position that I don’t know what to do, and I am in panic mode. I can pretty much guarantee that I will proceed to mess this up. I can practically see it in slow motion.

 

 

So, to sum it up; I have just replaced one drug for another and my out of practice ‘I like you’ button is going to ruin it by being too keen, too obvious and acting like a dickhead. I’m sure you can’t even fathom how unsexy that is so you’ll just have to take my word, it is traumatically unattractive.

 

Post script update: There were no more dates

Rathgar is my favourite suburb of Dublin, mostly cos it’s not a suburb and is very close to the city while still being leafy and tranquil

An old one – Three Rides

Here’s one from the vault –  as I was thinking this week how much I dislike my body but I’d like sex to help me appreciate it again…

So, it’s back to reality here. And I’m mostly glad to be back. To be in my own bed which is always clad in good linen and smells of Lenor. Not to mention being much more spacious than any of the single beds that I had while I was away. But there really is nothing like your own bed, the comfort and familiarity and the release.
So on holidays I was Goldilocks and the 3 rides and ultimately learned 3 lessons that I will now share.

Lesson 1: Cher was right, we should have all listened to her sooner
Lesson 2: Girl On The Net (GOTN) was right, is right and doles out very handy advice
Lesson 3: The BFF is a tolerant and lovely person who doesn’t hold grudges
(These will all become clear, I promise)

The first encounter I was too drunk to remember any of it, I couldn’t tell you anything about it except that we were definitely careful and I might have told him I was a sex blogger – what a fucking idiot I am. Oh and I got a UTI from it also. Relax, those of you out there not versed in these things; UTI’s or the most common one, Cystitis, is an infection caused by soft tissue damage. It’s not caught or given. It’s …. Inflicted. Draw your own conclusions because I have none. Really, make anything up, it could have happened.
So ensued an agonising 26 hr bus journey and a lovely trip to the chemist to explain in my really shitty Spanish what the problem was. Thank god the pharmacist was lovely and this was South America, they hand over the good drugs straight away i.e. strong painkillers and antibiotics. All in all a very high price to pay for some sex that I essentially don’t remember. You think I would have learned my lesson but I don’t think I did.

The second was an unmitigated disaster. I did my best to salvage it but there was nothing to be done. There was no wood to be had. I’m not sure whose fault that was? I suspect there were drink issues, that’s what was declared anyway and there might have been condom issues too. That’s ok, it happens. There are loads of other things that can be done and more fun to be had…? No?
No, it would seem was the answer here. I’m sure I was patient, I know I paid a lot of attention to a lot of places and was encouraging and put in some back work. I can’t say I felt that much, or any of that, was reciprocated. There also seemed to have been a bit of a miscommunication regarding one other thing? I think I know how it happened but I’m not sure how it got so out of hand…?

So when we had been kissing in the bar, out on the terrace, basically everywhere, at one point he was at my neck; we were in company and he was kind of absentmindedly nipping it but I came to my senses and sort of yelped ‘Don’t dare mark me!’. Everyone laughed, he reassured me that he wouldn’t. I turned to him and privately whispered that he could mark me anywhere that wouldn’t be seen, just not my neck or anywhere highly visible. Somehow, this seemed to have translated into: Please leave as many bruises on my body and you possibly can, either by squeezing too hard or just outright biting me. I bruise like a peach, I really do. Any tiny little grab of my arm will leave a mark. This works out well with most partners where I will find discreet little finger marks on my inner thighs or if I’m lucky a well-placed and not noticed when administered, little bite.

This was none of those. I’m sure I noticed some roughness at the time but the bruises that came up? It looked like I had been kicked down some stairs.
Ok to be fair, I had knocked myself up a bit, the lower leg bruises were mostly my own doing. But them added to the ones ALL OVER my torso and the giant set on my left breast? Sigh…. Once again I was all injured and had nothing to show for it. Literally all pain and no gain.

But I feel like I should have seen this coming. I should have known. How, I hear you ask? Well, while the kissing was good and it went on for two nights before the non-sex happened (I was too drunk the first night) there was no actual spark. I enjoyed the attention, I loved joking with this guy, he was funny and clever and we were like kids chasing each other around. I was having a great night the first night. And an even better night the second, knowing that it was definitely going to end in sex and we were both (so I thought) taking it easy on the booze. I was busy playing beer pong and giant jenga, he would occasionally run up behind me, grab me and swing me round – what was not to love? I think I love someone being all over me when I’m into them. The kissing was good, he was a good kisser. But. And here is lesson number one that was learned too late; it didn’t ignite anything, there was no pull in the belly, no tingle happening. And you should feel that as soon as someone touches you, it’s an indication of actual chemistry and of how things might play out later.
I think I got my person-crush and my actual crush mixed up. I think I just really liked this guy as a person. I’d say he felt the same about me. That’s my guess anyway. I don’t really have anything else to go on.

So then there was the third bowl of porridge that was just right.
It’s Sunday night, me and the BFF are not finding the crazy parties everyone has told us about in Bolivia. Regardless of that we are dragged to a club anyway in a last ditch effort to find some craic. We’ve had a dodgy taxi ride to the ‘club’ and for some reason we’re ushered in without paying? We have no idea what’s going on neither of us is looking our best. The music is rubbish, no one from the hostel seems to have followed us here as arranged. We’re on our first drink when two young fellas approach us and ask us to dance. They’re very pretty and they’re clearly a lot younger but they speak spectacular English and are very polite. I love polite.
I tell my suitor that I can’t dance to this music, he laughs, agrees that it’s a bit heavy while simultaneously having taken my hands and gotten me off my seat. He now has me standing and facing away from the BFF and the rest of the group that had finally arrived. This is a key move apparently, separate your target from the herd.
So I’m standing and he has my hands in his, he leans in closer, to chat in my ear. He says the music will change soon and there will be something better to dance to. I want so badly not to be a big fucking cliché, it’s why I let him take my hands and get me off the stool, I wanted to dance with him, to be polite and not be so, so, fucking Irish. And then – this happened. I suddenly get all self-conscious, I remember that I actually can’t dance and that I’m fairly sober. (ok, I can dance but not with a partner. I can lap dance, I can dance by myself, I can hold my own, but with a partner? Leading? Terror strikes me. And when I realised what kind of dancing he meant? Well I immediately became a walking cliché.) I giggle (god I hate myself) and I tell him again that I can’t dance to this, he says he’ll show me, I make it worse and say ‘I think I need 4 more drinks’ Let’s have them, he replies and goes to get me a drink, which I of course refuse to let him buy me. I’d be odd like that.
But we are still chatting and the harder I try not to be a stereotype the more I become it. He again asks about the dancing and I, to my utter shame, tell him that I’m Irish and we can’t dance unless we’re drunk. He looks at me like I’m stupid, I know he’s heard me and that he understands me, so I ask him what he knows about Ireland and shockingly the first 5 things he says include neither booze nor potatoes. Despite myself, I’m impressed. At this point, or possibly before that, his friend had pointed out how fit my suitor was by subtlety pulling up his shirt and announcing that this, his totally ripped torso, was because of Cross Fit training. This does not have the desired effect, both me and the BFF burst out laughing. Because this, as a tactic it is fucking ridiculous to us. We are of course impressed, but what are we supposed to do with that? It’s like walking up to a guy and flashing your tits.

I decide at this point, conclusively that there is nothing going on with this guy and me. He is way too pretty and I am wholly intimidated by his physical perfection. I can’t understand why he is still trying to score me? I think maybe it’s a bet, or cos I’m a tourist and that’s what they’re into on this night? Or maybe cos I’m blonde?
What I know is that no matter what the truth is, I can’t get naked in front of this guy. I would not enjoy myself as my own fucked up mind has no intention of letting me. That’s right readers, I am writing this guy off because he is too hot.
But I’m not impolite. I of course keep chatting, he’s pretty funny and after he talks me into dancing (not actually together but kind of near each other, as you would on any normal dancefloor, not a big intimidating South American one). And as we’re laughing about something (I think it was my name – which is hilarious here) he asks for my number. This makes me spit my drink out laughing. ‘What do you want my number for! So you can go ahead and not call me?! Stop it now, I’m a tourist and I’ll be gone in 3 days’. This stops him in his tracks and he laughs himself and says it’s a reflex action and of course I’m right. And then he drops in the line that possibly hooks me. ‘You’re so much fun to actually talk to’. OH yeah? How’s that – is my sceptical response. ‘Because the extent of the conversations I have with girls my own age is how good the latest iPhone is’. I know this is a line, but he’s absolutely barking up the right tree with me.
I laugh my head off and swear to keep my international politics convo up to speed. I think it’s here that he grabs one hand and slips the other around my waist. There is a natural gap between my top and my pants so his hand was fully skin on skin, at the small of my back and I felt it then. Right when his skin connected with mine I could feel it. He pulls me in close and rests his mouth on the nape of my neck but doesn’t kiss me. It’s as if I haven’t given him permission, which I haven’t, and he is waiting for it? We keep talking, this keeps happening and eventually he does kiss my neck, briefly.

I’m clearly not giving any signals away because he doesn’t act on it. But now I really want him to. The electricity when he touches me is so delicious.
I’m so terribly aware that the BFF is not having a great time and I do keep trying to turn back to her and see how she is. I’ve sworn that we are leaving after this drink and I did mean it. I tell him this and he ups his game and he kisses me. And here it is, the categorical proof that Cher was right, it is, and always has been, in his kiss. This. THIS here is what I should have felt before I went and slept with anyone else. I should be feeling this taught, obvious, punch of genuine desire that is washing over me. THIS is real chemistry and I know it, I recognise it it’s my fucking barometer and it RARELY sends me wrong so what the hell had I been playing at with the other two guys?? Why had I been ignoring my own internal signs? And of course, why was I ignoring the sage Cher advice? Never wise.
I’m hooked. I want this guy, I want him so badly. I can feel that he’d be good, the senses are on fire and my need is off the Richter scale. I have mostly gotten over being intimidated but there’s still no way I’m going to sleep with him. He does try to persuade me – fleetingly, with the requests that he come back with me. HA! Does he realise that I’m staying in a hostel! So he switches tack and tries to persuade me to go with him – that is categorically not happening. The BFF says she doesn’t mind staying, I know she does and I don’t want to stay. It’s time to go, what the hell would I be doing with this 22 year old anyway.
So I make my excuses and try to leave. He kisses me again and I devour each one that he gives. He kisses my neck and whispers to me. And then boldly takes my hand and puts it on his cock. It’s a brave move but he obviously has the measure of me, I loved it. But it wasn’t enough to get me to stay. He throws this in at the end – he says he doesn’t have to leave til 5pm the next day and I should give him my number so we can meet up tomorrow afternoon, because even if nothing happens he wants to see me again. So I give him my number for reasons I am sure I will never know? And because this guy was hilarious and way cleverer than me and I enjoyed his company and his audacity immensely.

My phone is dead. I charge it the next morning and there’s 4 texts from him. He’s managing to pull off cheese and still be funny e.g. ‘hope you and your boy’s name and potato accent slept well’. So I respond. And I waste a morning like this. Eventually the BFF tells me to just go and meet him, she’s only on for movies and reading today (it’s chilly enough in Bolivia).
He meets me outside the hostel. Rips the piss out of me for staying in an Irish Hostel, fair enough, and then tells me I sound way more Irish this morning, but not to worry, I’m still comprehensible – very cheeky. It’s still not clear what it is we’re actually going to do? So we take a stroll, he points out some cultural features and gives me a bit of background to Bolivia that I didn’t know. And all the while his arm is around me and he is intermittently kissing me? I don’t know what to make of him but he makes me laugh and his knowledge of what seems like the whole of Europe, including Ireland, is putting me to shame. He’s just short of saying something in Irish to me. But he seems as delighted to be with me as I am to be with him. And so he suggests we go to his friend’s house. I’m not mad about this idea. I don’t know this city, I don’t really speak the language and of course I could be murdered. Or worse, just tortured and never found again. You know the things that go through your head, while simultaneously your loins are working overdrive to try and come up with some way to justify actually doing this.
I’ll cut to the chase, because this isn’t a suspense thriller, I went with him. I didn’t get murdered. And so brings us to lesson 2. I read, probably not that long ago, but for some reason I can’t find it readily now, a top tip for getting the sex while possibly being in a dodgy situation somewhat safely. GOTN suggests that you ask the guy for his wallet or some other valuables which you then hide until you are ready to leave. If the guy happily hands them over, then it might be a barometer of his intentions. Obviously this works way better with say, his car keys being hidden somewhere in my house which he wouldn’t be able to readily find, should he need a quick getaway after, you know, murdering me. But god, I wanted this guy and this nugget was what my loin-to-brain minions came up with. So I asked him for his wallet and he handed it to me laughing, no hesitation.

Off we went to a rather swanky suburb of La Paz. I was still nervous but I was genuinely having a lot of fun.
I think it’s now time to confess what I did. The BFF’s phone wasn’t working in this country, stupid Meteor BUT her wifi was and we were able to Whatsapp. I promised to stay in regular touch and not to go anywhere without telling her. But as soon as I stepped outside the hostel into the beaming smile of Cross Fit boy – I absolutely forgot this fact. Forgot that her phone wasn’t actually working.
To add to this, as soon as I was outside the walls of the hostel, sure my wifi no longer worked. So all my (normal text) messages were not getting to her. At first I thought she was busy watching a movie. Then I thought she was ignoring me because she didn’t want to hear what I was getting up to. And then I started to worry myself. The young fella offered to call her, but to no avail. If I had have stopped and thought for more than 2 seconds I could have asked him to Whatsapp her. Or I could have texted anyone at home and asked them to tell her I was ok. But I didn’t stop to think, I was absolutely cunt blind. It’s pretty serious, it’s the worst kind.
More chase cutting to. We’re in his friend’s house, he sits down and pulls me on top of him and starts kissing my neck. My breath is gone straight away. I rub myself up and down his crotch as he reaches around for my tits. This feels amazing and we’ve barely done anything. I know I’m wet and he utters the only Spanish that comes from his lips. My last boyfriend was Spanish, I know the filthy words and I know what he’s just called me – I am so turned on by it. But I don’t tell him.
I’m still kind of scared, I don’t really know where I am, it’s the middle of the day and I am stone cold sober and about to get naked in front of what is possibly the fittest man I’ve ever been with. Ok, I’m terrified. I don’t have a tan, I’m covered in bruises and fecking mosquito bite scars. But there’s no way I’m going to stop, I know if I can just get over myself this could be great.
And then it starts. The things he does, the only move he could make to make all this ok; he started talking like I was some goddess and that he was lucky to have me there? And even better, he highlighted all the things that I can possibly believe might be hot about me. In order, this is how it went.

I pull my clothes off and he freaks out for my underwear ‘Holy shit, look at this lingerie, what the hell’ I go to kiss him and he won’t let me, he holds me at arm’s length and takes another look. Then he grabs me and pulls me into him. He then starts to compliment my tits ‘These feel amazing, ok get this bra off I need to see them’. Perfect. When I pull the bra off he then goes on about the nipples, how hard they are, how you could hang something off them. Well spotted, you could. I can believe all of this. And he’s touching me everywhere, complimenting my skin, stroking me. And key to all of this, he’s rock solid. And he’s not standing there expecting to be worshiped even though his body is worship-able. He’s just getting on with it and so am I. I joke that he looks ridiculous, that he’s not real, that it’s painted on or something. It’s fun, he’s fun. Neither of us is hung up on anything. He goes to take my knicks off and I stop him, I’ve been traveling for 3 weeks, I’m not freshly waxed. His response is perfect ‘What? Shut up! and get them off, I don’t give a fuck and I want to eat that now’. (Boys even if you do care, it’s always so great when you just say you don’t.) And he did eat it, oh so very well, stopping to let me taste it every time I asked, which was often because I love that.
And when I suck his cock he freaks out, I give it everything, every trick I know and it works. I lick all the way from his balls up and back down. Then I take all of it in my mouth, right down until I gag on it and then a little bit further. I get it so wet and stay at this until he can barely take it. He is sitting on the bed, legs spread, back against the wall. I’m between his legs, on my knees, bent forward angled so I can get the best leverage while I work his shaft but also so my hips look their widest. This doesn’t go unnoticed. ‘I cannot believe your ass for a white girl, your hips are unbelievable’ this again I can tolerate to hear because I love my hips. And then I go in for the deepest of deep throats. He tells me he doesn’t think that’s ever happened before and he loves it.
I have to say we’re both having a great time.
This is how it’s supposed to be. Both parties doing the best they can to make sure the other is having a great time.
He makes me come with his mouth and his hands, and we have sex three times. I make him come twice, with my mouth both times.
And in between we lie and chat and laugh and it’s so easy. He kisses my face and runs his hands over my skin. I admire his, and tell him he should give me one of his flaws, to point one out – he stands up and gives a lame one about his chest. I kneel up and punch him, he picks me up and wrestles me back onto the bed and it starts again. This is the most fun and the least pressure I’ve felt in months.

But I still haven’t heard from the BFF and I’m anxious now. So he says he’s going to bring me back to the hostel. I tell him there’s no need, as long as he tells the taxi driver where to bring me, I’ll be fine. He looks at me perplexed and says ‘But I want to bring you back’. The cab takes forever to come and when it does I insist that I’m ok to go back by myself. He looks at me really unsure but I think common sense wins out. He kisses me again like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted and then puts me in the cab. I’m not in the door of the hostel when there’s a text from him checking that I got there safely.

This is possibly the most perfect one night stand I have ever had.

I’ve learned to listen to my body, wait to feel the pang of desire. Not to write someone off just cos I think they’re too hot for me – it’s almost as insulting as writing someone off because you don’t think they’re hot enough. Chemistry is chemistry regardless of physicality, when it’s there you’ll just feel it. I slept with this guy not because of his super-hot body but in spite of it. Because really, how we look is the smallest part of real attraction.

And the last lesson? Well while I was trying to get back to the hostel, fearing that the film I was actually in, had the twist where I didn’t get killed as expected, but that the BFF did. That she got murdered in the hostel (can I say that word enough times) and it was all a ruse when she was the one in danger all along. But she wasn’t dead. Or kidnapped. Just annoyed and worried about me – and had been for about 4 hrs. To her credit she didn’t give me a hard time and I was genuinely very sorry.

Have You Given Me an STI?

Have I ever given anyone an STI? (sexually transmitted infection) I’m pretty sure I haven’t. Has anyone given me one? Yes they have. I got chlamydia from a boyfriend when I was 22. We’d just ditched the condoms (as I was on the pill) and it turns out that that may have been a bit premature. But now, years later I’m actually grateful for the experience. (Not that it was my first time getting tested, it was my third. The sexual education the nuns gave me was pretty comprehensive around what I could catch from boys’ willies and had given me a healthy dose of caution for them.) But it was this experience that changed my outlook completely; how did I catch something from someone I trusted? That doesn’t happen?

Pretty naïve right? But let’s cut him some slack, he wasn’t cheating on me. It wasn’t that long since he’d broken up with his last girlfriend when we got together (I’ll be casting no aspersions on her character and neither will you). I don’t know nor do I care really how he picked it up, what I do know is that he told me straight away.

It was a weird phone call, him being solemn asking if he could call round. If the genders had been reversed I would have thought that he was about to tell me he was pregnant, instead I just thought that he was going to break up with me. He didn’t and I didn’t throw him out either. He was direct, told me what he had and that I needed to go and get tested.

You’ll have to believe me when I tell you that I didn’t hate him or that it didn’t damage my ability to trust. Because it really didn’t. But it definitely dented my notion of youthful infallibility.  And I learned the lesson that someone can be giving you what they think is the truth, but that doesn’t mean that it is. I was no longer willing to take someone’s word for it. This doesn’t mean that I was a hard-nosed bitch to all future partners, I just now took the stance that we’d be getting tested before condom ditching time. No judgment, that’s just how it was going to be.

 

So it was 2 pills, antibiotics I think? And it was gone. I’d never even heard of chlamydia before then, and certainly had no idea how stealthily dangerous it was. As is usual I had no symptoms and was wholly unaware of its existence within me. I was unscathed by having it and unscathed by the cure for it. Unlike warts, which are burnt off, or herpes, which you have forever or crabs – I got off relatively easy.

 

So, unemotionally damaged by being infected by my partner and not at all damaged by the infection itself, what was it that was noteworthy about this? Well, I wasn’t too thrilled with how I was treated at the clinic. There was a slight air of condescension, mixed with superiority and incredulity; what was a girl like me doing here. As if I’d let the middleclass side down.

The doctor who was going through my chart and asking me about my history treated me like I was her pupil and she was the headmistress. You can rest assured that I was not cowed by this.

 

At the time I had slept with 8 people. I know this because I remember having to say it about 4 times to different people on that visit, and she made me go through them. Then she asked about my current partner and how was I going to conduct myself after this incident. I’m really not sure it was any of her business to ask me that but I told her nonetheless; that I was going to continue to sleep with him and as soon as the chlamydia was gone we would go back to not using condoms as I was on the pill. Which then prompted her to ask me how I knew I could I trust him, again, I’m not sure why I answered, maybe because I was desperately in love with him and utterly offended on his behalf. How dare she? My response was to tell her that I trusted him about as much as anyone can trust anyone else, how much did she trust her partner, how was she herself sure she wasn’t being cheated on?

We left it at that.

 

I went back a year later to get tested again. I was still with the same guy, I had no reason to mistrust him and I was certainly not cheating on him. But the seed of doubt had been set and I liked the idea of having a clean bill of health, like already knowing I would be getting 100% in a test!

This time they gave out to me. What a flip flop! From insinuating that no one is to be trusted to telling me I was wasting their time if I was with the same partner.

(I did forget to mention that my boyfriend did also have warts – he only ever had the one that one time but I was also afraid that they might has passed to me and lain dormant. I wasn’t wilfully wasting national medical services, just so you know)

 

We were together for 4 years. We had a great time unhindered by our shaky start. And after we broke up I started getting tested every year. I’m never careless, there are always condoms but condoms can break. And there’s always the worry that someone might not know they have anything so I can’t ever take anyone’s word for it. I’m fine with that, because I don’t expect anyone to take mine.

 

I have a duty of care to anyone I’m sleeping with and I would like to think they have one for me.

 

So I got tested this week. I’m not genuinely worried about either of the guys that I’ve been with but should I be? I’m not going out with either of them, how much trust do they owe me?

 

Let’s take guy one, I was with him at Christmas anyone who’s read this blog more than once will know of the Cop. We have a long-standing arrangement, we were both tested when we were exclusive and we were condomless for a while now.

But, if you read this blog closely you might also know that we are not exclusive anymore, he is living with his partner.

 

Now for guy number two. We’ll call him the Belt because of the first time I was with him (you can read about that here, and you should, it’s hot!) The first time I was with the Belt the condom broke, he came inside me. I am on the pill so there was no panic on that front, but what about STIs? He assured me that he was certain he had nothing. I told him I was fairly sure I didn’t either.

But, in one of his opening conversations with me the Belt had told me about his recent sex with an ex.

 

Trust is a funny thing isn’t it? We don’t want to insult someone and to avoid doing so we ignore some of our protective instincts, ignoring danger. For my part, after the condom broke the Belt suggested that as the horse had bolted we might as well carry on. I light-heartedly said that it didn’t work like that, it was more like Russian roulette; you don’t keep firing the gun just cos you’ve hit on one empty barrel. But I didn’t press the matter. I didn’t want to be an asshole and I didn’t want to insult him by insinuating that he might have an STI and not know about it, when I have first-hand experience of that being the case.

And with the cop, I did ask him if he thought his girlfriend could be cheating on him  …. Given that he was cheating on her. Again this really wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have, I’ve no real interest in their relationship but I have real and very big interest in my own sexual health. Again, I didn’t press the issue.

 

So at the very minimum there are 5 people in this: both the guys and their girls and me in the middle. Hopefully not catching anything or passing on anything.

 

I suppose I’m looking at it like this; nothing has changed since I caught chlamydia, least of all my statement to the prissy doctor. How much can we really trust anyone? In two weeks I’ll know if I’m in the clear, unfortunately this will only tell me if I’m in the clear from the cop. As it was less than 2 weeks since I’d had sex with the Belt my test results won’t show if I’ve caught gonorrhoea or chlamydia – both of which have an incubation period of 2 weeks.

I really want to trust him, I want to believe that his last sex with his ex was protected and none of the sex he’s had since the last time he was screened was condomless either. But I won’t be able to ask that. My fear of insulting him will stop me. That and my belief that it’s pointless to ask anyway when the chances are he might not know. What I want to do is to ask him to get tested himself, but that feels like an ask greater than my entitlement at this point.

Because it is.

 

 

I can always go back and get tested again in two weeks – which would avoid me having to have an awkward conversation and then I could get my 100% on the test.

But what do I do in the meantime… do I still have sex with him? Do I still have condomless sex with him?

For a bit of perspective here, this is a guy I have met twice. I’ve no real right to ask him about his whole sexual history or to ask him to get tested. I have no real rights here to be asking anything of him.

Which isn’t strictly true, I do have the right to ask him to wear protection with me. Of course I do.

Except that’s not what I did. What I said was …. I was happy to keep having raw, straight in the door, fucked over the couch sex, but I wasn’t happy to do that if he was doing it with anyone else. I asked him to wear condoms if he intended putting his penis in anyone else.

He agreed of course, it was hardly an unreasonable thing to ask. But now I feel like what I should have said was, sleep with who you like, how you like, but with me I think we should be using condoms, because at least then I know that I’m taking care of myself.

 

 

Trust is a funny thing. And hindsight; the most useless of all the sights.

 

Let’s have more conversations about protection, let’s encourage people to get tested but mostly and what I haven’t said in this piece, let’s not scaremonger or vilify anyone for catching anything – it happens, we’re human. I realise that’s easier said than done but if we keep talking about it, we can destigmatise it.

Goldilocks and the Three Rides

Here’s one from the vault –  as I was thinking this week how much I dislike my body but I’d like sex to help me appreciate it again…

 

 

So, it’s back to reality here. And I’m mostly glad to be back. To be in my own bed which is always clad in good linen and smells of Lenor. Not to mention being much more spacious than any of the single beds that I had while I was away. But there really is nothing like your own bed, the comfort and familiarity and the release.
So on holidays I was Goldilocks and the 3 rides and ultimately learned 3 lessons that I will now share.

Lesson 1: Cher was right, we should have all listened to her sooner
Lesson 2: Girl On The Net (GOTN) was right, is right and doles out very handy advice
Lesson 3: The BFF is a tolerant and lovely person who doesn’t hold grudges
(These will all become clear, I promise)

The first encounter I was too drunk to remember any of it, I couldn’t tell you anything about it except that we were definitely careful and I might have told him I was a sex blogger – what a fucking idiot I am. Oh and I got a UTI from it also. Relax, those of you out there not versed in these things; UTI’s or the most common one, Cystitis, is an infection caused by soft tissue damage. It’s not caught or given. It’s …. Inflicted. Draw your own conclusions because I have none. Really, make anything up, it could have happened.
So ensued an agonising 26 hr bus journey and a lovely trip to the chemist to explain in my really shitty Spanish what the problem was. Thank god the pharmacist was lovely and this was South America, they hand over the good drugs straight away i.e. strong painkillers and antibiotics. All in all a very high price to pay for some sex that I essentially don’t remember. You think I would have learned my lesson but I don’t think I did.

 

 

The second was an unmitigated disaster. I did my best to salvage it but there was nothing to be done. There was no wood to be had. I’m not sure whose fault that was? I suspect there were drink issues, that’s what was declared anyway and there might have been condom issues too. That’s ok, it happens. There are loads of other things that can be done and more fun to be had…? No?
No, it would seem was the answer here. I’m sure I was patient, I know I paid a lot of attention to a lot of places and was encouraging and put in some back work. I can’t say I felt that much, or any of that, was reciprocated. There also seemed to have been a bit of a miscommunication regarding one other thing? I think I know how it happened but I’m not sure how it got so out of hand…?

So when we had been kissing in the bar, out on the terrace, basically everywhere, at one point he was at my neck; we were in company and he was kind of absentmindedly nipping it but I came to my senses and sort of yelped ‘Don’t dare mark me!’. Everyone laughed, he reassured me that he wouldn’t. I turned to him and privately whispered that he could mark me anywhere that wouldn’t be seen, just not my neck or anywhere highly visible. Somehow, this seemed to have translated into: Please leave as many bruises on my body and you possibly can, either by squeezing too hard or just outright biting me. I bruise like a peach, I really do. Any tiny little grab of my arm will leave a mark. This works out well with most partners where I will find discreet little finger marks on my inner thighs or if I’m lucky a well-placed and not noticed when administered, little bite.

This was none of those. I’m sure I noticed some roughness at the time but the bruises that came up? It looked like I had been kicked down some stairs.
Ok to be fair, I had knocked myself up a bit, the lower leg bruises were mostly my own doing. But them added to the ones ALL OVER my torso and the giant set on my left breast? Sigh…. Once again I was all injured and had nothing to show for it. Literally all pain and no gain.

But I feel like I should have seen this coming. I should have known. How, I hear you ask? Well, while the kissing was good and it went on for two nights before the non-sex happened (I was too drunk the first night) there was no actual spark. I enjoyed the attention, I loved joking with this guy, he was funny and clever and we were like kids chasing each other around. I was having a great night the first night. And an even better night the second, knowing that it was definitely going to end in sex and we were both (so I thought) taking it easy on the booze. I was busy playing beer pong and giant jenga, he would occasionally run up behind me, grab me and swing me round – what was not to love? I think I love someone being all over me when I’m into them. The kissing was good, he was a good kisser. But. And here is lesson number one that was learned too late; it didn’t ignite anything, there was no pull in the belly, no tingle happening. And you should feel that as soon as someone touches you, it’s an indication of actual chemistry and of how things might play out later.
I think I got my person-crush and my actual crush mixed up. I think I just really liked this guy as a person. I’d say he felt the same about me. That’s my guess anyway. I don’t really have anything else to go on.

 

 

 

So then there was the third bowl of porridge that was just right.
It’s Sunday night, me and the BFF are not finding the crazy parties everyone has told us about in Bolivia. Regardless of that we are dragged to a club anyway in a last ditch effort to find some craic. We’ve had a dodgy taxi ride to the ‘club’ and for some reason we’re ushered in without paying? We have no idea what’s going on neither of us is looking our best. The music is rubbish, no one from the hostel seems to have followed us here as arranged. We’re on our first drink when two young fellas approach us and ask us to dance. They’re very pretty and they’re clearly a lot younger but they speak spectacular English and are very polite. I love polite.
I tell my suitor that I can’t dance to this music, he laughs, agrees that it’s a bit heavy while simultaneously having taken my hands and gotten me off my seat. He now has me standing and facing away from the BFF and the rest of the group that had finally arrived. This is a key move apparently, separate your target from the herd.
So I’m standing and he has my hands in his, he leans in closer, to chat in my ear. He says the music will change soon and there will be something better to dance to. I want so badly not to be a big fucking cliché, it’s why I let him take my hands and get me off the stool, I wanted to dance with him, to be polite and not be so, so, fucking Irish. And then – this happened. I suddenly get all self-conscious, I remember that I actually can’t dance and that I’m fairly sober. (ok, I can dance but not with a partner. I can lap dance, I can dance by myself, I can hold my own, but with a partner? Leading? Terror strikes me. And when I realised what kind of dancing he meant? Well I immediately became a walking cliché.) I giggle (god I hate myself) and I tell him again that I can’t dance to this, he says he’ll show me, I make it worse and say ‘I think I need 4 more drinks’ Let’s have them, he replies and goes to get me a drink, which I of course refuse to let him buy me. I’d be odd like that.
But we are still chatting and the harder I try not to be a stereotype the more I become it. He again asks about the dancing and I, to my utter shame, tell him that I’m Irish and we can’t dance unless we’re drunk. He looks at me like I’m stupid, I know he’s heard me and that he understands me, so I ask him what he knows about Ireland and shockingly the first 5 things he says include neither booze nor potatoes. Despite myself, I’m impressed. At this point, or possibly before that, his friend had pointed out how fit my suitor was by subtlety pulling up his shirt and announcing that this, his totally ripped torso, was because of Cross Fit training. This does not have the desired effect, both me and the BFF burst out laughing. Because this, as a tactic it is fucking ridiculous to us. We are of course impressed, but what are we supposed to do with that? It’s like walking up to a guy and flashing your tits.

I decide at this point, conclusively that there is nothing going on with this guy and me. He is way too pretty and I am wholly intimidated by his physical perfection. I can’t understand why he is still trying to score me? I think maybe it’s a bet, or cos I’m a tourist and that’s what they’re into on this night? Or maybe cos I’m blonde?
What I know is that no matter what the truth is, I can’t get naked in front of this guy. I would not enjoy myself as my own fucked up mind has no intention of letting me. That’s right readers, I am writing this guy off because he is too hot.
But I’m not impolite. I of course keep chatting, he’s pretty funny and after he talks me into dancing (not actually together but kind of near each other, as you would on any normal dancefloor, not a big intimidating South American one). And as we’re laughing about something (I think it was my name – which is hilarious here) he asks for my number. This makes me spit my drink out laughing. ‘What do you want my number for! So you can go ahead and not call me?! Stop it now, I’m a tourist and I’ll be gone in 3 days’. This stops him in his tracks and he laughs himself and says it’s a reflex action and of course I’m right. And then he drops in the line that possibly hooks me. ‘You’re so much fun to actually talk to’. OH yeah? How’s that – is my sceptical response. ‘Because the extent of the conversations I have with girls my own age is how good the latest iPhone is’. I know this is a line, but he’s absolutely barking up the right tree with me.
I laugh my head off and swear to keep my international politics convo up to speed. I think it’s here that he grabs one hand and slips the other around my waist. There is a natural gap between my top and my pants so his hand was fully skin on skin, at the small of my back and I felt it then. Right when his skin connected with mine I could feel it. He pulls me in close and rests his mouth on the nape of my neck but doesn’t kiss me. It’s as if I haven’t given him permission, which I haven’t, and he is waiting for it? We keep talking, this keeps happening and eventually he does kiss my neck, briefly.

I’m clearly not giving any signals away because he doesn’t act on it. But now I really want him to. The electricity when he touches me is so delicious.
I’m so terribly aware that the BFF is not having a great time and I do keep trying to turn back to her and see how she is. I’ve sworn that we are leaving after this drink and I did mean it. I tell him this and he ups his game and he kisses me. And here it is, the categorical proof that Cher was right, it is, and always has been, in his kiss. This. THIS here is what I should have felt before I went and slept with anyone else. I should be feeling this taught, obvious, punch of genuine desire that is washing over me. THIS is real chemistry and I know it, I recognise it it’s my fucking barometer and it RARELY sends me wrong so what the hell had I been playing at with the other two guys?? Why had I been ignoring my own internal signs? And of course, why was I ignoring the sage Cher advice? Never wise.
I’m hooked. I want this guy, I want him so badly. I can feel that he’d be good, the senses are on fire and my need is off the Richter scale. I have mostly gotten over being intimidated but there’s still no way I’m going to sleep with him. He does try to persuade me – fleetingly, with the requests that he come back with me. HA! Does he realise that I’m staying in a hostel! So he switches tack and tries to persuade me to go with him – that is categorically not happening. The BFF says she doesn’t mind staying, I know she does and I don’t want to stay. It’s time to go, what the hell would I be doing with this 22 year old anyway.
So I make my excuses and try to leave. He kisses me again and I devour each one that he gives. He kisses my neck and whispers to me. And then boldly takes my hand and puts it on his cock. It’s a brave move but he obviously has the measure of me, I loved it. But it wasn’t enough to get me to stay. He throws this in at the end – he says he doesn’t have to leave til 5pm the next day and I should give him my number so we can meet up tomorrow afternoon, because even if nothing happens he wants to see me again. So I give him my number for reasons I am sure I will never know? And because this guy was hilarious and way cleverer than me and I enjoyed his company and his audacity immensely.

 

 

My phone is dead. I charge it the next morning and there’s 4 texts from him. He’s managing to pull off cheese and still be funny e.g. ‘hope you and your boy’s name and potato accent slept well’. So I respond. And I waste a morning like this. Eventually the BFF tells me to just go and meet him, she’s only on for movies and reading today (it’s chilly enough in Bolivia).
He meets me outside the hostel. Rips the piss out of me for staying in an Irish Hostel, fair enough, and then tells me I sound way more Irish this morning, but not to worry, I’m still comprehensible – very cheeky. It’s still not clear what it is we’re actually going to do? So we take a stroll, he points out some cultural features and gives me a bit of background to Bolivia that I didn’t know. And all the while his arm is around me and he is intermittently kissing me? I don’t know what to make of him but he makes me laugh and his knowledge of what seems like the whole of Europe, including Ireland, is putting me to shame. He’s just short of saying something in Irish to me. But he seems as delighted to be with me as I am to be with him. And so he suggests we go to his friend’s house. I’m not mad about this idea. I don’t know this city, I don’t really speak the language and of course I could be murdered. Or worse, just tortured and never found again. You know the things that go through your head, while simultaneously your loins are working overdrive to try and come up with some way to justify actually doing this.
I’ll cut to the chase, because this isn’t a suspense thriller, I went with him. I didn’t get murdered. And so brings us to lesson 2. I read, probably not that long ago, but for some reason I can’t find it readily now, a top tip for getting the sex while possibly being in a dodgy situation somewhat safely. GOTN suggests that you ask the guy for his wallet or some other valuables which you then hide until you are ready to leave. If the guy happily hands them over, then it might be a barometer of his intentions. Obviously this works way better with say, his car keys being hidden somewhere in my house which he wouldn’t be able to readily find, should he need a quick getaway after, you know, murdering me. But god, I wanted this guy and this nugget was what my loin-to-brain minions came up with. So I asked him for his wallet and he handed it to me laughing, no hesitation.

Off we went to a rather swanky suburb of La Paz. I was still nervous but I was genuinely having a lot of fun.
I think it’s now time to confess what I did. The BFF’s phone wasn’t working in this country, stupid Meteor BUT her wifi was and we were able to Whatsapp. I promised to stay in regular touch and not to go anywhere without telling her. But as soon as I stepped outside the hostel into the beaming smile of Cross Fit boy – I absolutely forgot this fact. Forgot that her phone wasn’t actually working.
To add to this, as soon as I was outside the walls of the hostel, sure my wifi no longer worked. So all my (normal text) messages were not getting to her. At first I thought she was busy watching a movie. Then I thought she was ignoring me because she didn’t want to hear what I was getting up to. And then I started to worry myself. The young fella offered to call her, but to no avail. If I had have stopped and thought for more than 2 seconds I could have asked him to Whatsapp her. Or I could have texted anyone at home and asked them to tell her I was ok. But I didn’t stop to think, I was absolutely cunt blind. It’s pretty serious, it’s the worst kind.
More chase cutting to. We’re in his friend’s house, he sits down and pulls me on top of him and starts kissing my neck. My breath is gone straight away. I rub myself up and down his crotch as he reaches around for my tits. This feels amazing and we’ve barely done anything. I know I’m wet and he utters the only Spanish that comes from his lips. My last boyfriend was Spanish, I know the filthy words and I know what he’s just called me – I am so turned on by it. But I don’t tell him.
I’m still kind of scared, I don’t really know where I am, it’s the middle of the day and I am stone cold sober and about to get naked in front of what is possibly the fittest man I’ve ever been with. Ok, I’m terrified. I don’t have a tan, I’m covered in bruises and fecking mosquito bite scars. But there’s no way I’m going to stop, I know if I can just get over myself this could be great.
And then it starts. The things he does, the only move he could make to make all this ok; he started talking like I was some goddess and that he was lucky to have me there? And even better, he highlighted all the things that I can possibly believe might be hot about me. In order, this is how it went.

I pull my clothes off and he freaks out for my underwear ‘Holy shit, look at this lingerie, what the hell’ I go to kiss him and he won’t let me, he holds me at arm’s length and takes another look. Then he grabs me and pulls me into him. He then starts to compliment my tits ‘These feel amazing, ok get this bra off I need to see them’. Perfect. When I pull the bra off he then goes on about the nipples, how hard they are, how you could hang something off them. Well spotted, you could. I can believe all of this. And he’s touching me everywhere, complimenting my skin, stroking me. And key to all of this, he’s rock solid. And he’s not standing there expecting to be worshiped even though his body is worship-able. He’s just getting on with it and so am I. I joke that he looks ridiculous, that he’s not real, that it’s painted on or something. It’s fun, he’s fun. Neither of us is hung up on anything. He goes to take my knicks off and I stop him, I’ve been traveling for 3 weeks, I’m not freshly waxed. His response is perfect ‘What? Shut up! and get them off, I don’t give a fuck and I want to eat that now’. (Boys even if you do care, it’s always so great when you just say you don’t.) And he did eat it, oh so very well, stopping to let me taste it every time I asked, which was often because I love that.
And when I suck his cock he freaks out, I give it everything, every trick I know and it works. I lick all the way from his balls up and back down. Then I take all of it in my mouth, right down until I gag on it and then a little bit further. I get it so wet and stay at this until he can barely take it. He is sitting on the bed, legs spread, back against the wall. I’m between his legs, on my knees, bent forward angled so I can get the best leverage while I work his shaft but also so my hips look their widest. This doesn’t go unnoticed. ‘I cannot believe your ass for a white girl, your hips are unbelievable’ this again I can tolerate to hear because I love my hips. And then I go in for the deepest of deep throats. He tells me he doesn’t think that’s ever happened before and he loves it.
I have to say we’re both having a great time.
This is how it’s supposed to be. Both parties doing the best they can to make sure the other is having a great time.
He makes me come with his mouth and his hands, and we have sex three times. I make him come twice, with my mouth both times.
And in between we lie and chat and laugh and it’s so easy. He kisses my face and runs his hands over my skin. I admire his, and tell him he should give me one of his flaws, to point one out – he stands up and gives a lame one about his chest. I kneel up and punch him, he picks me up and wrestles me back onto the bed and it starts again. This is the most fun and the least pressure I’ve felt in months.

 

But I still haven’t heard from the BFF and I’m anxious now. So he says he’s going to bring me back to the hostel. I tell him there’s no need, as long as he tells the taxi driver where to bring me, I’ll be fine. He looks at me perplexed and says ‘But I want to bring you back’. The cab takes forever to come and when it does I insist that I’m ok to go back by myself. He looks at me really unsure but I think common sense wins out. He kisses me again like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted and then puts me in the cab. I’m not in the door of the hostel when there’s a text from him checking that I got there safely.

This is possibly the most perfect one night stand I have ever had.

I’ve learned to listen to my body, wait to feel the pang of desire. Not to write someone off just cos I think they’re too hot for me – it’s almost as insulting as writing someone off because you don’t think they’re hot enough. Chemistry is chemistry regardless of physicality, when it’s there you’ll just feel it. I slept with this guy not because of his super-hot body but in spite of it. Because really, how we look is the smallest part of real attraction.

And the last lesson? Well while I was trying to get back to the hostel, fearing that the film I was actually in, had the twist where I didn’t get killed as expected, but that the BFF did. That she got murdered in the hostel (can I say that word enough times) and it was all a ruse when she was the one in danger all along. But she wasn’t dead. Or kidnapped. Just annoyed and worried about me – and had been for about 4 hrs. To her credit she didn’t give me a hard time and I was genuinely very sorry.

Girl On The Net – book review

I’ve never done a review – I can give you loads of reasons why but the biggest one is that no one’s ever sent me anything and asked for one. (Which is probably good, being impartial isn’t really a strong suit of mine. Also, we have that whole well documented thing where I admitted I hate vibrators… so that will ensure I don’t get sent anything. But please, can we just remind everyone that I will wear and model underwear that any company wants to send to me. I would do that shit for free) (all lines of communication are open for underwear, never forget that)

 

But I was sent something a few weeks ago. To be fair I did ask to be sent it, I wasn’t chosen as a worthy reviewer, there was no criteria that had to be met. To be clear, I didn’t do anything to deserve being sent this book.

So we’re remembering that I’ve never done a review and that I have no concept of being impartial when it comes to something I like?

Great, let’s get on with the fan girling!!

 

 

The day I was sent a link to Girl on The Net’s page is the day I decided to do this. She is the reason that I write – it never crossed my mind to do it before then, I didn’t know people did. And I didn’t even find her myself, my mermaid haired friend sent it to me with the follow up text saying ‘PS, this is what you should be doing with your life’.

 

I showed the link to everyone who was close to me, I downloaded the first book – it was an eBook and I did not possess an e-reader at the time. I wanted the words so badly I read every one of them at work on my phone. I do not recommend this at all. But such was the draw, such was the hook of a great string of words. I was in.

 

But I loved this second one more. And not solely because I was holding it in my hand as opposed to squinting at my phone. I loved it for itself. Ok, and a tiny bit because it was a solid book I could hold in my hand.

We all want to know more about celebrities, that’s the world we live in but we extra want to know about the people who are anonymous, we can’t help it, it’s human nature to be intrigued.

So to have a whole book giving me insights, filling in gaps I’d wondered about, god it was so satisfying. I’m going to say pimple popping satisfying and hope that you know what I mean.

 

It would have been satisfying to know anything about anyone who was anonymous but this was better than just popping a zit. This was more. It was surprising and entertaining and nourishing. Reading it was like coming home every day to your favourite dinners cooked for you, all of them, a different one every day. Every chapter was something else.

 

I feel like a better writer, a better feminist and a better contributor from reading this or that I could be. But mostly I feel like someone is saying things I want to say, just far cleverer and less belligerently than I would. I feel like it’s the voice of so many of my friends, one that I don’t hear enough in the world.

I don’t need it to be sanctioned but it’s great when you feel like it’s ok to keep being you, the way you are.

 

 

I don’t know how to do reviews, how do you talk about something without giving the details away but drawing people in? I don’t know. But I’m just going to say that my favourite chapter was about relationship goals – I’m sure that’s not what it was called but there was reference to being so content to do any menial task when you were doing it with someone you loved. And while that may sound saccharine, and incongruous you’ll just have to read the book to find out why the manifestation of it was the opposite. And how utterly convincingly brilliant it was. I am aching to be able to recreate it.

But of course I’ll have to make sure no one I know reads the book and that won’t happen as I will be waxing lyrical about it until there’s a third one to pour over.

 

 

I don’t think I’ve loved a series as much since Harry Potter. Probably shouldn’t say that?

 

This would be a great present for any girl in your life.

 

Here’s the link, I’ve made it easy for you.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Girl-Net-How-Fell-Love/dp/1910536571/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457646003&sr=1-1&keywords=girl+on+the+net

 

Sure have a think about it at the least.

Stranglehold Squirting

I’m alright at sex.

I pretty much can’t say even that much about anything else in my life. But at sex I think I hold my own, I think I am ok at it.

think I’m ok at it because I really enjoy it and I really want who ever I’m doing it with to have a good time. I will make it my business to see that they have a good time. This determination, coupled with a genuine interest in it makes me … kind of ok at it, I believe.

I generally don’t come away from sexual encounters thinking I was out played or beaten or out matched.

But I was recently.

 

I have a friend who likes makeup and women’s underwear. He doesn’t share this predilection with many people but he’s lucky to have a few close girl friends who he has shared it with. I’m not sure why he is able to share it with us and not anyone else and not even many of his partners. He is pretty uptight about it, almost ashamed. You wouldn’t guess he was into this from looking at him or talking to him at all. There is no hint of it. And that is definitely the way he wants it.

But one night he was with a girl – it was their first night together (possibly their only night together) and her immediate go to move was to take her knickers off, throw them at him and tell him to put them on.

She proceeded to tell him he was a dirty little girl and slapped him across the face and told him she knew what he wanted and what he liked which was to be treated like the true little bitch that he is.

Now as it turned out, this is exactly what he wanted and even better he didn’t have to verbalise it. It was a dream come true for my friend. And he was in awe when he gave the details to me the following day. And I couldn’t get my head around it, how did she know what he wanted? How did she guess what he was in to? But more importantly how did she have the balls to bust out a move like that?

I got no answers. Then or since. And I still think that girl was a legend. He never said who it was.

 

This is all relevant because the other night, on my first night with a guy his very first move was to push me on to the bed then tell me to get on all fours. He stood behind me and pulled his leather belt out of the loops. He lifted my skirt and pulled down my tights then slipped the belt around my neck. He tightened it and it was long enough that he still had enough length to start slapping my arse with it.

 

None of this was an issue for me, let me state that for the record. This is most definitely what I’m into. And doled out in just the right measures. It was a personal Shangri-La.

 

But once again I have to ask: HOW DID HE KNOW? How did he just know that I would be into it? I cannot fathom how his very first move would be to take his belt off and simultaneously choke me with it and tan my arse. It’s not a very first night move is it. It certainly wasn’t anything that we’d discussed in length, or indeed at all.

But I was into it, I was deeply, achingly, soaking-ly into it.

After he had given my arse a hiding. He pushed me onto the bed and stood over me taking off the rest of his clothes. I turned myself around and propped myself up on my elbows panting, gasping and smirking at him, the belt was still around my neck like a leash.

He pulled off my tights and knickers then flattened me back onto the bed taking hold of the belt again. Kneeling between my thighs, he started to eat me as he tightened the grip on the belt making it taut again, returning me to the stranglehold.

I’m definitely in shock, I’ve lost my bearings and I have no idea what is happening except that I am in ecstasy.

He makes me come and I haven’t even been allowed near his cock yet.

I wriggle off his mouth and fingers, curling into a ball trying to calm down from the orgasm, while he pulls on a condom and commands me back onto my knees. He has to ask twice, I’m a mess.

He positions me where he wants me and tells me I’m going to take it like a good girl. But he doesn’t give it to me, he asks me do I think I deserve it, do I think I’ve been good enough. Oh god I can barely speak I want it so much.

 

Grasping my hips he ploughs into me steadily building his rhythm, getting harder with each stroke. The belt is still around my neck. As his thrusts get harder and faster he takes hold of it, yanking my head right back and pulling as hard as he can on it as he fucks me furiously. Pounding me relentlessly. Steadying himself with his grip on the belt. Can you picture that? Me on all fours, him behind me, fucking me hard while holding tight onto the leather that is strangling me and keeping me in place. My cunt aches now just to imagine it.

 

He is sating himself and I am just a conduit to that now. To be used.

 

When he’s had enough of choking me, he lets go of the belt and pushes my face into the pillow and grabs hold of my hair with both hands as he growls with pleasure, out of sight behind me. Again it’s not enough he needs to assert more power. He holds the back of my neck, pressing my face hard into the pillow as he slaps my already tender arse in time to his thrusts. And eventually roars as he comes really hard.

 

Glorious.

 

Magnificent.

 

And not the end of it by a long shot.

 

He had made a bold claim at the start that I had dismissed out of hand; not that he could but that he most certainly would make me squirt.

 

No suspense is gonna be drawn out, here is the chase I’ve cut right to it; I squirted. Big arcs of ejaculate fountained out of me. I was incredulous.

It smelled and tasted divine.

But for the life of me I cannot tell you how he did it. I know his mouth was down there for ages then fingers, then almost his whole hand was up inside me so I can only guess that he was pressing on my g-spot. I don’t really know. But he knew, and he knew I was about to come as he got himself into another position so that he could see it – this was no accident and whatever clues my body was giving that it was about to happen, he had read them. It was just his hand going in and out of me when the squirting happened, and he kept pumping me with it as the liquid shot out of me.

 

So, he out sexed me. He sniffed me out, gauged what I wanted without me ever telling him and then he proceeded to make a big bold claim and actually delivered on it.

This was no fluke, he’s done this before. He just knows how to make girls squirt, or so it seems.

Hands in the air, this guy knows a hell of a lot more about pleasing women than I do about pleasing men. He’s more knowledgeable and intuitive.

And I hate saying that.

 

We had sex all night and all morning until I kicked him out because my sister was calling round. And every time he went at me, he made me come. And a few times he brought me to the edge and didn’t let me.

I was owned …………………….and I don’t know how he did it and it’s making me crazy!

 

 

 

How did he just know?

How do you look at someone and just know what they’re in to? I think I have let my education slip, I need to up my game and raise the bar. I have a lot more learning to do.

Oh Yes, Yes, YES, Y E S

On the 23rd of May last year I was the proudest I ever was to be Irish.

I’m not ashamed of being Irish, I’d never hide it or deny it but you don’t get that much opportunity to be genuinely, heart-warmingly proud on an international scale. (I’m not going to go into detail of our many shames, but in case you’re unaware we’ve managed to mortify ourselves with scandal after scandal; sports, corruption, institutional child abuse, clerical child abuse, women’s reproductive rights and that’s where I trail off because you get the picture) We’ve let ourselves down as a nation consistently throughout my lifetime. But on 23rd May 2015 – we collectively, as a nation, overwhelmingly and by a huge majority, decided to be sound. That we agreed that marriage equality was a thing that we all supported and wanted enshrined in our constitution as a civil right for all.

 

I probably don’t need to tell you how much I supported this and the elation I felt at its achievement. That we had turned ourselves around as a nation, that we valued people as people and not as labels. And we were the first country to do it by popular vote. Ok, you can say that it should have been done as a matter of course that it shouldn’t have needed a referendum, and sure, you’re right. But the fact is we did have one and it was an opportunity for us to look at ourselves and be happy with what we saw, how we’ve changed. And I don’t care how much mud was slung or how much money was wasted I think the boost it gave the country was worth it.

 

Why am I talking about this… it’s slightly outside the Abbi Rode remit isn’t it? Well, on Saturday I am going to an engagement party (not for long I fucking hate those things). A party for a male colleague who is engaged to his male partner. And when he told me about the engagement I asked him who asked who – which started me thinking. The dawn of marriage equality is not just spelling the equality for gay people it’s the start of equality for everyone.

 

The more gay and lesbian couples who take the plunge and get engaged the more that question is going to be asked ‘So, who did the asking?’ It’s going to take a decade or two, I realise that, but it will happen it will become the norm for girls to ask girls, for guys to ask guys and eventually it will be acceptable for girls to ask guys and crucially here – FOR THAT TO BE OK. It will normalise the idea that it is a partnership and it is equal.

The onus is not on one sex to carry the burden of asking or indeed hold all the cards as to when. It will no longer be the fate of (some) girls to sit around and wait to be asked, fearing she may emasculate her guy if she asks first. It will be open to everyone, as much the responsibility and decision of one as the other.

And this can only be a good thing. For everyone – for moving forward as a society for breaking down the patriarchy, for levelling the playing field and raising the standards for us as humans.

 

In conjunction with that, the other question that tends to cause some ire, the issue of names, will also become far less contentious. Can you imagine anyone asking one half of a gay couple who was going to give up their name? Of course you can’t because it seems ridiculous – because you see them as equal, not one becoming part of the other as a matter of course. Wanting to be the same name as your partner is lovely, wanting your kids and your partner to all have the same name as you is of course a beautiful thought. But to automatically assume that it’s going to be done? This notion has to change, has to be challenged. I’m not issuing a decree saying that it has to now be the woman’s name, that all hetero couples take, that no child should ever share a surname with its father, I’d just like it to not be a given. It should be a discussion, a genuine one and not an assumption or an entitlement. Or indeed seen as a belligerent or aggressive if you want to have that discussion.

 

What’s in a name? Why get so upset? Well, why should I give mine up when I’ve worked hard all my life to understand who I am, under this name. Why should I have to give up my identity. And more importantly when the automatic default position is that the girl gives up her name, don’t you feel that sends a message to all other girls that they don’t matter quite as much as boys. That it’s the man who has primacy and the only one entitled to identity. It’s insidious and I think that with the advent of marriage equality we will see a shift in the thinking around this. As with wonderinging who did the asking it might get to the stage where no one cares who takes whose name, you only ask so you know how to address the Christmas cards.

 

If you’re a cis hetero couple and the bloke asked the girl to marry her and the girl took your name – I’m not vilifying you. Good for you. Make your decisions and enjoy them. I’m not judging or mocking you for it. But I’d like to see a world where more choices raised less eyebrows and caused less problems. And I believe that the emergence of marriage equality will be the catalyst that was needed for the redress of balance.

Men, you don’t need to have all the burden of it on you. Women, let’s teach our daughters that they are not chattel – given away by their fathers, to their husbands.

 

But I still don’t want to go to your wedding so don’t invite me. I still hate the things and that hasn’t changed.

 

 

 

And by the way Architect, a referendum that signals a positive change in a nation’s psyche IS bigger than a fucking general election. I’m sorry for your loss and all but general elections always give you the same old shite, nothing ever changes. THIS ACTUALLY MEANT SOMETHING.